I lit a match and began to think. There used to be a bridge here — I remember it clearly. In the mornings, it would tremble beneath my feet, even though it looked strong. It connected “there” and “here” — effort and result, caring for someone and feeling needed, someone’s hope and my action. But now there’s only emptiness and a skeleton of railings. It didn’t collapse all at once. First, it creaked under tension. Then the bolts and beams started falling off — little by little, every day. And if I had paid attention back then… I would’ve had to admit it was falling apart. But now it’s simply gone. Only the frame remains. Just a structure. Like that last match in my hand — crackling softly as it burned itself down, bowing its head at the end. And now there’s not even anything left to light a candle in its memory. It feels like I’ve lived through a chunk of life for nothing.
In this episode of the Misery Shared Podcast, Slava talks about what burnout really is — and whether a psychologist can help bring back interest in life. Is that even the right question to ask? What do people actually feel when the first signs of burnout appear? How long can it last — and what happens after?
Disclaimer: the author makes it clear that he is not a psychologist or a psychotherapist. He strongly opposes any form of online diagnosis. This podcast is not intended for self-diagnosis or self-treatment. Its purpose is to explain things in simple terms and to encourage people to seek help from a therapist — even if it feels like a waste of time. It also aims to help listeners choose a good mental health professional.
In everyday terms, burnout is a deep, systemic condition that affects both the mind and body — and is usually tied to prolonged stress, especially at work. It’s as if your social battery suddenly stops recharging altogether. There’s emotional exhaustion — the feeling that your emotional reserves have been completely drained, like you’ve been wrung out. Another form of burnout shows up as detachment — when you start to withdraw from your work and from people, and a sense of negativity or cynicism toward them begins to grow. The third dimension of burnout is reduced personal efficacy — the sense that everything you do is pointless, that you no longer make a difference, and that the satisfaction you once felt from your work is gone.
So, you could say that burnout is the result of chronic stress — especially work-related — when a person is constantly overwhelmed, lacks support, and has no opportunity to recover.
On an emotional level, burnout overlaps with depression — but it doesn’t always come with such obvious signs as deep sadness or hopelessness. It’s more like psychological exhaustion, so severe that the person stops seeing meaning in their work and begins to emotionally distance themselves from their responsibilities.
Physically, it can show up as fatigue, headaches, sleep disturbances, and a weakened immune system — all of which are also common symptoms of stress and anxiety.
That’s why burnout is often studied in the context of depression and anxiety disorders. Psychologists and therapists tend to view it as either a precursor to, or a coexisting condition with, those states.
Herbert Freudenberger’s pioneering 1974 work emphasized that professionals don’t “burn out” overnight — they burn themselves out over years, trying to live up to external expectations and their own perfectionism. But of course, burnout isn’t limited to salaried jobs. What we see in many Belarusians today is also a form of burnout — only this time as a reaction to endless hope followed by deep disappointment. It’s driven by the same psychological mechanisms described in English-language research on activist burnout and compassion fatigue.
In English-language research, activist burnout is described as a state of deep emotional and physical exhaustion, cynicism, and a sense of ineffectiveness — experienced by those who have been fighting for social change over a long period of time. It includes emotional depletion, the constant stress of witnessing injustice, and fear for loved ones. Cynicism and detachment arise as a defense mechanism — “I don’t want to believe this can change anymore”. And then comes the feeling of ineffectiveness — the sense that all efforts are pointless, even if the people around you continue to offer support.
It’s all just like in a professional context — only here, the “work” is the effort to change the world or to preserve human dignity.
Compassion fatigue, by the way, was originally described among medical and social workers — but it’s now used to refer to anyone who is constantly exposed to the pain of others. In a political context like ours, it means the endless stream of news about repression and prison sentences — and the feeling that you’re being overwhelmed by other people’s tragedies, to the point where you sometimes stop feeling empathy altogether. And because of this informational overload, there’s a growing urge to turn the news off entirely — just to not have to know any of it anymore.
This very mechanism is at the root of why people become “disillusioned” with the pursuit of change — not because they’ve become indifferent, but because their inner resources have simply run out.
Studies on collective trauma show that prolonged political repression, forced emigration, and systemic injustice can trigger a phenomenon in society that closely resembles burnout. It’s the feeling of meaninglessness — the thought that “we protested, people were imprisoned for us, many have left — so what now?” It’s the loss of trust in others and in the future. And it’s the chronic stress of survival mode: insomnia, irritability, and emotional numbness.
To an outside observer — and sometimes even to ourselves — burnout may look like simple fatigue. But if you dig deeper, it often feels like the collapse of an internal structure that once held up our entire idea of who we are. Maybe you weren’t just working — you were someone who creates, helps, fights, supports. Your work was an extension of your identity. And when the energy runs out, it’s not just exhaustion that sets in — it’s a disturbing emptiness: “If I can no longer do this… then who am I?”
This is especially true for professions rooted in care, creativity, and activism — where there’s no clear line between work and life. If you made music, you weren’t just a creator — you were the music. If you fought for justice, you weren’t just a participant — you were the hope for change. So when burnout hits, it can feel like you’ve lost a part of yourself. As if you’re no longer you — and you don’t know who you are anymore, even though you’re supposed to. It’s a real inner crisis — almost like a breakdown.
To learn whether it’s possible to recover from burnout, why questions about it can feel so irritating, how to make sense of your own reactions, and what life feels like after — listen to the rest of this episode of the Misery Shared Podcast.
In the next episode of the Misery Shared Podcast, you’ll learn all about procrastination and the urge to put everything off until the last moment. Why do we sometimes feel the need to get distracted by non-urgent tasks, even when we’re running out of time to finish what truly matters? Should we do something about it — and what might it really be telling us?
If you want to contact us but are afraid to use comments, you can send us an e-mail. After that it will be enough to delete your letter from the “Sent” folder.
Our e-mail address is: help@belarus.fm
