What My Burnout Taught Me About Men’s Well-Being
Many men have a moment they seldom discuss when something inside quietly gives way.
It’s often subtle, like a heaviness when you wake up or the feeling that life has quietly become too much to handle.
We tell ourselves we’re just tired and to keep moving forward, believing it’ll get better after the next project.
We tell ourselves to push through.
We rely on endurance long after it stops serving us.
I lacked that language at the time. In my early twenties, I started a job that, from the outside, looked like a dream. It had prestige, visibility, and the promise of meaning. People were impressed when I mentioned my employer, and I felt proud. For a young man wanting validation, it felt like I’d been chosen.
What I didn’t understand was the difference between a job that looks good on paper and one that supports your well-being. I didn’t understand how easily men mistake overextension for strength. And I certainly didn’t understand how quietly burnout can dismantle a life.
Inside that organization, the culture was relentless. The pace wasn’t just fast; it took over everything. There was always more to do, more to improve, more to produce. Achievements barely mattered before the next expectation arrived. The unspoken rule was that exhaustion, stress, and self-neglect were normal.
There were no conversations about support or sustainability. There was no room to be human. It was a workplace fueled by depletion, and like many men, I accommodated it quite willingly.
At first, the changes were so subtle they were easy to ignore. I woke up tired. My stomach tightened every morning before work, but I called it “nerves” or “stress.” My friends noticed I was withdrawing. I’d fall asleep at parties. I kept telling them I was fine. Not because I was lying, but because I genuinely believed this was what was expected of me.
Burnout doesn’t usually erupt. It erodes.
Little by little, my world shrank. I lost my appetite and weight. My energy faded. My relationships deteriorated. I moved on autopilot, convinced it was just a phase. Most men miss early burnout. We’re taught to normalize discomfort until it becomes baseline.
I didn’t hit a wall so much as I drifted into one.
The breaking point came on an ordinary day, during an interaction with my supervisor. It was more than dismissive. It was abusive.
That moment of disregard struck a nerve I didn’t know I had left. A clear thought surfaced: Fuck this. This is not okay. Nobody should be treated this way.
It wasn’t dramatic; it was simply true. That truth was enough to send me out the door. I didn’t think about consequences, money, or the opinions of others.
I resigned on the spot and just left.
It was the most instinctive act of self-preservation I’d ever taken, and as I stepped outside, I felt a shift in my body. I took a breath I hadn’t felt in years.
It wasn’t a sense of immediate triumph. It was simple relief. A quiet, deep relief that I had made a significant choice for myself.
In the days that followed, I rested, slept, ate, and slowly moved. It was in the quiet that I saw how far I’d drifted from who I wanted to be.
I had spent years treating my well-being as something I could “fix later.” It was that mindset that nearly cost me everything. And once I saw that clearly, I made myself a promise: never again would I trade my well-being for approval, achievement, or belonging.
I didn’t realize it then, but I had just discovered the central theme of the work I’d later do with men. This personal turning point would later inform how I understood the unique, often unnamed struggles that men face.
The Struggle Men Don’t Name
When men come into therapy, they often arrive carrying a quiet heaviness, a sense that something isn’t working, but with very little language to describe what’s wrong. They don’t say, “I’m unsupported,” or “I’m emotionally stretched thin,” or “My life isn’t built to sustain me.” They say things like:
“I’m just tired.”
“I can’t seem to stay focused.”
“I’m frustrated all the time.”
“I feel disconnected.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
But nothing is actually wrong with them. They’re just living without support systems they weren’t taught to create. Culture encourages men to keep going rather than notice what’s happening. We push through instead of adjusting, treating our bodies like machines and our feelings like problems. We learn to value independence so much that it becomes isolation, not realizing how much that wears us down.
Most men don’t fall apart because they are weak. They fall apart because they have been taught to carry more than anyone can handle for long. They live without support in their emotions, bodies, relationships, and sense of purpose, and then blame themselves when it all gets too heavy.
That’s what I learned firsthand in my twenties. And it’s what I see echoed in countless therapy conversations that I have with my male clients today.
Why I Focus on Healing Well-Being in Therapy for Men
Every therapist has a certain way of seeing things, even if they don’t say it out loud. For me, I believe well-being is the foundation or ecosystem of a stable, meaningful life.
When well-being is weakened, everything feels harder. Relationships strain, stress becomes overwhelming, emotions feel unpredictable, purpose evaporates, confidence shrinks, and identity feels fragile.
When well-being is strong, the same challenges feel more navigable. Life doesn’t stop being stressful; you stop being devoured by it.
This is why I focus on well-being more than just symptoms. Symptoms are important signals to notice, but building well-being is what leads to real healing.
Men don’t need fixing. They need intentional support from systems and lives built to sustain them, not just endure.
The Difference Between Surviving and Living
Most men are familiar with crisis mode. The constant sense of needing to put out fires, manage emergencies, and stay one step ahead of collapse. Crisis mode feels normal when you’ve lived in it long enough.
It can even feel productive, because reacting to problems keeps you busy enough to avoid the deeper discomfort underneath. But crisis mode is a thief. It narrows your identity to whatever requires immediate attention.
When I talk with men about moving into what I call “construction mode,” I don’t mean making huge changes. Construction mode is slow, steady, and careful. It’s like the difference between waiting for your car to break down and taking it in for regular checkups to keep it running well.
Men are often praised for being dependable, but no one teaches them how to build dependable lives. A dependable life isn’t a perfect life. It’s a supported life with emotional breathing room, which makes sense internally. It’s a life that doesn’t require you to abandon yourself to maintain it.
Well-being doesn’t shield you from all hardship. It gives you the foundation to endure difficulty without losing yourself—this is the central promise.
Well-being doesn’t remove hardship -
it keeps you from losing yourself in it.
- Simon Niblock, LMFT
The Four Ingredients of a Supported Life
When I talk about well-being, I don’t mean just a checklist or a self-care routine. I mean something more like an ecosystem—a living, changing environment that affects every part of your life.
In my work with men, four key parts keep showing up. They aren’t just separate boxes to check but are connected pieces that shape your overall health.
There’s the physical part: the often-missed truth that your body is the base for everything else. When you’re tired, overwhelmed, or out of sync, your emotions can’t stay steady. Men often try to keep their physical and emotional lives separate, but they are as connected as soil and roots.
Then there’s the emotional part. It’s not about just expressing more, but about understanding your inner world well enough to handle it. Most men were never taught how to understand their feelings. We were taught to just keep going. But emotions don’t go away when ignored. They show up in other ways that need attention.
The relationship part is something many men don’t notice they’re missing until something breaks. We praise independence, but independence without connection turns into isolation. And isolation wears you down. People aren’t meant to handle their struggles alone, but many men do, thinking that needing others is a weakness.
Purpose gives life direction. It turns tasks into something meaningful. When men lose their sense of purpose, life feels empty; when they find it again, their energy returns. Building these foundations isn’t just a therapy goal. It’s necessary for well-being and for living fully, not just getting by. Every man deserves a life supported by these basics. We must choose to build it. These parts don’t work alone. They act like parts of an ecosystem, each one affecting, supporting, and reacting to the others. When one part is worn out, the others struggle.
The Work of Becoming Supported
The most meaningful work men do in therapy isn’t about eliminating symptoms. It’s about cultivating support internally and externally. It’s about transforming raw endurance into sustainability. It’s about replacing neglect with respect. It’s about learning to listen to yourself in a way that steadies you.
Men often believe they need to become stronger. What they need is support.
Supported by their habits.
Supported by their relationships.
Supported by their values.
Supported by their emotions.
Supported by their purpose.
Supported by their inner ecosystem.
When men feel supported, something shifts.
They breathe differently.
They relate differently.
They choose differently.
They return to themselves.
That return, that grounding, is what makes growth possible. It’s what makes life feel livable, not just survivable.
You’re Not a Symptom. You’re an Ecosystem.
Here’s the truth I’ve learned, from my own burnout, from thousands of hours in the therapy room, from watching men change not through force but through support:
You’re not broken.
And once you begin to understand yourself not as a collection of symptoms but as an ecosystem, one that needs balance, care, and restoration, things change. You stop blaming yourself for struggling and start asking what your struggle is pointing to. You stop abandoning yourself to keep life running and start building a life that doesn’t require self-abandonment.
It’s about Well-Becoming.
Constructing a life that feels aligned, grounded, and sustainable.
And if you’re reading this, wondering whether you’re broken, let me offer you what I wish someone had offered me years ago: You’re not broken. And you can build the support you deserve.
If you’d like more one-on-one therapeutic support to help you improve your well-being, contact me to schedule a free 20-minute phone consultation. There is no pressure; it's just a chance to connect and see if working together feels right.
Cheers, Simon
About the Author:
Simon G. Niblock, MA, LMFT, is a licensed marriage and family therapist based in Austin, Texas, focused on men's psychology, mental health, and wellness. With fifteen years of clinical experience, he offers personalized psychotherapy services tailored to the unique needs of men. Simon combines his extensive training with personal insights from his own adventures to foster a collaborative and supportive environment for his clients. His practice is dedicated to helping men navigate emotional distress, enhance their relationships, and unlock their full potential, ensuring they feel empowered and understood throughout the therapeutic process.
References:
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