The Great Collapse

When the body says no — and the mind learns to listen.

This is a piece about collapse — what the body knows before the mind is ready to listen. It's about breaking, reckoning, and learning how to begin again — more slowly, more wisely.

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Photo by Cecile Hournau on Unsplash

“And what will work say about you taking time off?” my doctor enquired. I sat there smiling politely, quietly stunned at the question, but not yet angry.

I retorted with “Well as a manager myself, I support my team members’ well-being first. If they are unwell or need time out, I encourage them to look after themselves. As a manager I rate their performance, and the business expects them to perform. So if they are not able to meet that bar that’s ok. It is why we have policies like sick leave.”

She nodded along understanding. I felt the irritation rise within, a bubbling volcano, simmering under the surface — steaming. As she typed it up, my mind scattered for the logic – “Why did she ask? Is she questioning me? Oh, it can’t be — she’s worried for herself. Covering herself. Oh my God – of course. She doesn’t give a fiddlers about me.“

“Hold it Edel” I steady myself in the chair, shifting slightly and breathing deeply. “All you need is the certificate. Get it and leave.”

In the days that followed I felt immense relief – my body let go immediately. In my heart, I knew I was never going back, that I couldn’t return to the pace, the juggle, and be the mum I wanted to be. It was too much. But my mind hadn’t yet reconciled everything. It quickly turned on me. My head full. It couldn't hold any more thinking – it was lit up, firing, ready to explode, scattering me to pieces. The tension, the overwhelm, the overthinking caught up.

Old strategies that once kept me afloat were now dragging me under. Overthinking, my trusted shield, now a trap – hurting me, hurting my brain, the pathways tangled – logic no longer a way out. Reasoning fractured.

This was a lonely time. On the outside I looked ok – functioning, an invisible collapse. It took four months before I stopped blaming myself. For those first few months, I believed I was the problem — my mind fought hard to take over, push through, convince me to get up and go. But my body rebelled – dragging me reluctantly into rest, deep rest — a lot of sleep. It took over a year to recover from the exhaustion. And still my body remembers, like fear rattling in an empty cage – a state I never want to see again but one that rises up every so often to remind me to slow down. Remnants left by autoimmune disease – a silent attack from within. That urge to push through – still there, with awareness now.

I was laid barren, in a desert with shallow roots. The great collapse, the greatest teacher.

I write because I am not alone — my client work, my research echoes this experience. Nobody wants to burn out. If we were aware, it wouldn’t happen. It is the great unconscious puppeteer at work, commanding the moves from the shadows, dancing to a beat we didn’t know we had learned – the audience, the silent master.

I write because the deepest learning has come from the darkest times reckoning with myself, allowing myself to feel the wisdom in my body, the disconnect between mind and body. My mind felt crazy, yet my body knew the way through – if I allowed. In those heavy days, Daniela Andrade’s version of Crazy vibrated in my bones — making sense of the chaos, providing solace.

Crazy by Gnarls Barkley

I remember when

I remember, I remember when I lost my mind

There was something so pleasant about that place

Even your emotions have an echo in so much space

And when you're out there without care

Yeah, I was out of touch

But it wasn't because I didn't know enough

I just knew too much

I wonder now if this is meant to happen – this mid-life shedding of what doesn’t serve us. I view it as evolution, like nature’s way of saying – pay attention to what is most important. I don’t regret a life of striving and pushing – it’s been a fun ride. That part of me served me well and built a secure foundation to move to this next stage.

And yet I do feel sorrow, for those struggling – for the productivity-focussed systems they come up against on their journey through burnout. Because our society doesn’t value people, the way it should. It values their output.

I didn’t have to break to be rebuilt, and even though the breaking showed me how, the graceful path is to choose to listen before the collapse.

Maybe this is your moment to pause — before the collapse, before the body has to speak louder than the mind.