Last December, I burnt out so badly that I ended up in the hospital. I had this sharp pain in my stomach over several days that wouldn’t stop. I ended up in the emergency room days before Christmas. I thought an organ had to be removed. Luckily, that wasn’t the case. All organs are in tact. Not so luckily, I now have an ulcer. Not fun for someone who likes spicy food with plans to visit the Southwest. Really putting a damper on my red chili tour, stomach. 

As I’ve had more time to process and think about what led me to this spectacular burn out over the last few weeks of van life, I know it wasn’t the sum of a few busy months that sent me to the ER that day. It was the pressure of an entire career. The pressure of perfection. I was convinced from the first day I went into an office that if I just worked hard enough, I’d get everything I wanted – more money, promotions, and business travel. I made being the last person in the office my badge of honor. I had rules of rigor about everything. Rigor meant I was working hard. 

I got all the things, eventually, but never as quickly as I wanted. I made more money. Led the marketing department. Managed the people. Traveled the world. At what cost to my mental health, I’ll likely never know. But I remember thinking over and over that I just had to keep showing up. Showing up meant I was working hard. 

I quit my last corporate gig with two weeks notice and on the 14th day of that notice, I launched my company, Three Ears Media. I do not recommend a timeline like that if you want to avoid burn out. I left that company with a fire inside. I couldn’t fail. I couldn’t go back to a world where people thought it was ok to scream to communicate about work. That fire helped me build this incredible company. Creating something meant I was working hard. 

That fire also told me that who I was didn’t matter. That I needed to hide who I was in certain situations to be successful. I didn’t want to be different. Gay was socially acceptable, yet I had all these other identities that felt like “too much.” I was so sure that saying any of the things I tried to keep to myself would ruin my life. Living out loud meant I was doing something wrong. 

This Sunday on Trans Day of Visibility, I will celebrate the fact that I still choose to experience this world out loud anyway and it has only helped me get more of what I want from this life. 

Over the last 5 years, I’ve come out as trans, as non-binary, and I’ve done it in these letters to invite all of you in. That visibility, admittedly, comes at the cost of some energy. A deeper kind of burn out that the media companies don’t talk about because it’s hard to measure with some poll of 100 people and makes cis people feel awkward. 

But using this energy to help people understand has helped me know who I am. I see value in the parts I used to be ashamed of. It has helped me to notice the light in a kid’s face in rural America when they realize I’m not like everyone else. Showing up anyway means I am proof that we can do anything. 

Weekly Letters burn out