Why Good Therapists Burn Out—and a Simple Plan to Stay Well

I didn’t notice it at first…

I used to go entire workdays without eating.
Not because I was too busy (though my caseload was huge—community mental health… iykyk), but because I genuinely didn’t feel hungry.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it.

I’d tell myself, “I’ll eat after this next session,” or “I’m just not hungry right now.”
But it wasn’t about willpower or about being efficient.

It was one of the clearest signs that I was completely disconnected from my body.
And I didn’t even realize it.

Living from the Neck Up

Like many therapists, I was trained to work with the mind.

Cognitive models.
Thought patterns.
Reframe after reframe.

We’re taught to help people think differently.

After all, I’d learned that thoughts lead to feelings, which lead to behaviors. And while that’s not wrong, I understand that model a bit differently now. (More on that another time.)

Because even as I did all the “right” things—

My clients were progressing.
I met my billables.
I was holding space, doing the work, professional.

—I felt off.

Every morning, my stomach dropped as soon as my alarm went off. There was a dread I couldn't name. (Another signal I ignored.)

I was disconnected in a way I couldn’t name. I knew something was missing, but I couldn’t make sense of it.

Logically, everything was fine, but I’d lost the ease I once had.

My body had been whispering, I just wasn’t listening.

The Wake-Up Call

It started with skipped meals.
Then losing track of time.
Then not moving between sessions.
Then collapsing at the end of the day—emotionally spent and hollow.

My body had gone from a source of wisdom to something I ignored. A machine I pushed through the day.

Then, one weekend after a brutal stretch at work, a friend invited me to go for a hike. (Living in Denver, this was a typical weekend outing… oh, how I miss the mountains.)

Naturally, I said yes. But I didn't expect what happened next.

The moment I stepped onto the trail, I felt it.

The air.
The trees.
The ground beneath me.

My breath began to slow. My body arrived.

Nothing in my life had actually changed—the stress was still there—but it felt different.

It didn’t feel as heavy.
My nervous system softened.
I was present, finally.

That ordinary moment had an extraordinary impact.

My Body Knew What My Mind Didn't

After that, I couldn’t stop thinking about that hike. Why had it felt so different?

I wanted to know why my body seemed to know something my mind didn't.

So I started to learn about mindfulness, being “in the moment,” and how meditation could help untangle me from my gripping thoughts.

As I went deeper, I discovered tools like EFT tapping and gentle somatic movement and I began using them not with clients, but for myself.

I wasn't trying to fix anything. I was learning how to listen.

And slowly, I started to realize something big: Our nervous systems aren’t just along for the ride. They are the ride.

Why This Matters for Clinicians

For therapists, the mind-body connection isn't a luxury—it's necessary.

As therapists, we don’t just sit and think all day.

We attune.
We absorb.
We co-regulate.

We feel the energy in the room, hold others' pain, carry what our clients bring. Even when we’re careful.

And if we don’t have a relationship with our own nervous system?

We disconnect.
We shut down.
Or we push through… until something breaks.

For me, that disconnection showed up as:

• Skipped meals
• Chronic tension
• Emotional distance in relationships
• And eventually, resentment toward the work I used to love

(I even cut my clinical hours back to part-time and enrolled in a teacher education program to become a licensed teacher? I wanted out!)

Relatable?

So, What Helped Me Come Back?

It wasn’t a grand transformation. Just small, gentle steps.

I gave myself permission—to pause, to rest, to feel.
I began intentionally checking in with myself, asking: What do I need right now?
And most importantly, I started honoring those needs.

Yoga taught me how to connect with my body through my breath.

Meditation started with just a five-minute timer and I learned how to simply be—it helped me begin stepping out of constant "doing" mode.

Reading and learning fed my need to understand the why behind it all. (Yes, I needed to feed the intellectual part of my brain—that’s just who I am, and I honor that!) I bought books and dove into research articles, so if you want any recommendations—send me an email!

This is where I started, very simply and slowly.

This isn’t about fixing yourself or being perfectly regulated. It’s about building a relationship with your body, the type of relationship that lets you notice when you’re slipping out of connection, and gently guide yourself back.

What About You?

If you’re a clinician reading this…

• When’s the last time you checked in with your body—not to analyze it, but to feel it?
• Have you ever gone a whole day without eating or moving... and not realizing it until it’s dark out?
• Do you notice yourself tensing, holding your breath, or bracing in sessions, and just powering through?

What would it look like to tend to your needs the way you tend to your clients’?

You are a human with a body that’s been working overtime.

And the beautiful thing is reconnection is always available.

It starts with just one moment.
One breath.
One choice to notice.

Take the First Step

If you’re curious where your nervous system is at right now, I made something for you:

Download my free Clinician Nervous System Check-In.

It's a short, simple self-assessment to help you name where you’re at and what kind of support you actually need.

You don’t have to figure this out alone.

Always,
Betsy