I used to think burnout was a personal problem.
Something you handled quietly, took a vacation, maybe saw a therapist. I never imagined one person’s burnout could hijack someone else’s life.
I’m Lauren, 34 now. This unfolded from mid-2023 through early 2025 at Vertex Analytics, a data-consulting firm in Seattle. I was a senior data analyst — good at my job, liked my team, decent work-life balance. Salary $110k, hybrid schedule, supportive manager named Sarah.
My coworker Alex — same level, same team — was the star.
He’d been there two years longer, knew every client, built half our dashboards. Clients asked for him by name. He worked late, answered emails at midnight, volunteered for every new project. Everyone called him “the closer.”
I admired him. We grabbed coffee sometimes, complained about tricky datasets, celebrated wins together.
Then, in summer 2023, I noticed changes.
Alex looked exhausted — dark circles, weight loss, snapping at small things. He’d forget meetings, miss deadlines he used to crush. When I asked, “You okay?” he’d brush it off: “Just busy season.”
By fall, he was barely functional.
Coming in late, leaving early, or not showing up. Emails unread for days. Projects stalled. Clients complaining.
Sarah pulled him into one-on-ones. He admitted burnout — said he’d been struggling with anxiety, sleep issues, feeling overwhelmed.
Company offered EAP counseling, reduced hours, even unpaid leave.
He declined leave — “Can’t let the team down.”
Instead, he kept pushing… until he broke.
In January 2024, Alex ghosted.
No call, no email — just stopped showing up.
Sarah texted him. Nothing.
Called — went to voicemail.
Finally, a week later, an email from him: “I can’t do this anymore. I’m taking indefinite medical leave. I’m sorry.”
No timeline. No transition plan.
Just gone.
And his workload — 60% of our team’s client portfolio — landed on me.
Sarah sat me down: “Lauren, you know Alex’s accounts best. We need you to step up until we backfill.”
I said yes.
I always say yes.
At first, it was “temporary.”
Cover his clients, keep things running, train the new junior analyst they hired in March.
But the junior was green — needed hand-holding.
Clients were upset — “Where’s Alex? His dashboards were better.”
Deadlines piled up.
My days went from 40 hours to 60, then 70.
Nights and weekends answering urgent emails, rebuilding reports Alex had owned.
Sarah praised me: “You’re a lifesaver. Big bonus this year.”
But no extra pay yet. No reduced scope on my own projects.
By summer 2024, I was drowning.
Panic attacks before big client calls. Crying in the bathroom. Forgetting to eat. Gaining weight from stress and takeout.
My husband begged me to push back.
I finally did — August 2024 meeting with Sarah and HR.
“I can’t sustain this. I’m burning out too.”
Sarah: “We’re interviewing for Alex’s replacement. Just a few more months.”
Alex, meanwhile, posted vague Instagram updates — beach photos, “healing journey,” no mention of work.
He’d taken full short-term disability — paid leave for mental health.
Good for him. Really.
But no one covered my mental health.
By December 2024, still no replacement.
Junior quit — “too much pressure.”
I was doing three jobs.
Performance review: “Exceeds expectations” — 8% raise.
Not enough to cover therapy copays.
I started interviewing elsewhere.
Got an offer in February 2025 — senior role at a competitor, 30% raise, fully remote.
Gave notice.
Sarah was stunned: “We were just about to promote you!”
I said, “You were about to lose me to a hospital.”
They counteroffered — more money, reduced hours, promise to hire two people.
Too late.
I left in March 2025.
Heard later they still haven’t replaced Alex fully — team down to three people carrying five workloads.
Alex? Posted in June 2025 he’s “pursuing passion projects” — travel blogging.
Good for him.
I’m at the new job now.
40-hour weeks. Boundaries. Therapy covered.
But I still flinch when I see unread emails pile up.
I learned burnout isn’t just personal.
It’s contagious.
When one person breaks and the company doesn’t protect the rest — someone else pays the price.
I supported Alex when he was struggling.
No one supported me when I became the collateral damage.
I don’t blame him for prioritizing his health.
I blame the system that let one person’s exit become another person’s overload.
And the manager who saw it happening — and called it “stepping up.”
My coworker’s burnout didn’t just affect him.
It almost ended my career too.
Because in corporate America, when someone taps out…
Someone else is expected to carry the weight.
Until they break too.
TL;DR: My high-performing coworker burned out and went on indefinite leave without transition. His entire client workload fell to me for over a year while the company delayed hiring a replacement. The unsustainable double duty led to my own burnout; I eventually left for a better job despite counteroffers. One person’s breakdown became my burden — with no support from management.
