Burnout prevention starts with strategy, not self-care.
A real observation.
The title alone may give people pause. What could strategy possibly have to do with self-care?
It resonates with me because I’ve lost count of the number of friends, colleagues, and family members who’ve shared their desire to integrate more self-care into their lives — working out more, taking up meditation, eating better, drinking less alcohol. The intention is always positive. A goal is set. And yet, weeks later, many feel disappointed or frustrated that they couldn’t maintain it — or even get started.
I’ve witnessed the same pattern play out in organisations.
The year begins with good intentions. Strategy and planning sessions take place. There are conversations about team-building initiatives, bringing in someone to facilitate breathwork or meditation, chair yoga sessions are scheduled, and “Wellness Wednesdays” are introduced with enthusiasm. For a moment, it feels hopeful. Then the day-to-day realities of work take hold, and those plans quietly fall away.
In my own experience leading a team of 15 staff and more than 200 volunteers, these initiatives were well received in theory. In practice, when the day of the first session arrived, attendance was minimal — sometimes no one attended at all, except the facilitator.
As a not-for-profit operating with stretched resources, that facilitator was often a staff member who had used their personal time to prepare. The result was not wellbeing, but disappointment — and a reluctance to contribute to future initiatives.
I’ve heard similar stories when speaking with leaders across carer and therapeutic settings, including palliative care, assisted living, foster and kinship care, counselling, and psychotherapy. The intent is genuine. But when the opportunity to participate arises, time is rarely allocated. It isn’t deemed a priority — not because people don’t care, but because something else always feels more urgent.
This isn’t a theory. It’s a pattern I keep encountering.
The tension
Burnout persists even in values-aligned, purpose-led organisations — and that’s what makes it uncomfortable to name.
Leaders are often carrying pressures that no amount of yoga, employee assistance programs, or resilience training can resolve. Responsibility for managing wellbeing is subtly placed on individuals, while the conditions contributing to exhaustion remain unchanged.
From conversations and anecdotal feedback, I’ve heard some common, unspoken thoughts:
If I attend, will my colleagues think I don’t have enough work to do?
Will this actually be worth my time?
Is this being offered because the organisation genuinely cares, or to tick a box?
I like the idea, but I don’t really understand the benefit.
How does a 20-minute chair yoga session help me manage my workload when I’m already behind on case notes or client follow-ups?
Addressing burnout often feels like another thing to manage, rather than something that creates relief. And so, we treat the symptoms — because addressing the cause feels slower, harder, or more disruptive than we think we can afford.
The reframe
Burnout is not a personal failure. It is a strategic signal.
I’ve witnessed entire teams fall ill in quick succession — one person catching a cold or the flu, then another, and another. Absences increase, workloads stack up, and people return to work already overwhelmed by what’s waiting for them. The cycle repeats.
These are moments that invite leaders to step back and look at the bigger picture.
Team culture plays a critical role here. Do people feel safe to speak up when their workload becomes too heavy to hold? Are there clear processes for redistributing tasks when someone is unwell or needs to take leave? Is there shared understanding about how work is prioritised when capacity shifts?
When organisations move faster than their structures can support, people absorb the impact personally. Lack of clarity, coherence, and prioritisation quietly exhausts teams over time.
The answer isn’t scheduling more meditation sessions. It lies in communication — in understanding how individuals manage their workload, how they signal overwhelm, and whether they feel supported to speak up before they reach breaking point.
Good strategy reduces emotional load.
Clarity creates relief.
Boundaries are a form of leadership.
The practical shift
The shift doesn’t start with another initiative.
It starts with noticing different things.
In carer and therapeutic settings, being committed has become indistinguishable from being overloaded. There is never enough time, never enough hands, never enough resources. These sectors often attract people deeply devoted to caring for others — and prioritising their own wellbeing is frequently the last thing on the list.
What deserves more attention is how organisations design strategies that protect the worker.
This means creating regular, embedded spaces where people can voice concerns, share ideas, and collectively process the emotional load of their work — not as a tokenistic quarterly or half-yearly event under the guise of a team conference or wellbeing day, but as part of how work is done. Structured debriefing or professional development sessions, scheduled on rotating timelines to accommodate different shifts, can make a meaningful difference.
It also means recognising early warning signs — disengagement, regular illness or absence, presenteeism — and responding before burnout takes hold. These patterns rarely affect just one person. Entire teams can falter when underlying conditions aren’t addressed.
Burnout is not an individual capacity issue.
It is an organisational responsibility.
Open lines of communication matter. Giving people genuine space to share their experiences and insights is not a “nice to have” — it is the vehicle through which sustainable work becomes possible.
What would change if burnout was treated as information, not interruption?
A closing line
If you’ve recognised signs of burnout in your team, it may be worth pausing to notice how they’re being addressed.
Are responses focused on managing incidents as they arise — or on shaping the conditions that prevent them in the first place?
Sometimes, the most meaningful shift isn’t doing more.
It’s choosing to lead differently.
