David’s Journal: Burn Out

Burn Out. I’m currently sat in a cottage in the Shropshire Hills. Four nights away. On my own.

For someone with a history of mental ill health, that sentence can sound… concerning.

My brother certainly thought so. When I told him my plan, he was immediately worried—and understandably so. This is the same man who once convinced me, on Christmas Day one year, not to isolate myself. He told me if I didn’t go to our parents’ for dinner, he’d come over and get me himself. He’s always talked about connection and being present. He’s helped me more over the years than he’ll ever realise.

The idea behind this little break was simple: write. Make a start on the book I’ve been planning for months. Get some ideas down. Not think about work for a few days.

It’s what George Ezra does, apparently—disappears somewhere quiet to write an album. The Shropshire Hills probably isn’t on his list of creative hideaways, but it’s only an hour from home, and it felt like the right place to lock myself away for a few days.

But here’s the thing.

When you’re burnt out—as I now realise I was—your brain doesn’t magically switch into creative mode just because you’ve changed location. Burnout isn’t just tiredness; it’s a full body shutdown. It’s your mind whispering, “I can’t carry all this anymore.” It’s the weight of overwhelm sitting on your chest, even in the quietest cottage in the countryside.

The endless tasks I “could” be doing instead were front and centre, threatening to sabotage the whole mission. And, if I’m honest, I sabotaged it myself too.

Since returning to work in October 2023, work has been full on. Relentless. Non stop.

And somewhere along the way, I stopped looking after myself. I hid behind my back issues and used them as an excuse to avoid exercise. My diet slipped. My routines slipped. My boundaries slipped. Burnout doesn’t happen overnight—it’s the slow erosion of your spark while you’re busy pretending everything’s fine.

So I decided this break would be a reset.

Exercise every day. Fresh juices only—a full juice detox. A kickstart to a new routine.

Which meant my “writing retreat” quickly escalated into:

• • writing a book
• • working out
• • not eating any food
• • and being completely alone

Away from my family. Away from work. Away from everything familiar.

On Tuesday, I was in a terrible state of mind.

The caffeine withdrawal hit hard—headaches, exhaustion, irritability. All normal, but not exactly helpful when you’re trying to write your masterpiece. The guilt of not being at home, not working, not being productive… it consumed me. I went to bed early, hoping Wednesday would be kinder.

It was.

I woke up early, made my juices, did my Joe Wicks workout, and realised the headaches had gone. I decided to go for a walk and put everything else on hold. I had managed some writing on Tuesday, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was frustrated, angry and not writing in the style I’d imagined. Burnout steals your creativity—it replaces it with noise.

This retreat has shown me something I didn’t expect: everything and everyone else can wait.

I’ve reflected on the past few years—the customers who didn’t appreciate us, the ones who forgot the emergencies we attended without charging, the times we bent over backwards to accommodate their schedules. The “after 4pm only” crowd. The “I’m in all weekend” brigade. The ones who decided we were “too expensive” after years of doing everything possible to look after them.

In the past, I compromised too much for people like that. Well, no more. We have incredible customers—people who’ve supported us from day one, who value our work, who understand the cost of a job well done. Those are the people I want to help. Those are the people who get the best of us.

I’ve made real progress over the past few days. It hasn’t been what I expected. I haven’t wrote as much as I would have liked. I sabotaged it by adding extra tasks and removing food. But it has been of great value to me. I turn 40 in a few months, and I hope I can be the best version of myself I possibly can be in my fourth decade of existence.

I’m leaving a day early to get back to my family. I’ve written. I’ve exercised. I’ve juiced more apples than I can count. That’s enough. I’m desperate to see my children now. To hug them, to kiss them and to internally whisper, “I’m sorry.” To tell them how much I love them.

I thought I’d return home with more chapters written, but what I’m actually returning with is far more valuable. I’m returning with myself.

Sometimes a retreat is the best way to move forward. Sometimes burnout is the wake-up call you didn’t know you needed. And sometimes clarity arrives in a cottage in the Shropshire Hills, halfway through a juice detox, when you finally stop long enough to listen to your own mind.

David.