Taper Off
On burnout, ambition, and feeling uneasy about slowing down
I posted an Instagram Story saying “Slack deleted 😌” after wrapping up work yesterday and received many DMs congratulating me.
“Best move.”
“Congrats. The dream.”
Without context, it probably sounded like I had quit my job or was just being nonsensical, because as much as I am addicted to Slack—a messaging tool that’s become an essential part of my work life—a decent chunk of my friends probably don’t know what it is.
I’m really glad they don’t.
At first, I only dragged the app to the second page of a folder on my phone so it was at least hidden. But I soon realised I really had to delete it, because even bypassing the muscle memory of my fingers, my brain immediately registered the new location. Without thinking, I’d find myself scrolling through unread channels like it was Twitter or Instagram.
Fork, I am really addicted to work.
This is a problem.
1/
A three-week break started last night.
After having four consecutive dreams, all somewhat related to work, I denied myself the warmth of the duvet and got up at 7. In one dream, I was jamming with a product manager I barely know, and we just couldn’t figure out a way to resolve a totally made-up product challenge. We were sitting in a 50s corner office straight out of Mad Men, the clouds in the sky far away, giant and burning so brightly red. In another, I was dragging my friend across two uni campuses to cancel my course enrolment. I told my friend I was too naive to think I could pull off studying outside of nine to five. I felt like I could breathe again after saying it out loud—in my dream, that is.
The other two dreams became a blur when I opened the bedroom door and was greeted by the cold air. Melbourne has been so damn cold this winter, and we’re only one month in.
But the dreams were all about work, that much I’m sure of. This isn’t a new experience—I’ve had nights where I actually solved UX challenges in my dreams. I’ve joked to my work friends that I should get paid for my work dreams too.
I stood in the kitchen, panicking and not knowing what to do with the sudden free time I had. My two cat landlords were meowing non-stop, expecting me to at least get my act together and feed them breakfast. “Come on, hooman, what are you doing?”
For the past six months, Saturday has been the one positive constant where I’d feel over-the-moon happy and genuinely energised. The day would be utilised so well that I’d genuinely believe I’d packed three days into one. Starting with gym and a cup of coffee, bundled with socialising or doing some sort of mini project before and after lunch, a nap, and more socialising in the evening.
I’d usually marvel at how well the day went and immediately feel deflated when the clock struck midnight. Then it’s Sunday.
The anxiety would start kicking in, in case it wasn’t clear enough that a brand new cycle was about to start with Monday incoming.
2/
While I was waiting for the tram last weekend, I told ChatGPT I had two things on my mind:
I don’t think I’ve ever figured out what I want, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe nobody truly knows what they want. Either they’ve experienced it once and decided they wanted the experience again, or they’re still wandering. I think about taking photos, making good money, having some sort of power or influence. I do enjoy all of them, but I also feel like they’re not really what I actually want.
I’m also coming to the realisation that to achieve something, it honestly requires a level of madness. Launching stuff at work feels like this; starting a fitness program and dieting feels like this; if I look around at people who’ve done a lot and earned my respect, they all have a certain madness to them.
3/
For the first four months of this year, I was working crazy hours and pushing limits. Even when I wasn’t physically at my laptop, my mind was still spinning with work. I kept my phone within arm’s reach—even on walks or in the shower—because ideas would connect in bursts, sometimes so quickly it felt overwhelming. I’d rush to jot them down in my Notes app, afraid they’d vanish as fast as they appeared.
As exhausting as it was, there was something undeniably exciting and wonderful about being so completely immersed. I was all in, driven by a simple curiosity: to see what it truly takes to launch a feature. It helped that my team was working on something with high visibility, front and center at the product’s entrance.
I was definitely in a state of madness. But no, I don’t think I was lost.
I’ve always found it easy to slip into a state of flow—designing, writing, preparing presentations, grading photos. The adrenaline of sharing my work and chasing that hit of validation kept me going. But sustaining that level of effort has never been my strength.
This time, though, felt different. The feature my team launched was so foundational it didn’t even get a name drop at the launch event, serving as the backbone for bigger and smaller things to come. It didn’t bother me at all. Honestly, it could have been any project, big or small—I just wanted to prove to myself that I had the will to see something through. That experience, more than the launch itself, became the real reward and a boost to my understanding of what I’m capable of.
The challenges went far beyond just design. I used to be intimidated by the idea of managing stakeholders or even just interacting with people in general. But during this period, I found myself in my element—coordinating multiple designers and teams at a level I never could have imagined.
Why did they let me do it?
And yet, as it was all unfolding, I became greedy—I wanted to see what else was possible.
I could keep running—bigger things, grander scope, and tighter timelines were clearly on the horizon after the launch, and expectations only got higher. But I can tell, from the way I’ve been waking up lately, that my body is rejecting the idea of going through it all over again for another four months.
On the other hand, now that I know I can do it, the real question is when—and where—I should tap into this side of myself and go all in again.
4/
I binged the new season of The Bear today. Season 4 had a sense of calm that’s the polar opposite of the show’s signature pace in the first three seasons—it was so effective, I felt like I was in therapy with the show.
I adore this series not just because it’s sometimes able to visually portray the creative process (like S2E3, “Sundae”), or the importance of commitment and persistence (S2E7, “Forks”), but because it captures the very madness I’ve been feeling—the thrill, the excitement, the dread, and the chaos. When things are good, it feels like magic; but when they’re tough (which is probably 90% of the time), the intensity is so powerful it can break you, inside and out.
Why do people keep doing it? For passion, sure.
After watching the finale of this season, I realised I threw myself into work partly as an escape—from family, and from an existential crisis I was facing just before the project kicked off.
I was grappling with a depleting relationship with my family, while also feeling like I was betraying my identity as an immigrant and underdog. The new sense of safety from working at a tech company, the feeling of settling down, and all the privileges that came with it left me conflicted.
5/
Three weeks is not long. But I’ll take the advice my partner in crime gave me yesterday before I logged off. She’s the product partner I would chat with until 10PM every night, working through challenges and keeping each other going.
She said, “Go switch off completely. Stop overthinking and dwelling on your current thoughts. You need to come back with a fresh pair of eyes—for your next lot of work, and for how you want to work next.”
We agreed that, moving forward, no one is going to clearly define our job descriptions for us. We’ll have to figure it out ourselves.
6/
My coach at Canva used to be on the track team. She told me about tapering off—how athletes slow down, not to quit, but to recover. To let their muscles remember. To return sharper.
This is year ten of my career, and I know I’ve accumulated a heavy sense of tiredness and burnout. It comes back now and then—fading when interesting projects and challenges resurface, but always returning, more frequently and with greater intensity. I don’t think I’ve ever truly acknowledged that sometimes, pushing through might not be a real option, no matter how much it seems like I’m still managing to push it off.
I want to learn to breathe again—before I show up for more.
All photos were taken by me using a FUJI camera and colour graded with VSCO.
I’m writing this comment as my cats meow at me for their breakfast too 🙂↕️
Love this Lennon. When I was recovering from my burnout years ago, I realised all the things outside of work actually helped me become better in my role. In a weird way, the more I detached from it, the better I became at it. Almost like a passionate detachment written here: https://rajivvij.com/2014/11/passionate-detachment-sweet-spot-life.html
I love the comparison to athletics. It acknowledges that we do use our whole bodies, even in our sedentary and virtual “knowledge work”, and that we need to care for them.
With burnout and pace at work, something I’ve realised in recent years is that I actually do well with sprints.
Those aren’t the rolling agile sprints that are *supposed* to be sustainable but turn out to be maximum intensity all the time - that’s been a recipe for burnout.
But a deadline sprint of a few weeks and then a recovery time… with those I can buckle in, achieve something, and then have time of (relative) rest and reflection.