By
2025-12-08T10:11:15.900Z
It was Friday afternoon, and I’d just hit send on my weekly report to Amazon’s Retail vice presidents, detailing what the Global Merchandising team I’d created had accomplished that week.
I was 38, and the role — which oversaw standards, best practices, and technology for Amazon’s 200+ site merchandisers — was the biggest of my life by far, one I’d been thrust into just three months after my arrival in Seattle and at Amazon.
I was thrilled (and a bit terrified) by the size of the opportunity, and threw myself into it. Two years in, my team had 18 sizable projects underway. We accomplished so much that documenting our progress in that weekly email took me hours — and yet in two years, I’d rarely received so much as a "thx" in return.
"At Amazon, …
By
2025-12-08T10:11:15.900Z
It was Friday afternoon, and I’d just hit send on my weekly report to Amazon’s Retail vice presidents, detailing what the Global Merchandising team I’d created had accomplished that week.
I was 38, and the role — which oversaw standards, best practices, and technology for Amazon’s 200+ site merchandisers — was the biggest of my life by far, one I’d been thrust into just three months after my arrival in Seattle and at Amazon.
I was thrilled (and a bit terrified) by the size of the opportunity, and threw myself into it. Two years in, my team had 18 sizable projects underway. We accomplished so much that documenting our progress in that weekly email took me hours — and yet in two years, I’d rarely received so much as a "thx" in return.
"At Amazon, silence from the top means you’re doing a good job," a colleague reminded me, with rueful humor. She was right.
But the feedback vacuum made it increasingly difficult to know if I was fulfilling my mandate. Was I moving fast enough? Still aligned with their priorities? Anxiety filled the void. I pushed myself and my team harder and took on even more.
I’d once been someone with passions — yoga, reading, arthouse movies — but all of that had faded. When I did find time for something I enjoyed, I was distracted, worried that I’d miss an urgent email. It felt easier to stay vigilant at all times.
As I stared at my email that day, I thought, *None of this actually matters *— followed by the sense that I had to keep pushing forward anyway. That if I slowed down even a little, my career would collapse.
Later in the parking garage, I stared numbly at the car in front of me when it hit me: Is this what burnout feels like?
It was. I just hadn’t realized it could happen to me.
I used to think burnout was for the weak
I was a naturally driven person who liked being busy; I thought burnout was for the weak. And at work, it was hard to distinguish between burning out and just keeping up. In school and at other jobs, I’d often wished that other people would think bigger and move faster; now I was surrounded by smart, fun, driven coworkers on that same wavelength. I rarely had a moment of boredom at Amazon, and I loved that.
But there was a dark side. Add in scarce resources, time pressure, and our inability to say no — to our bosses, to each other, and to ourselves — it was a recipe for exhaustion.
I’d been raised to believe I could do anything if I only tried hard enough. That worked out pretty well when it was roller skating or long division, but it started to work against me by high school. When I earned my first Cs, I saw it as a failure of willpower, not a sign that I had strengths and weaknesses like any other human.
I carried that harsh self-judgment through college and grad school and into the working world. My version of self-care was drinking white wine and shopping, which often drained me further.
When it dawned on me that I was burned out, I was finally able to face it. And over the next months, without ever saying a word about burnout to my boss or co-workers, I slowly pulled myself back to health.
Here’s what I did to get there.
I practiced true self-care.
Shopping is fun, but what I really needed were things like *sleep *and food. I started reading novels before bed instead of emails. I made a point of eating lunch every day, even if it was at my desk. Occasionally, I snuck out for a short walk around the block. The views and movement left me calmer.
I waited for my gentler lifestyle to blow up in my face — all that time working at a frantic pace had convinced me that slowing down would backfire terribly. But nothing happened. It didn’t seem like anyone at work even noticed, though my husband and dog did, and I even passed the occasional coworker on a walk outside the building.
The stories I’d told myself about being "found out" hadn’t been based in reality.
I learned to say no.
I couldn’t change Amazon’s culture of overwork, but I could dial back some of the work I volunteered for to be helpful and prove my worth.
I was someone who’d rarely turned down ad hoc committees or mentorship requests, especially when it could help elevate women. But those "after-school" assignments did little to advance my career. At performance review time, all that really mattered was what I’d done to grow the business.
I decided that unless an opportunity offered a clear benefit not just to Amazon but to me —or unless it was important to my boss, whom I trusted — I’d turn it down. I felt like a selfish jerk at first, but once again, the sky didn’t fall. People simply moved to the next candidate on the list.
When I did say yes, I was more engaged and effective, sitting in hiring loops for teams I was curious about and joining occasional projects to work alongside former colleagues. Fun counts as a benefit, and pleasure helps cure burnout.
A day where I laughed a lot, did work that fascinated me, or simply learned something new was a day where I* got *something instead of just giving.
I became a beginner again.
A fear of embarrassment or failure at work meant I was always ready with a fast response to any executive’s question, but it also kept me from challenging myself in new ways.
To keep stakes low, I began looking for modest challenges outside work that I could squeeze into small pockets of time, like learning to solve British-style crosswords or making a soufflé. Later, I added Italian lessons, trained for a half-marathon, and joined the board of a local nonprofit serving prison inmates.
My "electives," as I thought of them, became a safe place to make and learn from rookie errors, reminding me that being a beginner is exhilarating — and that I was more than just my job.
I got help from a pro.
I found a therapist who specialized in cognitive behavioral therapy who showed me how to distinguish between passing thoughts and objective reality.
When I thought, "If I say no to this project, someone will think I’m lazy," I learned to ask questions: Did I have evidence of that happening in the past? How about evidence of saying no and still being respected? If someone did think I was lazy, how might I cope? What would I say to a friend with the same worry?
I still experienced panicky feelings, but I stopped mistaking them for facts.
Recovering from burnout wasn’t a perfect process
My comeback from burnout was imperfect and sometimes halting. At times, it scared me to feel calm and well, so I’d dive back into frantic overwork — only to learn all over again that I wasn’t more effective that way, just busier.
I never worked up the courage to talk to my managers or peers about burnout, even though signs of it were everywhere. In a culture where exhaustion and overwork were worn as badges of honor, I feared that even broaching the topic would mark me as lazy or weak. As a leader, I wish I’d had the courage to push for a broader dialogue about burnout, but I also understand why it didn’t feel safe.
I have 2 tips for people facing burnout
In an era of mass layoffs, I hear from tech workers who feel pushed to work harder and longer than ever before to avoid losing their jobs. They know they need to pull back, but they’re afraid.
I have two pieces of advice for people in that situation. The first is to recognize that pushing through burnout won’t make you better at your job. The numb, frightened, sleepless version of you can’t fire on all cylinders, which could put your job at risk.
Prioritizing your own basic needs can be scary, but it’s critical.
Second, understand that small steps matter*. *Maybe you’re not in a position to turn down extra assignments; maybe the thought of adding an Italian class or half-marathon to your life makes you laugh hysterically to keep from crying.
But you can make sure to eat lunch. You can carve out a three-minute breathing space* *to calm your nervous system. (No one can find you in a restroom stall.) You can run modest experiments, like closing your email after a certain time in the evening, just to see how it goes.
Pick something to try, and once it becomes a habit, add something else. The benefits will slowly accumulate, and you’ll begin to recognize yourself again.
Amazon did not provide a comment for this story.
Kristi Coulter* spent 12 years at Amazon and left in 2018. She’s the author of "Exit Interview: The Life and Death of My Ambitious Career" and "Nothing Good Can Come From This."*
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