My job had taken over my life and I was in the grip of burnout. Only drastic action could change things for the better…

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• If you are experiencing thoughts of self-harm or feel suicidal, please dial 999 now or visit your nearest A+E.

By midday on 23rd December 2019, I was more than ready for Christmas. My phone was lighting up with messages from my husband, Stefan, who was braving Sainsbury’s to do the festive food shop. The mood in the office was jovial with Mariah Carey crooning over the speakers.

But at my desk, I was quickly sinking into a panic as the last-minute tasks piled up. All I want for Christmas, I thought, is to not have to work here anymore.

I’d always wanted to be a writer and when I landed the content role in a lively marketing department, I’d felt ready for a new chapter of my professional life to begin. I was no stranger to a heavy workload, but soon learned the job wanted more from me than I felt able to give.

Busy periods involved unpaid overtime - up to four extra hours a day. Deadlines became increasingly unforgiving. Eleventh-hour u-turns on long-planned projects quickly materialised as the norm.

Burnout

I’d leave meeting swamped by self-doubt. In the evenings, I’d have dizzy spells brought on by anxiety and insomnia had me relying on over-the-counter medication. Angry and bitter, I’d send Stefan dozens of messages a day complaining about the latest unreasonable request from the office.

The effect the job was having on me mentally and physically was profound, but still, I kept pushing through. I loved my colleagues and didn't want to let them down. I assumed things would be just as bad at any other job. Those symptoms, I now see, were burnout - a state of physical and emotional exhaustion - and I was in its throes.

There was, however, an end in sight. In a few short months, we’d be embarking on a long-held dream to leave London for a new life in Sweden. We’d been toying with the idea of moving for years as Stefan is self-employed and can work from anywhere. As my burnout intensified, we realised a simpler life with fewer expenses would allow me to escape the demands of my job and work on my dream of writing full-time.

A decade of renting in London had brought us no closer to saving enough to buy our own home. But in Sweden’s rural north, four-bedroom houses were selling for as little as £40,000. With a mortgage, this was well within our means. Could I, a London girl born and raised, and Stefan, a Swede unfamiliar with country living, really make this work?

That Christmas, I began to feel excited about the future. I gorged on roast potatoes and mince pies with loved ones, imagining that next year we might all be enjoying a snowy festive season in Sweden. Just before New Year, Stefan’s family went to view a house for us in a tiny village four hours from Stockholm.

New beginnings

By the end of January 2020, we owned a 1960s house clad in traditional red-painted wood, with a garden leading into the forest. It was our dream house and I couldn’t wait to be there, not least because it meant that I could finally quit a job that had been unravelling me for more a year.

Weeks before we moved, I sat on my bed, surrounded by tissues and paracetamol packs, hunched over my laptop. Despite how it sounds, I wasn’t bingeing Netflix while I rode out a cold. I was working through my sick days because there was just too much to do.

We were in the midst of a busy launch season at work, and between looming tasks and manic hours, my immune system had taken a beating. Although I’d chosen to work, no one urged me to rest. It felt clear that my wellbeing didn’t matter as much as meeting the latest deadline.

The move in March 2020 was a whirlwind of intense stress and upheaval. The pandemic made it a challenging time for an international move, but the tranquility and beauty of my new home was the balm I so desperately needed.

After a joyful summer swimming in lakes and sunning myself on the porch, our first Christmas arrived. I hung paper starlights in the windows, baked saffron buns, and tried to embrace all the cosiness the Scandinavian winter had to offer.

Flashbacks

But despite my best efforts, I couldn’t fully relax. Amid the dark Swedish winter, surrounded by unfamiliar routines and traditions, I felt a long way from home. And between brief moments of festive fun, I was still having regular flashbacks to my toxic ex-workplace.

I still felt vengeful, hurt and desperate for vindication, but was determined to leave the burnout behind as I entered 2021. I wrote long, cathartic lists of the bad things that had happened with the hope of releasing them from my system. I removed any reminders of the company from my home and blocked their accounts from my social media feeds. Though my mind still occasionally flicked through its inventory of bad memories, the flashbacks thankfully grew fewer and further between.

This healing, coupled with my decision to actively embrace Swedish festive customs and traditions, from learning local folklore to trying my hand at baking traditional seasonal delicacies, has brought me to a new, more peaceful mental place.

This Christmas, instead of sitting at my desk and being swamped with impromptu amendments and unfinished tasks and no idea how I’d get them done in time, I’m deciding which festive baking project to try first. I’m also excitedly awaiting the release of my debut short story collection independent publishing platform, Dear Damsels.

This winter has been a chance for me to rest and reflect not only on the year just gone, but on the distance I’ve travelled since I was in that pit of burnout. I’ve realised that the life I’m now leading is in itself the vindication I’d been seeking. I can’t wait to see where it takes me next.

• If you’re experiencing symptoms of burnout, there are resources and help available to you. Visit Mental Health UK for information and support, or speak to your GP. If you are experiencing suicidal thoughts, please dial 999 now, or go to your local A+E

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