By my seventh bout of sore throat and runny nose this year, it was starting to feel like a dark rain cloud of germs was permanently hung over my head.

I searched for a neat, physical answer to my frequent ailments, but all I got was a clean bill of health from a comprehensive health checkup.

On paper, I was perfectly healthy. I was even exercising more regularly than I ever have in my adult life.

My life went on as always. I met my deadlines, went for meetings, fulfilled my commitments to my loved ones. Yet, all the while, a heaviness weighed me down.

The nights of poor sleep, lack of downtime and a recent personal tragedy I hadn’t really processed were quietly chewing me out and it wasn’t really working for me to keep insisting that I was fine, or just tired, or stressed.

The irony is that I’m fairly open about mental health support. I’ve even written a column about normalising crying in public.

The word "burnout" gets tossed around easily among my peers, but I realised that I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant – or even how to recognise it if it was indeed happening to me.

A quick Google search surfaced a few helpful albeit depressing infographics for self-identifying burnout. Most of them highlighted the same symptoms: exhaustion, dreading work, trouble sleeping, no time for non-work related things, irritability, frequent illness.

It felt uncomfortably accurate, like that old Facebook option when reporting a photo: I’m in this picture, and I don’t like it.

SO MUCH ON OUR PLATES

As much as I have gripes with the term "strawberry generation", a part of me often wonders if I am proving the stereotype right.

The "strawberry generation" label, generally applied to those born from the mid-1980s to 1990s, likens these cohorts to the delicate fruit’s outer layer, easily bruised and fragile.

Are younger workers** **really all that much "softer", unable to cope with hardships and stress, or seen as lazy?

Perhaps my natural instinct is to protest this notion because, as a struggling Gen Z worker in my 20s and holding on to my second job, I have skin in the game.

Yet, among young workers, burnout is fast becoming not the exception but the norm.

Today’s young adults are navigating so much beyond what’s on their plates at work: economic volatility and instability, the responsibilities of caring for ageing parents and relatives, and much more.

In 2024, a survey of Singapore workers by human resource solutions firm Employment Hero found that 61 per cent of respondents experienced burnout because of work in the past three months. But that number jumps significantly higher when you break it down by age group: 68 per cent of Gen Z workers and 65 per cent of millennials (also known as Gen Y, born between 1981 and 1996).

All around me, I see my peers stretched thin by long hours, attending to work calls and messages even on weekends and holidays, and fraying under the weight of ambiguous expectations from bosses and colleagues alike. All the while, finding and switching jobs just keeps getting tougher.

Contrary to what many people may be picturing, burnout is not a single, dramatic collapse. It is death by a thousand cuts.

Can we really be both lazy and burnt out? Burnout, by definition, is a state of prolonged exhaustion – one that must surely be preceded by effort or exertion of some sort. It assumes you were trying.

And work is only one element in a much wider landscape of stress.

Today’s young adults are navigating so much beyond what’s on their plates at work: economic volatility and instability, the responsibilities of caring for ageing parents and relatives, and much more.

MENTAL HEALTH IS NOT A "YOUNG PERSON’S PROBLEM"

The World Health Organization (WHO) classifies burnout as a syndrome and not a medical or mental illness. However, burnout can be a cause for poor mental health and a risk factor for developing mental health conditions such as depression or anxiety.

WHO reports that globally, an estimated 12 billion working days are lost every year to depression and anxiety – at a cost of US$1 trillion (S$1.28 trillion) a year in lost productivity.

Against this backdrop, "mental health support" has become a workplace buzz phrase of its own – perhaps to the point where it is becoming just another fad.

It’s not new to hear older relatives or colleagues opine that their juniors are softer. Facing the "back in my day…" arguments is practically a rite of passage for young adults not just in the workplace, but extended family gatherings, too.

True, we all need to cut our teeth on certain challenges in order to grow.

However, millennial and Gen Z workers are navigating a working world that is changing faster than before. Certain obstacles and hardships are just no longer necessary today, and don’t make the same sense as they did before – for instance, painstaking data entry tasks have been handily automated in many of today’s workplaces.

It is therefore not entirely productive or helpful to make such flat comparisons.

Better mental-health support at work is something previous generations might have benefitted from as well when they first entered the workforce.

WHAT KEEPS ME GOING

Truth be told, I don’t know if I would have realised my frequent flu symptoms were getting out of hand if it weren’t for the concern of those around me.

Colleagues, managers and friends rallied around me with advice, immunity-boosting juice shots, vitamins and various herbal remedies and check-ins about whether I had finally seen the doctor. There were even offers to take on specific tasks so that I could rest through an uninterrupted day when I was on medical leave.

It was a bit embarrassing to feel like the "office sickly child". And I sometimes wondered if I was blowing a simple cold out of proportion. But it was also comforting that those around me were affirming the need to rest.

These small, thoughtful gestures helped me feel more motivated at work.

I still remember an editor who checked on me after I covered a court case that had some heartbreaking details. That short conversation felt like a vital acknowledgement: We are professionals doing our jobs, but we are still human beings.

I count myself lucky that I’m surrounded by colleagues who value kindness and empathy. But more importantly, these small moments of connection taught me that** **mental health support in the workplace doesn’t have to be complicated or burdensome.

EMPATHY GOES BOTH WAYS

If small frictions can wear us down, small gestures can also build us up.

I’m all for a sponsored workshop or two, but really, we don’t need elaborate, expensive programmes. One-off initiatives can even feel more like "well-being-washing" – a performance of care rather than the practice of it, especially since they don’t help you through the day-to-day drudgery.

A single mindfulness webinar cannot undo ambiguous boundaries, chronic overwork or a workplace culture that prizes "busyness". For toxic workplaces, the best thing you can do for your mental health might be to leave.

Instead, we need practical, consistent support that makes a difference in not just what we do at work, but how we do it.

Now, bosses shouldn’t be expected to become therapists, but managers don’t have to be mental health experts to be able to provide useful support.

Peers tell me that they have been encouraged by supervisors who set healthy, clear expectations and boundaries, or communicate their own struggles, empathising with what it felt like to be overwhelmed in their own early years of working or even now.

At the same time, I have learnt as a young worker that I need to communicate my needs, know my limits and self-advocate.

Support isn’t static, but a conversation can lead to a meaningful outcome only** **if employees and managers reflect on what practical accommodations they are asking for or able to provide.

Empathy must go both ways as well. We can acknowledge that our managers have families, worries and days when they are not at their best. Across ranks, recognising one another’s humanity can hopefully build a far healthier culture than any human resource policy.

We don’t have to pretend our workplaces are our families. A simple check-in, a word of commiseration, or someone noticing your struggle can make you feel far less alone.

Each of us can – and should – do better for one another.