Is working remotely really the introvert’s dream and the extrovert’s nightmare?
With so many people, nearly three years after the pandemic still working remotely, by choice, it might seem as if the statement above might well be true. Not for me, though. I consider myself an inveterate introvert, and I spend long hours working on my own, marketing my Camino de Santiago walking retreats, but I also need regular contact with friends and family to keep me grounded.
When I met my friend Hannah for coffee at our favourite bistro, I discovered I wasn’t the only one. According to Hannah, she had always felt out of place in the office. Open-plan desks, forced conversations about last night’s Netflix binge, and the dreaded “Happy Birthday” singalongs—none of it was her scene. So, when her company announced they were offering permanent remote work, she couldn’t sign up fast enough.
No more awkward coffee breaks. No more Karen from HR asking if she had “big plans for the weekend.”
The first week was everything she’d dreamed of. She woke up to birdsong instead of her alarm, brewed her own coffee instead of suffering through whatever tar-like concoction the office kitchen offered, and basked in the absence of small talk. She didn’t even mind that she spent half the day on Zoom. Turning her camera off and pretending to listen was far easier than surviving in-person brainstorming sessions.
By week two, cracks started to show.
Hannah, much to her own surprise, missed the routine of the commute. Now, her days started in a haze of endless sameness. Bedroom to laptop. Laptop to kitchen. Kitchen to couch. And back again.
The silence, once soothing, became oppressive. She noticed how loud her apartment was: the constant hum of the fridge, the neighbour’s dog barking, and the faint screech of tyres on the street. She tried to listen to music to fill the void, but it only made her more aware of how quiet her world had become.
By the end of the third week, Hannah realised she hadn’t seen or spoken to another human being fat-to-face for days. She appreciated the presence of her cat enormously, but although he talked a lot, he wasn’t always understandable. The realisation hit hard. She started lingering on Zoom calls just to hear voices, even if they were discussing budgets or quarterly KPIs.
She thought working remotely would free her, but instead, it felt like a cage she’d willingly locked herself into.
Desperate for connection, she started visiting a local coffee shop with her laptop. The hum of conversations, the hiss of the espresso machine—it all felt oddly comforting. She didn’t talk to anyone, of course, but being around people reminded her that she was still part of the world.
Eventually, she joined a coworking space. Just a couple of days a week, enough to strike a balance. Hannah wasn’t ready to give up her solitude entirely, but she’d learned a hard truth: isolation, even for an introvert, wasn’t as blissful as she thought it would be.
By the time her first day at the coworking space ended, she felt lighter, more human. And when a stranger in a striped shirt asked if the seat next to her was taken, Hannah did something she never thought she’d do.
She smiled and said, “Go for it.”
My own experience, mirrored by Hannah’s experience, made me think. I thought about Carl Jung said about Introverts vs. Extroverts: “… introversion and extroversion are the foundation of personality, the building blocks that influence the way we live, work and interact with others. Introverts are attracted to the inner world of ideas, thoughts and emotions, while extroverts are attracted to a vibrant social life and group activities.” That much is clear. But Carl Jung also said, “”There is no such thing as a pure introvert or a pure extrovert. Such a man would be condemned to spend his life in an asylum.”
Seems to me that introversion and extroversion should be seen as a spectrum with introverts on one end, extroverts on another and ambiverts somewhere in the middle. Also, in certain situations, an introvert can respond like an extrovert, and vice versa. Sometimes, introverts need connection and extroverts need solitude.
Sohow does the existence of this spectrum influence our approach to working remotely?
The shift to remote and hybrid work has dramatically reshaped the professional landscape, affecting introverts and extroverts in distinctly different ways. This new work paradigm has created a unique set of challenges and opportunities for both personality types, fundamentally altering their productivity.
Introverts, who typically thrive in quiet, controlled environments, have found remote work to be a sanctuary away from the hustle and bustle of traditional office settings. The ability to work from home has provided them with a peaceful atmosphere that aligns well with their natural tendencies, allowing for increased focus and productivity. Introverts appreciate the reduced social pressure and the freedom to communicate on their own terms, whether through email, messaging apps, or scheduled video calls.
On the other hand, extroverts have faced significant challenges in adapting to remote work. The lack of in-person interaction and the absence of a dynamic office environment has left many extroverts feeling isolated and less motivated. Extroverts often draw energy from social interactions and collaborative environments, which are less readily available in a remote setting. This shift has led to decreased productivity and increased feelings of disconnection for many extroverts. Many report feeling disconnected from their teams and missing the spontaneous conversations that once punctuated their workday. As Sarah Martinez, a sales executive, shares, “I miss the energy of the office. Video calls just aren’t the same as stopping by someone’s desk for a quick chat.”
Enter the hybrid work model. Introverts may opt to work remotely more often, enjoying the solitude and ability to control their social interactions. Extroverts, in contrast, can return to the office, seeking out the face-to-face interactions and collaborative atmosphere they crave.
The transition to remote and hybrid work has also impacted communication styles. Introverts may find virtual meetings less overwhelming, as they can participate without the pressure of constant face-to-face interaction. Extroverts, however, might struggle with the limited non-verbal cues in virtual settings and the reduced opportunities for spontaneous conversations.
Balancing the benefits of remote work for introverts with the need for social interaction for extroverts has become a key challenge in creating effective and inclusive work environments.
Today, introverts are valued employees of many companies, which are looking for managers with soft skills. Published in 2013, the book Quiet (The Power of Discretion: The Power of Introverts in an Overly Talkative World), by the American Susan Cain, marks the beginning of the “silent revolution” of introverts. In this book, which remained on the US bestseller list for almost two years, she demonstrates, through surveys of psychologists, anthropologists and sociologists, the value of introverts, whose creativity fuels business, the arts and politics. Her TED talk has been viewed nearly 30 million times.
All this seemed pretty straightforward until Myers-Briggs discovered in a recent study, conducted by John Hackston, Head of Thought Leadership at The Myers-Briggs Company, that 82 per cent of extroverted workers would prefer a hybrid work model, with 15 per cent actually preferring full-time remote work. Self-described introverts, on the other hand — a whopping 74 per cent of them — said they wanted to be in the office at least part-time.
So, how does remote work impact introverts specifically? What advantages do they enjoy, and what hurdles must they overcome? And most importantly, how can they minimise the downsides to thrive in their professional and personal lives?
The Introvert’s Perspective: Opportunities
For many introverts, remote work has been a revelation. The elimination of open-office distractions and the ability to control their environment has led to increased job satisfaction. Without the constant buzz of office activity, introverts can focus on their tasks without the energy drain of constant social interaction.
For introverts, remote work offers undeniable perks.
A Distraction-Free Environment Without the constant chatter of colleagues or the need to participate in spontaneous discussions, introverts can focus on their tasks. This environment allows for heightened productivity and creativity, as introverts excel in settings where they can work uninterrupted.
Control Over Workspace and Schedule Being at home means having the freedom to design a workspace that feels comfortable and supportive. Introverts can customise their day to include moments of quiet reflection, aligning work rhythms with their natural energy cycles.
Reduced Pressure for Socialising Introverts often feel drained by excessive small talk or obligatory networking events. Gone are the days of forced small talk around the water cooler. Working remotely eliminates many of these stressors, enabling them to conserve energy for what truly matters.
These advantages make remote work appealing for introverts, but they don’t tell the whole story.
The Introvert’s Perspective: Challenges
While remote work initially feels like an introvert’s dream, it can also present unique challenges. It certainly isn’t without its pitfalls for introverts. The very aspects that make it appealing can also create unexpected difficulties: without the natural boundaries of a physical office, many introverts find themselves working longer hours, struggling to disconnect from work when it’s always within reach.
Blurred Boundaries Between Work and Life Without a clear division between the office and home, introverts may find themselves working longer hours, leading to fatigue. The sanctuary of home life can become overshadowed by work demands, disrupting the balance they need to thrive.
Limited Professional Visibility Introverts may unintentionally fade into the background in a remote setting, missing opportunities to showcase their contributions or build relationships with colleagues and leaders. The limited face-to-face interaction can lead to decreased visibility within their organisations, potentially impacting career advancement opportunities.
Isolation and Loneliness While introverts value solitude, they still require meaningful connections. The absence of regular face-to-face interaction can lead to emotional disconnection and feelings of being undervalued or unsupported.
These challenges can accumulate over time, leaving introverts feeling drained and even burnt out.
The Burnout Factor
One of the most overlooked risks for introverts in remote work is burnout. Paradoxically, the very environment that feels comfortable can contribute to their exhaustion. Without clear boundaries, introverts often overcompensate, working harder to ensure their contributions are recognised. Combined with a lack of social interaction, this can lead to feelings of isolation, stress, and diminished well-being. The constant need to be “on” for video calls, combined with the pressure to maintain visibility in a virtual environment, can drain introverts’ energy reserves more quickly than traditional office work.
This is where structured support can make all the difference. My course, ‘Building Resilience – a Roadmap from Burnout to Breakthrough during a Life Transition,’ is designed to help professionals— especially introverts—overcome these challenges. It offers practical tools to set boundaries, manage stress, and cultivate sustainable self-care practices. By increasing their resilience, introverts can not only prevent burnout but also thrive in their remote work environment.
Coping with the Challenges: Practical Tips for Introverts
To thrive in remote work environments, introverts can implement several key strategies:
Set Clear Work-Life Boundaries
Designate a specific workspace to create physical separation from your personal life.
Establish fixed working hours and commit to “clocking out” at the end of the day.
Schedule Regular Breaks
Regular breaks throughout the day are essential for maintaining energy levels. These breaks should be scheduled rather than left to chance, ensuring they actually happen.
Use these breaks to step outside, stretch, or take a short walk – this can help reset mental focus and prevent the fatigue that comes from extended screen time.
Stay Connected
Schedule one-on-one virtual coffee chats with colleagues to maintain a sense of camaraderie.
Participate in team meetings and contribute thoughtfully. These controlled interactions allow you to maintain visibility while managing your energy levels.
Leverage Technology
Technology can be a powerful ally in this environment.
Using productivity tools to automate routine tasks, manage notifications, and organise work can reduce mental clutter and preserve energy for more important activities.
Experiment with apps like Slack or Microsoft Teams to maintain open communication without being overwhelmed.
Prioritise Self-Care
Dedicate time to hobbies, exercise, and activities that nourish your mental health.
Explore resources to gain deeper insights into managing stress and building lasting well-being.
Conclusion: Thriving as an Introvert working (mostly) @Home
Remote work offers unique advantages for introverts, but success requires intentional strategy and self-awareness. By acknowledging both the benefits and challenges of this work style, introverts can create systems and habits that support their natural tendencies while protecting against potential pitfalls.
The key lies in leveraging introverted strengths – such as intense focus and thoughtful communication – while actively managing the risks of isolation and burnout. Resources like the Roadmap to Resilience course provide valuable support in this journey, offering structured approaches to maintaining well-being and professional effectiveness in a remote environment.
As the workplace continues to evolve, introverts have a unique opportunity to thrive in ways that weren’t always possible in traditional office settings. By embracing their natural tendencies while staying mindful of potential challenges, introverts can create a sustainable and rewarding remote work experience that supports both their professional growth and personal well-being.
Dr Margaretha Montagu – MBChB, MRCGP, NLP Master Pract cert, Transformational Life Coach dip, Counselling cert, Med Hyp Dip and EAGALA cert
In addition to the Camino de Santiago retreats that I host at my little French farm southwest of Bordeaux, I have also created 7 online courses, ex.The Purpose Protocols, The Roadmap to Resilience – from Burnout to Brilliance Protocol and The Change Careers without Starting from Scratch – each course is available with or without one-to-one support. To stay in contact, I invite you to subscribe to my newsletter, you’ll get immediate access to my free life crisis quiz.
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I knew I was in trouble when my left ankle, safely encased in a brand new hiking boot started whispering “I hate you!” by mile three. Okay, it wasn’t literally whispering, but it might as well have been, considering the blister situation brewing on my heel. Welcome to my first day walking the Camino de Santiago—where dreams of spiritual enlightenment collide head-on with the harsh reality of unbroken shoes.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me rewind.
Why the Heck I Decided to Do This
So, picture this: me, a woman in her 50s, sitting in my kitchen with a cup of tea, staring down the uneven barrel of a life transition. Kids? Grown and out of the house (well, mostly—one boomerangs back when she needs help with her laundry). Career? Let’s just say I wasn’t feeling the love. Relationship? Yeah… let’s not open that Pandora’s box just yet.
I wanted inspiration, clarity, purpose, some kind of sign that the next chapter wasn’t going to involve me knitting in a recliner while binge-watching Murder, She Wrote reruns. (No offence, Jessica Fletcher, but I need more action in my life.)
That’s when I stumbled upon an article about a retreat walking a section of the Camino de Santiago, a centuries-old pilgrimage that winds through the southwest of France on it’s way to Spain. The photos looked like postcards: sunflower fields, charming stone villages, and people beaming with the kind of joy that comes from surviving walking 500 miles with a backpack that’s either too heavy or too small.
I thought, If they can do it, so can I. Plus, walking sounded simple. You just put one foot in front of the other, right? Spoiler alert: it’s not that simple.
Day One: The Blister Chronicles
Fast forward to me, sweating my way up a gentle incline (read: Mount Everest in disguise) on my first day. The romantic visions I had of strolling through quaint villages? Replaced by the grim reality of cursing every pebble on the path.
By lunchtime, I had my first blister. By dinnertime, I had named it Fred and was seriously considering amputating my foot. Fred was mean, persistent, and not shy about demanding attention with every step. But here’s the thing about the Camino: when you’re surrounded by fellow pilgrims, everyone’s in the same boat—or rather, on the same path.
At one point, I stopped to patch Fred up, and a fellow walker—an energetic Italian woman named Sofia—offered me her blister cream. “The Camino gives you what you need,” she said with a wink, handing me the tiny tube.
I wasn’t sure if it was divine intervention or just good timing, but the gesture made me tear up a little.
The People You Meet (and the Snacks You Steal)
Walking for hours a day gives you plenty of time to think—or to eavesdrop on conversations, which is what I did whenever I caught up to other pilgrims. (What? Don’t judge me; the Camino can get lonely!) I overheard deep discussions about philosophy, hilarious debates about which albergue had the best wine, and one particularly spirited argument about whether or not snoring should be a criminal offence in shared dorms.
Then there were the snacks. Let me just say, I became a bit of a Camino snack ninja. If someone brought out a bag of trail mix, I’d conveniently slow down to “enjoy the view” until I was close enough to sneak a handful. Hey, walking burns a lot of calories!
But the real magic came from the moments of connection. Like when I bonded with a retired teacher from Canada over our shared love of cheesy rom-coms. Or when a young guy from Germany told me he was walking to figure out what to do after quitting his tech job. His honesty floored me, and it made me wonder if maybe I needed to ask myself some hard questions too.
Lessons from the Trail (and the Time I Almost Quit)
The third day nearly broke me. My legs felt like lead, the rain wouldn’t stop, and Fred (remember the blister?) had blossomed into a blister barnacle. I wanted to quit. I even googled “nearest taxi service” during a water break.
But then I looked up and saw a signpost with the word Spain and an arrow pointing the way. It hit me: this wasn’t about getting there as fast as possible. It wasn’t about proving anything to anyone. It was about the journey itself. (Yes, I know that sounds like a line from a self-help book, but stay with me.)
I put my phone away and kept walking.
That day, I crossed paths with a French woman in her 60s who’d been walking the Camino for two months. TWO MONTHS. She told me she started because she wanted to “find her joy again.” And you know what? She was the happiest person I’d met on the trail.
Her story reminded me that it’s okay to feel lost. It’s okay to not have everything figured out. Sometimes, you just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, even if your feet are covered in Band-Aids.
When I finally reached the end, I expected fireworks, a choir of angels, or at least someone handing out free beers. Instead, I got a quiet sense of peace that crept over me as I stood in the shadow of an ancient oak tree.
It didn’t magically solve all my problems. My job was still waiting for me, my relationships still needed work, and my life still had plenty of question marks. But I felt lighter, more open, and—dare I say it—a little braver.
The Camino didn’t fix me. It didn’t hand me a roadmap for the rest of my life. But it reminded me that I’m capable of more than I think. And sometimes, this time, that’s enough.
So, if you’re sitting in your kitchen with a cup of tea, wondering who you are now and what’s next, maybe the answers aren’t clear right now. But trust me, at least some of the answers are out there on the Camino—waiting for you to take the first step.
Don’t forget the blister cream. And more snacks than you think you’ll ever need.
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“Life transitions are the times in our lives when we don’t know how to tell the stories of our lives anymore.” Bruce Feiler
Are you thriving or just surviving in this grand, chaotic saga of life transitions? Maybe you’re thriving, you’re out there, radiating positive energy, waking up early, and somehow managing to do things like “morning routines” and “self-care Sundays.” People see you and think, Wow, they’re really nailing this whole adulting thing. You’re one green smoothie away from full enlightenment. You’ve got plants that aren’t dead. You make “change” look like a fresh Instagram reel, complete with upbeat music and perfectly filtered light.
Maybe you’re somewhere between striving and barely surviving. You’re getting through your “transition” with a survival kit of coffee, Netflix, and the occasional breakdown in the bathroom. Your motivational mantra sounds something like, “Today… we did not cry in public. Small wins.” Maybe you’ve Googled “how much stress is too much stress,” or taken up a new hobby like staring into space and sighing deeply. When someone says, “Wow, you’re handling this so well,” you laugh just a little too hard, maybe even tear up a bit.
The truth is, life transitions don’t come with a manual. It’s a high-stakes choose-your-own-adventure book, and half the time, you’re flipping back to the last chapter trying to figure out how you got here. Thriving? Striving? Surviving? It’s all relative. One day you’re a self-care icon, the next day you’re eating ice cream for dinner and calling it “self-compassion.”
So let’s raise a glass (or a coffee mug, or a pint of ice cream) to life transitions. Whether you’re out there thriving like a success story or striving like a sleep-deprived squirrel, you’re doing great. Keep going. Or at least keep caffeinated.
12Unconventional self-care activities that can enhance resilience during challenging times:
Bird Watching: Engaging in bird watching can improve well-being by connecting you with nature and fostering mindfulness. Setting up a bird feeder or exploring local parks can be both relaxing and intellectually stimulating.
Tai Chi: This meditative martial art combines gentle movements with deep breathing, promoting relaxation and mental clarity. Classes in local parks can enhance the experience by connecting you with nature.
Woodworking: This hands-on activity demands focus and creativity, making it an effective way to relieve stress. The repetitive nature of woodworking can be meditative and fulfilling.
Online Learning for Career Change: If work-related stress is a concern, consider enrolling in an online course to explore new career opportunities. This proactive step can provide a sense of control and purpose.
Cold Water Immersion: Regularly exposing yourself to cold water through showers or baths can build mental resilience and improve your overall stress response (not entirely convinced about this one! but some people swear by it.)
Laughter Journaling: Spend time each day reflecting on funny experiences or jokes. Documenting these moments can boost your mood and foster a positive outlook on life.
Improv Comedy Classes: Participating in improv can enhance your ability to think on your feet and embrace uncertainty, which is crucial during life changes.
Mindful Coloring: Using adult colouring books can reduce anxiety and promote mindfulness, allowing you to focus on a simple, enjoyable task. Download Esprit Meraki’s Colouring Book
Engaging in DIY Projects: Taking on creative projects at home can provide a sense of accomplishment and allow for self-expression, which is beneficial for emotional health.
Nature Camping Trips: Disconnecting from technology and spending time in nature can rejuvenate your spirit and help you gain perspective on your challenges.
Experimenting with Sensory Deprivation: Activities like floating in sensory deprivation tanks can enhance self-awareness and emotional regulation, providing a unique way to recharge mentally.
Storytelling: Instead of journaling about stressors, try writing your own stories. This form of escapism provides you with a sense of purpose while diverting attention from your anxiety.
Incorporating these unconventional self-care activities into your routine can help bolster resilience, allowing you to navigate life’s changes with greater resilience.
About no 12: Can Storytelling really Increase Your Resilience?
Absolutely. It’s like free therapy with a dash of creative rebellion.
When you tell your story—really tell it, not just the Instagram-filtered highlights—you’re giving yourself a chance to see your life from the outside. To find humour in the mess, meaning in the monotony, and, maybe, a bit of strength in the parts you thought were too broken to save. You get to piece it all together, decide what matters, and let go of the rest.
Storytelling also rewires your inner narrative. Instead of feeling like life’s just happening to you, you take the pen back. You get to be the hero, the plot twist, the storyteller who owns every step of the journey.
And here’s the best part: when you tell your story, you don’t just help yourself—you offer others a mirror, a laugh, a me too. Storytelling becomes a connection, a release, and a reminder that you’re not in this alone.
Storytelling can be a powerful tool for improving resilience in several ways:
Creating Coherence and Meaning
Storytelling helps you create coherence in your life by organising past experiences into a structured narrative. This process allows you to make sense of your past, present, and future, providing a stable sense of identity and values. By understanding your own stories, you can better cope with stress and trauma, reducing feelings of confusion and overwhelm.
Fostering Connection and Support
Sharing personal stories can strengthen connections with others by building trust and increasing understanding. This shared vulnerability fosters deeper relationships and creates supportive networks that are crucial during challenging times. Storytelling also allows you to celebrate their hardiness and resilience, reinforcing positive self-perception.
Inspiring Action and Motivation
Crafting narratives about desired outcomes or ideal futures can motivate you to take action. By envisioning a compelling story of change or success, you can clarify your vision, set intentions, and influence both yourself and others to pursue their passions. This process ignites determination and provides direction during times of uncertainty.
Enhancing Emotional Insight
Storytelling encourages emotional insight by allowing you to acknowledge and understand your emotions. This process can lead to greater emotional regulation and resilience by helping you separate yourself from your problems and view them from a new perspective.
Stimulating Growth and Learning
Through storytelling, you can reflect on your past experiences, which promotes personal growth and learning. This reflection helps you adapt to new situations, overcome obstacles, and achieve goals, enhancing your sense of competence and confidence. By recounting stories of difficulty and adversity, you can gain insights into your resilience strategies and apply them to future challenges.
Overall, storytelling serves as a multifaceted approach to building resilience by promoting coherence, connection, growth, action, and emotional insight.
Actually, Storytelling plays a crucial role in Personal Growth in several key ways:
Creating Meaning and Identity
First, it helps you to create meaning and identity by making sense of your experiences. By organising past events into structured narratives, you can establish a stable sense of self and values, find meaning in difficult experiences, and gain perspective on your journey. This process of crafting your life story contributes significantly to self-understanding and personal growth.
Encourages Self-reflection and provides Insight
Additionally, storytelling fosters self-reflection and insight. The act of telling your story encourages deep introspection, leading to greater emotional awareness and self-understanding. It helps you identify patterns in your behaviour and decision-making, recognise personal strengths, and pinpoint areas for growth. This reflective process is essential for personal development and can result in positive changes in your attitude and behaviour.
Fine-tune your Coping Skills
Storytelling also fine-tunes your coping skills. Sharing stories of overcoming challenges reinforces your ability to handle adversity, providing a sense of control over past events while offering perspective on current difficulties. By recounting stories of past resilience, you can cultivate confidence in your capacity to face future challenges.
Enhances your Communication Skills
Storytelling also enhances your communication skills and creates deeper social connections. It develops the ability to express your thoughts and emotions effectively while creating understanding between you and your listeners. This improved communication builds trust and intimacy in relationships, which is vital for your mental well-being.
Promotes Flexibility and Adaptability
Stories serve as powerful tools for learning and adaptability. They help you to learn from others’ experiences, encouraging the exploration of new perspectives and original ideas. This process facilitates the integration of new knowledge into your existing mental frameworks, promoting flexibility and adaptability.
Storytelling is such a powerful tool. It helps you to understand yourself, connect with others, build resilience, learn, and inspire change. Storytelling allows you to actively shape your narrative and foster continuous growth throughout your life. An d compelling personal stories, no matter how messy, can inspire action and eventually positive change in others.
How Storytelling can be transformative, especially during Life Transitions:
Career Change: Maybe you are leaving a corporate job. Sara did, to open a coffee-cum-bookshop, and storytelling helped her to frame her decision as a journey of self-discovery. Sharing the story of why she left her previous role and what inspired her new venture gives her a sense of purpose. It also helps her connect with future customers who resonate with her new beginning.
Ending a Long-Term Relationship: If you are struggling at the end of a relationship, storytelling can provide a way to reflect on what happened during the relationship and what lessons you learned and can carry forward. By framing the transition as an empowering narrative of self-discovery, you can shift from feeling loss to seeing the potential for a new, better aligned future.
Empty Nest: If you are facing an empty nest, you can reframe your role by telling the story of the journey from nurturing children to supporting young adults. Sharing this story with your friends, your community, or just writing it all down can help allow you to see your continued importance in your children’s lives, shifting the narrative from “losing purpose” to “evolving purpose.”
Overcoming Burnout: When facing burnout, storytelling can allow you to process how you reached that point and envision a recovery path. Sharing your story in a support group or journaling through the experience can help you understand your boundaries and the patterns that led to burnout, so you can create a healthier work-life balance going forward.
Rediscovering Purpose: Some of my Walking and Writing retreat guests have used storytelling to reflect on their life path, rediscover what brings them fulfilment, and uncover their “next chapter.” As they share this journey, it often becomes a narrative of finding direction, letting go of past doubts, and embracing a renewed sense of purpose.
Storytelling during life transitions is like drawing a map from where you’ve been to where you want to go, helping you see challenges as parts of a larger story, the story of your life.
Author Bio: Dr Margaretha Montagu – described as a “game changer”, “gifted healer”, “guiding light” and “life-enriching author” – is an experienced medical doctor, a certified NLP practitioner, a medical hypnotherapist, an equine-assisted psychotherapist (EAGALAcertified) and a transformational retreat leader who guides her clients through life transitions – virtually, or with the assistance of her Friesian and Falabella horses, at their home in the southwest of France.
When asked what I do, here in the deepest rural southwest of France, I usually reply that I host retreats, onsite but also online, for those who can’t escape to the south of France at the moment, to help my guests deal effectively with stress, specifically the stress that is caused by going through a life transition. My retreats are different from other similar retreats because I have two unique “aids:” a small herd of Friesian horses and the Camino de Santiago de Compostela on my doorstep.
Life transitions can be challenging and overwhelming, as they often involve significant change, uncertainty, insecurity and a range of complex emotions. Whether it’s starting a new job, getting married or divorced, becoming a parent for the first time or coping with an empty nest, moving to a new city or country, retiring from work or dealing with the loss of a loved one, managing a chronic illness, recovering from surgery, a significant inheritance or bankruptcy or starting a new business, navigating these transitions requires resilience and inner strength. In this blog post, we will explore the powerful role that interacting with horses can play in helping us find strength and build resilience during life transitions.
Emotionally, life transitions can have a profound impact on us. They often stir up a mixture of emotions, such as excitement, anticipation, joy, fear, anxiety, confusion, sadness, frustration, impatience, anger and even grief. The process of transitioning from one phase of life to another can be daunting, as it involves navigating unfamiliar territory, letting go of what we know and trust, and embracing (sometimes major) change. The inherent stress and uncertainty associated with these transitions can sometimes feel overwhelming, leaving us feeling vulnerable, uncertain, and lacking security and stability. It is during these times that horses can make an enormous difference.
Horses, as highly perceptive and sensitive prey animals, possess a remarkable ability to offer non-judgmental support that fosters deep emotional connection and trust. Their innate sensitivity allows them to sense and respond to subtle cues from us, offering us a soundboard to bounce our emotions off.
As always, my horses support me during my life transitions, but it was only when I realised that my most recent life change is a tremendous opportunity to become more emotionally resilient that I stopped feeling as if I was trying to ride a bucking horse.
What a liberating feeling! I got off the horse and got on with my life.
When my retreat guests interact with my Friesian horses during life transitions, they often experience a similar positive impact on their emotional well-being.
The bonding process with horses is a transformative journey in itself, much like walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela. Horses have an uncanny ability to tune into human emotions and reflect them back without prejudice. This creates a safe and supportive space for us to express and explore our feelings. Horses provide immediate feedback through body language and behaviour so that my guests can gain valuable insights into the complex emotions that arise during life transitions.
Horses offer a safe space for my guests to practice emotional regulation. When we are able to regulate our emotions, communicate calmly, and remain present in the moment, horses respond positively. This interaction provides a tangible experience of emotional regulation, helping my guests develop coping strategies to manage stress, anxiety, and other challenging emotions that arise during life transitions.
Additionally, horses can help us to develop coping strategies that also promote emotional resilience. As we engage in various activities with horses, we are challenged to adapt, problem-solve, and find effective ways to communicate with the herd. The process of overcoming challenges and establishing connections with horses instils a sense of accomplishment and builds confidence, strengthening clients’ ability to navigate emotional hurdles in life transitions.
Emotional resilience is not about suppressing emotions or denying the difficulties we may encounter. It is about acknowledging, understanding, and effectively managing emotions in order to navigate life’s challenges in a life-enhancing manner. By cultivating emotional resilience, we are better equipped to cope with the emotions life transitions generate, ultimately leading to greater well-being and a more impactful, rewarding, meaningful and fulfilling life.
This is why I do what I do, during both my online courses and onsite retreats, I empower my guests to become more emotionally resilient, so that they can live more impactful, meaningful and fulfilling lives.
Five Key Takeaways
Emotional resilience flourishes in connection, not isolation – The myth of the self-sufficient leader overlooks our fundamental need for a supportive herd during transitions.
Transitions are biologically designed to destabilise us – Understanding this removes shame and opens the door to authentic strength-building.
Nature’s herd animals model resilience strategies – From horses to elephants, collective wisdom offers profound insights for navigating uncertainty.
Vulnerability is an executive skill, not a weakness – The most resilient leaders know when to lower their guard and accept support.
Mindful presence transforms transition from threat to opportunity – Grounding practices borrowed from herd dynamics can recalibrate your nervous system during upheaval.
The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Leader
The view might be spectacular, but the company is often sparse.
Executives and entrepreneurs spend years cultivating an image of unshakeable confidence—someone who makes the tough calls, who doesn’t flinch when markets tumble or ventures fail. We’re conditioned to believe that emotional resilience means having a titanium exterior, bouncing back from setbacks with barely a dent to show for it.
But what happens when life’s transitions arrive—not the ones you planned for, but the ones that ambush you? The divorce you didn’t see coming. The business failure that questions your identity. The health diagnosis that rewrites your priorities. The sudden loss that cracks your carefully constructed world wide open.
That’s when you discover something remarkable: true emotional resilience has nothing to do with invincibility. It has everything to do with knowing when to stop pretending you’re fine and finding your herd.
This isn’t another article telling you to journal more or develop better coping mechanisms (though those have their place). This is about fundamentally rethinking what strength looks like during life’s seismic shifts—and why the wisdom might come from some unexpected, four-legged teachers.
Leo Martin’s Horse Story
Leo Martin had perfected the art of looking unshakeable.
At fifty-two, he’d built a software company from his garage into a multinational entity, navigated three recessions, and earned a reputation for being the steadiest hand in a volatile industry. His calendar was colour-coded perfection, his morning routine featured in productivity podcasts, his LinkedIn profile gleamed with endorsements about his “inspiring leadership.”
Then his wife of twenty-six years said she was leaving, his senior management team was poached by a competitor, and his GP found something concerning in his annual check-up—all within the same month.
Leo did what successful men do: he doubled down on control. Longer hours. More aggressive strategy. A new relationship with a woman half his age who required nothing from him emotionally. He white-knuckled his way through board meetings, his jaw perpetually clenched, his shoulders creeping towards his ears like they were attempting escape.
Nobody saw the cracks. Nobody was meant to.
The breaking point came during a quarterly review when he stood to present and simply… couldn’t. The words evaporated. His chest tightened. The boardroom’s air conditioning felt like it was pumping in anxiety instead of cool air. The smell of stale coffee and leather chairs turned his stomach. He excused himself, made it to his corner office, and sat there for two hours staring at the city below, tasting copper fear in his mouth, his hands trembling against the cool glass of the window.
His PA, Margaret—who’d known him since the garage days—knocked gently and said: “A friend runs walking retreats in France. Horse wisdom retreats, actually. I know it sounds barmy, but you need to do something.”
Three weeks later, Leo found himself on the Camino de Santiago, backpack heavy on his shoulders, surrounded by strangers and, bizarrely, horses. The facilitator—a woman whose presence felt both fierce and gentle—gathered the group in a field where several horses grazed peacefully, their tails swishing rhythmically in the warm breeze.
“Emotional resilience,” she began, “isn’t what you think it is.”
Leo almost laughed. Here he was, a man who’d built empires, about to take life advice from someone who worked with horses. The irony wasn’t lost on him. The field smelled of wild herbs and sun-warmed grass, so different from his sterile office tower.
Then she introduced a black mare called Twiss.
“Horses are prey animals,” the facilitator explained. “They’ve survived millions of years not by being the strongest or fastest alone, but by being part of a herd. Watch.”
She walked confidently towards Twiss, her energy purposeful but relaxed. The mare barely glanced up, continued grazing. Then the facilitator’s posture changed—shoulders tensed, breathing shortened, energy scattered—and Twiss immediately lifted her head, ears swivelling, muscles coiled for flight.
“She feels everything,” the facilitator said. “Horses survive by being honest about threat, and by staying connected to their herd.”
Over the next hour, Leo learned something extraordinary. When he approached Twiss wearing his CEO armour—chest puffed, energy projecting control—she walked away. Every time. But when he stood there, simply breathing, acknowledging the tight knot of fear in his chest, the exhaustion pressing on his bones, the grief he’d been swallowing for months—Twiss walked straight to him. Pressed her warm, velvet nose against his chest. Exhaled a long, slow breath that vibrated through his ribcage.
He felt the tears then. Hot, unexpected, rolling down his face onto Twiss’s black coat. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t judge. Just stood there, solid and present, one ear cocked back towards him as if to say: I’ve got you.
During our storytelling circles that evening—sitting in a rustic stone barn, candles flickering, the smell of wood smoke and red wine mingling—Leo finally spoke. His voice cracked as he described feeling like he was drowning whilst everyone watched him swim laps. A woman named Patricia, going through a similar corporate collapse, reached over and squeezed his hand. A man named James, whose son had died two years prior, nodded with the particular understanding that only comes from shared suffering.
This was Leo’s herd. Not people he’d hired or impressed. People who’d simply shown up to the same field, carrying their own backpacks of transition and loss.
By the end of the week, something fundamental had shifted. Not fixed—shifted. Leo still had the same problems waiting at home. But he’d discovered that emotional resilience wasn’t about returning to his old self. It was about allowing himself to be transformed by being truly seen, truly felt, by both humans and horses who refused to let him hide.
The morning we gathered for our final storytelling circle, Leo shared this: “I spent my whole life thinking resilience meant bouncing back to the same shape. Luna taught me it means allowing yourself to be reshaped. And you can’t do that alone.”
Understanding Emotional Resilience: Beyond the Bounce-Back Myth
The traditional narrative around emotional resilience is fundamentally flawed. We’ve been sold a story that resilience means returning to baseline after stress—like a rubber band snapping back to its original form. But anyone who’s lived through genuine transition knows this: you don’t return to who you were. You can’t. The question isn’t how to bounce back; it’s how to grow forward.
Neuroscience reveals something fascinating about transitions: they’re meant to destabilise us. When life’s certainties crumble, our brains enter a state of heightened neuroplasticity—we become more malleable, more capable of forming new neural pathways, but also more vulnerable. It’s simultaneously our greatest opportunity for growth and our most precarious state.
This is where the herd model becomes revolutionary.
Research into herd animals—horses, elephants, even dolphins—shows they navigate transition through what scientists call “collective emotional regulation.” When a herd member experiences threat or stress, the group responds by creating a container of calm. They position themselves physically close. They synchronise their breathing. They offer touch, presence, and the biological reassurance that says: you’re not alone in this.
For humans, particularly those in leadership positions, this represents a radical shift. We’ve been trained to isolate during difficulty, to “handle it” privately, to emerge only when we’ve regained composure. But isolation is where emotional resilience goes to die.
Dr. Stephen Porges’ Polyvagal Theory explains why: our nervous systems are fundamentally social. We co-regulate. A calm, present person can literally change another person’s physiological state through proximity, eye contact, and authentic connection. This isn’t metaphorical—it’s measurable in heart rate variability, cortisol levels, and neural activity.
Mindfulness practices become exponentially more powerful when we understand them through this lens. It’s not just about individual meditation—though that has value. It’s about cultivating what I call “herd awareness”: the ability to sense both your own internal state and the collective emotional field around you.
In my work facilitating walking retreats on the Camino de Santiago, I’ve witnessed this transformation repeatedly. Executives arrive armoured, operating from what psychologists call the “false self”—the persona they’ve constructed to navigate professional demands. Then they walk. Day after day. Bodies tired. Defences lowered. And in that vulnerability, surrounded by others in transition, something ancient and wise emerges: the knowledge that we were never meant to carry our burdens alone.
The horses simply make this visible. They won’t engage with your performance. They respond only to your authentic state. It’s wonderfully humiliating for high-achievers—and absolutely necessary.
True emotional resilience during life transitions requires three essential elements:
First, acknowledgment: You must stop pretending the transition isn’t affecting you. The body keeps the score, as Bessel van der Kolk famously noted. Unacknowledged stress doesn’t disappear—it lodges in your tissues, manifests in your relationships, sabotages your decisions.
Second, connection: You must find your herd. Not your board, not your networking group, not your social media followers. Your real herd—people who’ve earned the right to hear your story, who show up without agenda, who can hold space for your unravelling without trying to fix you.
Third, presence: You must develop the capacity to stay with discomfort rather than immediately problem-solving your way out of it. This is where mindfulness and meditation become invaluable. Not as escape mechanisms, but as practices that build your tolerance for transition’s inherent uncertainty.
The gift of major life transitions is this: they force authenticity. You simply don’t have the energy to maintain the façade anymore. And when the façade crumbles, you discover something remarkable—you’re more likeable, more effective, more genuinely powerful without it.
Further Reading: Three Unconventional Books on Emotional Resilience
1. “The Wild Edge of Sorrow” by Francis Weller
This isn’t your typical resilience book because Weller argues that our avoidance of genuine grief is precisely what makes us fragile. He explores how indigenous cultures approach collective mourning and why modern society’s “get over it” mentality creates chronic emotional brittleness. I chose this because executives rarely give themselves permission to grieve their losses—failed ventures, dissolved partnerships, the person they were before diagnosis or divorce. Weller offers a roadmap for metabolising sorrow rather than bypassing it.
2. “Braiding Sweetgrass” by Robin Wall Kimmerer
A botanist and member of the Citizen Potawanda Nation, Kimmerer weaves scientific knowledge with indigenous wisdom about reciprocity and interdependence. The book fundamentally challenges Western individualism by exploring how resilience in nature is always collective. I include this because entrepreneurs and executives need a complete paradigm shift away from the “self-made” mythology towards understanding strength as something that flows through relationships, not despite them.
3. “The Body Keeps the Score” by Bessel van der Kolk
Whilst more widely known, this book remains criminally underutilised by the business community. Van der Kolk’s research into trauma and the nervous system reveals why talk therapy alone often fails during major transitions—because the body holds memory and stress in ways our conscious minds cannot access. His work on somatic experiencing, rhythmic movement, and collective trauma healing directly informs why approaches like walking retreats and horse work create transformative shifts that boardrooms never could.
Guest Testimonial
“I arrived at the Camino walking retreat certain I could think my way through my company’s collapse. I’d built elaborate plans, consulted experts, maintained the appearance that I had everything under control. Then I spent an afternoon with a chestnut gelding who simply walked away every time I approached with that energy. The facilitator asked: ‘What would happen if you stopped managing this moment and just let yourself be in it?’ I broke. Properly broke. And my walking companions—strangers three days prior—simply sat with me. No fixing. No advice. Just presence. That’s when I understood: emotional resilience isn’t about being strong enough to handle things alone. It’s about being brave enough to let others in. My business still failed, but I didn’t. And that distinction saved my life.”
— Patricia M., Former Technology CEO, London
Five Razor-Sharp FAQs
Q: Isn’t emotional resilience about being mentally tough and pushing through difficulties?
A: That’s emotional endurance, not resilience. Endurance gets you through; resilience allows you to grow through. Pushing through without processing creates emotional debt that compounds with interest. True resilience involves the courage to pause, feel, connect, and recalibrate—which is far more demanding than simply muscling through.
Q: I’m responsible for hundreds of employees. Don’t I need to project strength during transitions?
A: Your team doesn’t need your performance of strength—they need your authentic leadership. Research consistently shows that leaders who acknowledge challenges whilst maintaining genuine confidence (not false positivity) create more resilient organisations. Vulnerability isn’t weakness; performing invincibility whilst crumbling internally is.
Q: How can horses possibly help with executive-level life transitions?
A: Horses are biofeedback mechanisms with legs. They respond to your nervous system state, not your words or professional status. When you’re operating from stress whilst pretending you’re fine, they’ll disengage. When you’re authentically present, even if you’re struggling, they’ll connect. This immediate, honest feedback bypasses your cognitive defences and creates genuine shifts in how you regulate emotion.
Q: I don’t have time for retreats or lengthy programmes. Can I build emotional resilience quickly?
A: You can develop practices quickly; transformation takes time. Start with ten minutes daily of mindful breathing, schedule regular connection with your “herd” (people who know the real you), and commit to one somatic practice—walking, yoga, or conscious movement. But understand: building genuine resilience is like strengthening a muscle. Consistency matters more than intensity.
Q: What if acknowledging my struggles during transition makes things worse?
A: Acknowledgement doesn’t create vulnerability; it reveals what’s already there. You’re not making things worse—you’re making them conscious, which is the only way they can transform. Unacknowledged struggle leaks out in irritability, poor decisions, health problems, and damaged relationships. Acknowledged struggle can be worked with, shared, and ultimately integrated.
Conclusion: Find Your Herd
Here’s the truth we don’t say often enough in professional circles: life’s transitions will humble you. The question isn’t whether you’ll face moments where your carefully constructed identity crumbles—you will. The question is whether you’ll face them alone or surrounded by your herd.
Emotional resilience isn’t a personal achievement; it’s a relational practice. It’s built in the moments when you let someone see you struggling and they don’t look away. It’s strengthened when you offer that same steady presence to another. It’s forged in the recognition that our greatest strength lies not in our independence, but in our willingness to be interdependent.
The executives and entrepreneurs I work with often arrive believing they need to learn better stress management techniques. What they discover instead is that they need to fundamentally reimagine what strength looks like. They need to learn what Luna and her herd have always known: true resilience is collective.
Your next transition—whether it’s in front of you or behind you—contains an invitation. Not to become harder, but to become more permeable. Not to build higher walls, but to find your herd and lower your guard.
The field is waiting. The herd is gathering. And somewhere, there’s a wise horse who’ll refuse to engage with your performance and instead invite you into something more real, more raw, and infinitely more resilient than anything you could construct alone.
Ready to Discover Your Herd?
If Leo’s story resonates, if you’re navigating transition and tired of doing it alone, explore my Horse-Inspired Stress Relief Online Courses. These programmes combine guided mindfulness practices, meditation exercises for stress management, and the collective wisdom of the herd to help you build genuine emotional resilience. No performance required—just show up as you are.
Write Your Way to Serenity: A Guided Journaling Retreat Inspired by Horses for anyone interested in increasing their emotional, physical and social resilience by starting a journal, but does not have much time to invest and is looking for a simple, low-cost, easy-to-implement strategy that gives tangible and lasting results. Get immediate access
The Compassionate Insight-giving Guide to Getting Over the Loss of Your Horse – an Online Course – find support, guidance, and practical tools to navigate the complex emotions and challenges associated with the loss of a heart horse. Get immediate access
The Harness the Healing Power of Your Horses – Become a Mindfulness Meditation Teacher and Create Substantial and Sustainable Income with Your Horses- an Online Teacher Training and Create a Closer Connection to Your Horse Get immediate access
Conclusion
Life transitions may present formidable challenges, but they also offer the opportunity to increase your emotional resilience. Interacting with horses can enable you to find strength, build resilience, and embark on a journey of personal empowerment during a life transition.
“I am an experienced medical doctor – MBChB, MRCGP, NLP master pract cert, Transformational Life Coach (dip.) Life Story Coach (cert.) Stress Counselling (cert.) Med Hypnotherapy (dip.) and EAGALA (cert.) I may have an impressive number of letters after my name, and more than three decades of professional experience, but what qualifies me to excel at what I do is my intuitive understanding of my clients’ difficulties and my extensive personal experience of managing major life changes using strategies I developed over many years.” Dr M Montagu
This post was inspired by this “How to figure out your purpose in life” TED talk by Adam Leipzig that has 232 000 likes on Youtube, and for very good reason too – it is literally life-changing (watch below).
I have spent the last week creating a DIY course about identifying one’s life purpose.
Why? Because I clearly do not have enough to do, leading online protocols, hosting onsite Camino de Santiago walking retreats here in the southwest of France, feeding my cats and horses at relatively regular hours, keeping the house standing, the garden accessible and the paddocks securely fenced, and writing articles, newsletters and blog posts in the minutes during the one or two waking hours that are left.
Actually, I created this online course about identifying your life purpose because, since the pandemic, my retreat guests seem to be obsessed with it.
As in, “I have been searching for my life’s purpose my whole life long! I honestly don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve read all the books, attended all the seminars, completed all the online courses (Really? You completed all the courses?) had counselling, had coaching, had my palm read…and I still don’t know!”
Why do you want to know what your life purpose is?
Because it significantly and dramatically lowers your stress levels.
What This Article Is About (In 30 Seconds)
Picture this: you’re standing at life’s most overwhelming junction—bills unpaid, emails unanswered, dreams deferred—wondering if you’ve accidentally enrolled in someone else’s existence. Now imagine having an internal compass so reliable that even when chaos reigns, you know exactly which direction matters. That’s what understanding your life purpose does for stress. This isn’t about finding some mystical calling written in the stars (though if yours is, brilliant). It’s about discovering the “why” that makes the “what” bearable—and discovering it might be simpler, funnier, and more transformative than you’d think.
Five Key Takeaways about How to figure out your Purpose in Life
Life purpose acts as a natural stress filter, helping you distinguish between what genuinely matters and what’s merely masquerading as urgent
Purpose doesn’t eliminate stress; it transforms your relationship with it, turning anxiety into meaningful tension rather than paralysing fear
Your life purpose needn’t be grandiose—it can be beautifully ordinary, like creating spaces where people feel seen and heard
Clarity around purpose dramatically reduces decision fatigue, that exhausting mental state where choosing between almond milk varieties feels like a philosophical crisis
Purpose-driven living increases resilience, giving you something larger than temporary setbacks to anchor your identity and energy
Introduction: The Antidote Hiding in Plain Sight
We’ve been taught that stress is the enemy—something to be managed, medicated, or mindfully breathed away during expensive yoga retreats. We buy journals with inspirational quotes, download meditation apps, and promise ourselves we’ll finally learn to say no. Yet stress persists, shape-shifting into new forms, always one step ahead of our coping strategies.
But what if we’ve been approaching this backwards? What if the most powerful stress-reduction tool isn’t about managing symptoms but about addressing the fundamental question underneath all that anxiety: What am I actually doing here?
When you don’t know your life purpose, every decision carries equal weight. Should you take that job? Attend that event? Answer that message? Without a guiding principle, your nervous system treats each choice as potentially life-altering, flooding your body with stress hormones designed for actual emergencies, not LinkedIn connection requests.
Knowing your life purpose doesn’t magically eliminate challenges. What it does—and this is rather marvellous—is give you a measuring stick. Suddenly, some stresses reveal themselves as irrelevant noise, whilst others transform into meaningful obstacles worth navigating. You’re not less busy; you’re busy with intention. And that distinction? That changes everything.
Sam’s Shrinking Story
Sam Addison stood in her kitchen at 6:47 on a Tuesday morning, surrounded by evidence of a life spiralling brilliantly out of control. Three different breakfast cereals lay open on the counter—she’d been too frazzled to choose one, so she’d sampled all three. The bitter dregs of yesterday’s coffee sat congealing in a mug beside the sink, releasing that particular smell of defeat that only abandoned caffeine can muster. Her phone buzzed with its seventeenth notification of the morning, each one a tiny electric shock to her already jangling nerves.
She’d been promoted six months earlier—senior marketing director, corner office, salary that finally matched her student loan payments—and she’d never been more miserable. Or more stressed. Her doctor had used the phrase “chronic stress response” during her last visit, which sounded both serious and vaguely science-fiction, like something that might require medication with seventeen syllables.
The panic attacks had started three weeks ago. The first one ambushed her in Waitrose, of all places, standing in the organic tomato section. Her heart had suddenly decided to audition for a thrash metal band whilst her lungs forgot their primary function. A kind woman with a Yorkshire accent had helped her to a bench, pressing a cold bottle of water into her trembling hands. “Been there, love,” the woman had said. “Feels like dying, but you’re not. Promise.”
Now, staring at her three-cereal chaos, Sam felt the familiar tightness beginning in her chest. She pressed her palm against her sternum, feeling her heart’s frantic morse code. Not again, she thought. Please, not again.
Her phone rang—her mother. Sam almost didn’t answer, but old guilt won out.
“Darling, I’ve been thinking,” her mother began without preamble. “Remember when you were eight and you made that ‘feelings club’ in the garden shed? You’d invite all the neighbourhood children to sit in a circle and everyone would share something that had made them happy or sad that week. You kept it going for two years.”
Sam did remember, actually. The musty smell of that shed, the mismatched cushions she’d collected, the way Tommy Fletcher had cried when his hamster died and everyone had sat in respectful silence, holding space for his grief. She’d felt—what was the word? Important. No, not important. Purposeful. Like she was doing something that mattered.
“Why are you bringing this up?” Sam asked, her voice sharper than intended.
“Because you sounded dead in your voice last week, darling. I haven’t heard you sound alive since you started that job.”
After they rang off, Sam stood very still. Around her, the kitchen hummed with modern life—the fridge’s subtle drone, the dishwasher’s rhythmic swish, the central heating clicking on. But inside her head, something had gone suddenly, beautifully quiet.
She thought about her job: endless PowerPoint presentations to people who’d already decided what they wanted, budget meetings that stretched like taffy, the peculiar corporate theatre of pretending everyone’s ideas had equal merit when they clearly didn’t. She earned well. She had status. She could afford decent wine and wasn’t panicking about her pension.
But when was the last time she’d felt purposeful?
That evening, instead of her usual stress ritual (wine, Netflix, the hollow feeling of time passing), Sam did something different. She grabbed a notebook—an old one from university with coffee stains on the cover—and wrote at the top: What makes me feel purposeful?
The answers came slowly at first, then faster: Creating spaces where people feel safe to be vulnerable. Facilitating conversations that matter. Helping people find their own voices. Listening—really listening—to what’s underneath the words.
She sat back, staring at her own handwriting. These weren’t things she was doing at work. These were things she used to do. Things she’d abandoned in her sprint toward supposed success.
Over the following weeks, Sam started small. She couldn’t quit her job (mortgage, reality, etc.), but she could adjust her trajectory. She volunteered to facilitate the company’s mental health support group—something everyone else avoided because it wasn’t “career-enhancing.” She started hosting monthly storytelling circles in her flat, inviting friends and friends-of-friends to share meaningful experiences over soup and bread.
The panic attacks didn’t vanish overnight. But something shifted. When work stress hit—and it still hit—she had a framework for understanding it. This presentation that had her up at midnight? Not aligned with her purpose, therefore deserving of less emotional energy. That difficult conversation with her team member who was struggling? Absolutely aligned with her purpose, therefore worth the discomfort.
Six months later, at one of my storytelling circles (she’d found us through a friend who’d walked the Camino), Sam shared how knowing her life purpose hadn’t made her less busy. “I’m actually doing more,” she said, laughing. “But I’m stressed about different things now. Better things. Things that feel like they’re worth the anxiety.”
The room hummed with recognition. That’s the thing about purpose—it doesn’t eliminate stress. It recontextualises it. And in that recontextualisation, something remarkable happens: stress stops being the enemy and becomes, occasionally, a compass pointing toward what matters most.
The Science and Soul of Purpose-Driven Calm
Let’s explore why Sam’s experience isn’t unique. When you understand your life purpose, your brain does something rather clever: it begins to categorise stressors differently. Neuroscience research shows that our prefrontal cortex—the brain’s executive function centre—becomes more active when we engage in purpose-driven activities, even stressful ones. This increased activation helps regulate the amygdala, your brain’s alarm system.
In practical terms? When you’re stressed about something aligned with your purpose, your body still releases cortisol and adrenaline, but your brain interprets these chemicals differently. Instead of signalling danger, they signal challenge. This is called eustress—positive stress that energises rather than depletes.
Without a clear life purpose, every stressor triggers the same alarm bells. Your nervous system can’t distinguish between a meaningful deadline and a meaningless one, between a conflict worth having and one that’s simply draining. You’re like a smoke detector going off for both house fires and burnt toast—exhausting for everyone involved, especially you.
The Decision Fatigue Factor
Modern life presents us with approximately 35,000 decisions daily, according to some estimates. Most are trivial (which socks, which route to work, whether to respond to that text now or later), but they all consume cognitive energy. This is why successful people often wear the same outfit daily—they’re not fashion-challenged; they’re conserving decision-making capacity.
Life purpose acts as a decision-making algorithm. When you know your “why,” countless decisions become automatic. Should you take that committee position? Does it align with your purpose? No? Decision made, energy conserved, stress averted.
The Resilience Revolution
Perhaps most importantly, life purpose builds resilience—not the grit-your-teeth-and-bear-it variety, but genuine psychological flexibility. When your identity is anchored in purpose rather than outcomes, setbacks become less existentially threatening.
Lost your job? Devastating, yes—but if your purpose is “creating spaces for authentic connection,” that purpose survives the job loss. It might even flourish in unexpected ways. This isn’t toxic positivity; it’s the recognition that you are not your circumstances, and your purpose transcends your current situation.
Studies show that people with a strong sense of purpose recover from stress more quickly, experience fewer stress-related health problems, and report higher life satisfaction even during challenging periods. They’re not experiencing less stress; they’re experiencing less meaningless stress.
Purpose as Permission
Here’s something rarely discussed: knowing your life purpose gives you permission to disappoint people. Revolutionary, isn’t it? When you’re clear about your purpose, you can say no to good opportunities because they’re not the right opportunities. You can let people down (kindly, compassionately) because you’re saying yes to something more aligned with your deeper calling.
This is enormously stress-relieving. Much of our anxiety stems from trying to be all things to all people, from the exhausting performance of meeting everyone’s expectations. Purpose gives you a legitimate reason to disappoint people—not from selfishness, but from self-knowledge. There’s a freedom in that which is almost giddying.
Further Reading: Three Unconventional Takes
1. The Crossroads of Should and Must by Elle Luna
This isn’t your typical purpose-finding manual. Luna, an artist and designer, explores the tension between “should” (what others expect) and “must” (what your soul requires). It’s beautifully illustrated, deeply personal, and refreshingly free of corporate jargon. I chose this because it acknowledges that discovering your purpose often means disappointing people who preferred your old, more convenient self. It’s visual, visceral, and won’t leave you feeling like you need to start a non-profit to matter.
2. Let Your Life Speak by Parker J. Palmer
Palmer, a Quaker educator, suggests that purpose isn’t something you choose or create—it’s something you uncover by paying attention to your life. He writes about his own depression and vocational crises with such honesty that you feel less alone in your confusion. This book champions the idea that your purpose might be small, local, and decidedly unglamorous—and that’s not only acceptable, it’s sacred. I love this one because it’s the antithesis of hustle culture’s “find your passion and monetise it” nonsense.
3. The War of Art by Steven Pressfield
This might seem an odd choice for a book about purpose and stress, but hear me out. Pressfield writes about Resistance—that force that keeps us from our real work. His thesis? The things we’re most afraid to do are often most aligned with our purpose. Understanding this transforms stress from “something’s wrong” to “I’m close to something meaningful.” It’s fierce, occasionally profane, and will kick you out of your comfort zone in the best possible way.
A Word from St James’ Way
“I arrived at Margaretha’s Camino retreat believing my purpose needed to be something impressive—running a charity, perhaps, or writing a life-changing book. The stress of not knowing my ‘big purpose’ was eating me alive. Through the walking, the storytelling circles, and Margaretha’s gentle questions, I discovered my purpose was much simpler: I’m here to bear witness. To really see people and let them know they’ve been seen. That’s it. That’s enough. I still work in accounts, still do my spreadsheets, but now I approach it all differently. I see the person behind the numbers. I notice when someone’s struggling. My stress hasn’t disappeared, but it’s no longer existential—it’s just… stress. Manageable. Human. And sometimes, when I’m really living my purpose, it transforms into something that almost feels like joy.” — Emma T., First-Time Camino Walker, March 2024
Five Razor-Sharp FAQs about How to figure out your Purpose in Life
Q: What if I discover my life purpose but can’t afford to pursue it full-time?
A: Purpose isn’t a career requirement; it’s a lens through which you view your life. You can be a purpose-driven accountant, teacher, or parent. The question isn’t “Can I make money doing my purpose?” but “How can I infuse my current life with my purpose?” Sam didn’t quit her job; she adjusted how she showed up in it and created space for purpose outside it. Start where you are, with what you have.
Q: Does everyone have a singular life purpose, or can it change?
A: Thank goodness it can change—imagine being locked into your eight-year-old self’s purpose forever. (Mine was “eat sweets and own a pony,” which would have been limiting.) Your purpose often has a core theme that remains consistent whilst its expression evolves. Someone whose purpose is “creating beauty” might be a gardener in their twenties, a designer in their forties, and a hospice volunteer bringing flowers to patients in their seventies. Same purpose, different manifestations.
Q: I’ve tried journaling and reflecting, but I still feel unclear about my purpose. What now?
A: Stop thinking and start noticing. Purpose often reveals itself through action, not contemplation. Pay attention to when you feel most alive, when time disappears, when you’re simultaneously challenged and fulfilled. Notice what makes you righteously angry—injustice often points toward purpose. Try new things. Take the creative writing class, volunteer at the food bank, join the choir. Purpose is discovered, not decided.
Q: Can knowing my purpose actually increase stress if I’m not living it?
A: Temporarily, yes—there’s often a gap between discovering your purpose and fully embodying it. This gap can feel frustrating. But this is eustress, not distress. It’s the productive tension of growth, like the burn of muscles getting stronger. The alternative—remaining unconscious about your purpose whilst drowning in meaningless stress—is far worse. At least now you know what you’re working toward.
Q: What if my life purpose feels embarrassingly simple or small?
A: Brilliant. The world has quite enough people chasing grandiose purposes they don’t actually care about. Your purpose doesn’t need to impress anyone. If your purpose is “making people laugh during difficult times,” that’s extraordinary—ask anyone who’s been comforted by humour in their darkest moment. If it’s “creating order from chaos,” every organised person I know is a bloody hero. Simple doesn’t mean insignificant; it means clear. And clarity is what reduces stress.
Conclusion: The Path Forward Is Personal
Here’s what I’ve learned from years of facilitating storytelling circles and walking alongside people on their Camino journeys: your life purpose is already whispering to you. You’ve been hearing it in those moments when you feel most yourself, most alive, most connected to something larger than your to-do list.
Knowing your life purpose doesn’t eliminate stress because you’re human, and being human means encountering friction between what is and what could be. But it transforms that stress from a chaotic whirlwind into a focused wind at your back, pushing you toward what matters most.
Your purpose doesn’t need to be world-changing. It needs to be true. It doesn’t need to impress others. It needs to resonate with you. And it doesn’t need to eliminate all stress—it just needs to help you distinguish between the stress that’s draining your life force and the stress that’s shaping you into who you’re meant to become.
The question isn’t whether you’ll experience stress. The question is whether that stress will have meaning. And that answer begins with knowing why you’re here.
Walk Your Purpose Into Being: A Camino Invitation
There’s something about walking that bypasses the mind’s defences and speaks directly to the soul. Perhaps it’s the rhythm—left, right, breath, step—that quiets our internal chatter enough to hear that quieter voice underneath. Or maybe it’s the simplicity: when your immediate concern is putting one foot in front of the other, the pretentious barriers between you and your truth start crumbling.
My Camino de Santiago Crossroads Retreat in the sun-drenched hills of south-west France is designed for exactly this unravelling and rediscovering. We walk sections of this ancient pilgrimage route—not the full 800 kilometres (let’s be reasonable), but enough that your body remembers how to move with intention, enough that the landscape works its particular magic on your worried heart.
Between the walking, we gather for storytelling circles. These aren’t performative sharing sessions where everyone’s trying to sound profound. They’re authentic, often funny, occasionally tear-filled conversations where people discover they’re not alone in their confusion, their stress, their secret hope that there’s more to life than getting through each day.
We practise mindfulness and meditation—not the Instagram-aesthetic variety with perfect posture and designer cushions, but the real, sometimes fidgety practice of paying attention to what’s actually happening in this moment. And through guided exercises specifically designed for stress management, we explore that tender territory between who you’ve been told to be and who you actually are.
The French countryside won’t intimidate you. The ancient stones of the Camino path don’t care about your job title or your bank balance. And the other walkers? They’re too busy with their own unravelling to judge yours. This creates a rare space: permission to stop performing and start discovering.
Bring your questions, your stress, your confusion about what you’re meant to be doing with this one precious life. You’ll walk, share stories, sit in companionable silence, watching the sun set over hills that have witnessed countless other seekers. And somewhere between the walking and the talking and the quiet, you might just discover that your purpose has been hiding in plain sight, ready to transform your stress into something that feels remarkably like coming home.
No time to escape to the southwest of France?
I have created two controversial and counterintuitive online courses:
The Purpose Pursuit Protocol – if you want to discover your life purpose, this course will provide you with the clarity, motivation and direction you need to manifest your next chapter – in both your personal and professional life. Get immediate access
The Purpose Pivot Protocol – drawing inspiration from the Camino de Santiago, this transformative course guides you through a proven framework to recalibrate your authentic purpose and create a meaningful and fulfilling next act. Get immediate access
Spoiler alert: If you watch this month’s recommended TED talk, you’ll get an idea of where I’m going with this.
“I am an experienced medical doctor – MBChB, MRCGP, NLP master pract cert, Transformational Life Coach (dip.) Life Story Coach (cert.) Stress Counselling (cert.) Med Hypnotherapy (dip.) and EAGALA (cert.) I may have an impressive number of letters after my name, and more than three decades of professional experience, but what qualifies me to excel at what I do is my intuitive understanding of my clients’ difficulties and my extensive personal experience of managing major life changes using strategies I developed over many years.” Dr M Montagu
Burnout: A psychological bonfire where your passion, patience, and sense of purpose all roast marshmallows together until nothing’s left but crispy sarcasm
Introduction
“I just need a break.”
Often, when people write to me to make enquiries about my stress management retreats, either online or onsite here in the south of France, this sentence features prominently in their email, most often in the last paragraph. I have learned to sit up and take notice when I come across this sentence, as it is often said by people who are either burnt out already or on the verge of burning out.
Have you said that to yourself or to others recently? Did someone else say this to you?
Take notice, especially if you are an employer and you heard one of your employees say this.
People who are suffering from burnout at work, sometimes without realising it, often make statements that give away their state of mind. Depending on their individual experience and circumstances, they may say:
“I just can’t keep going anymore.” – Burnout can leave people feeling physically and emotionally exhausted, making it difficult to cope with their personal and professional responsibilities.
“I feel like I’m just going through the motions.” – Burnout can make people feel disconnected from their work, and from the people around them, causing them to feel as if what they do has no purpose or meaning.
“I don’t care anymore.” – Burnout can lead to a sense of apathy or detachment, causing people to lose interest in things that used to be important to them.
“I feel completely overwhelmed.” – Burnout can cause people to feel incapable of completing even small tasks, making it difficult to do what they are getting paid to do.
“I can’t handle this anymore.” – Burnout can make people feel like they’ve reached their breaking point, causing them to feel like they can’t deal with stress or any additional pressure.
“I don’t feel like myself anymore.” – Burnout can cause people to lose their sense of identity and which can result in a significant loss of self-esteem.
“I’m so frustrated.” – Burnout can lead to an intense sense of frustration, especially if people feel like they’re not making progress or reaching their targets.
“I feel like I’m stuck in a rut.” – Burnout can cause people to feel trapped, making it difficult to move forward or make changes in their personal or professional lives.
“I’m uber-stressed, all the time.” – Burnout can cause chronic stress, which can cause serious physical and psychological diseases.
“I can’t sleep. I either lay awake for hours before I fall asleep or I wake up early. Or I wake up twenty times during the night.” – Burnout can cause insomnia, which increases exhaustion and decreases performance.
Statements that allow us to detect burnout at work early are not always made using these exact words, everyone expresses themselves differently and everyone’s experience of burnout is unique. People may also make any of the above statements without having burnout.
If you have been reading my posts for a while, you are probably thinking: Where’s the story?
Well, here it is:
The Great Burnout Bake-Off
By the time Clara’s smartwatch told her to “stand up and breathe,” she’d already done both — twice, aggressively. It was 10:07 a.m., and she’d hit her burnout peak for the third time that week.
Her company, Zenyth Synergy Solutions, had recently launched a “Wellness Initiative” to “combat burnout with mindful productivity.” This translated to more meetings about burnout, which burned everyone out faster.
Last Tuesday’s meeting had been a PowerPoint titled “The Power of Powering Down.” The irony was so thick you could spread it on toast.
But Clara wasn’t alone. Across the country, employees everywhere were losing it. The world had become a giant pressure cooker powered by caffeine and “urgent” Slack notifications.
So when HR announced the Great Burnout Bake-Off, the internet collectively sighed, “Oh no.”
According to the company email — which began with “Hey Team!” and ended with “Stay grateful!” — everyone was encouraged to “channel your stress into baking!”
Clara hadn’t baked since the banana bread era of 2020, but she was desperate. Maybe, just maybe, flour therapy would save her sanity.
The day of the competition arrived. Clara, surrounded by chaos in her kitchen, decided to make a “Burnout Cake” — three layers: exhaustion, existential dread, and frosting made of tears. She even wrote “I’m Fine :)” on top in icing that determinedly kept melting off.
Meanwhile, her coworker Brad went all out. He made a gluten-free, sugar-free, joy-free “Corporate Carrot Cake” decorated with an inspirational quote like “Hustle Harder!”
When everyone logged onto Zoom for the judging, HR’s Becky appeared in a sunlit room holding a kale smoothie. “Welcome, team!” she chirped. “Remember, this is about fun and community!”
Clara, who hadn’t slept since Wednesday, smiled like a malfunctioning robot.
Each person presented their cake. Karen from accounting revealed a tiramisu shaped like a resignation letter. Dave from IT’s cheesecake simply read: “404: Motivation Not Found.”
Then came Clara’s turn.
“This,” she said, gesturing to the half-collapsed tower of frosting, “is my burnout cake. It represents the modern worker’s spiritual decay under late-stage capitalism.”
There was silence. Then Becky clapped. “Oh my gosh, that’s so relatable! You’re so authentic, Clara.”
Clara won first place. Her prize? A mindfulness journal and an unpaid afternoon off “to rest and recharge.”
She used it to take a nap. It lasted 11 hours.
When she woke up, her inbox had 247 new emails. One was from Becky.
Subject: “Following up on your rest day — hope you’re feeling reenergised!” Body: “Quick reminder that we have a meeting tomorrow to discuss burnout prevention. Mandatory attendance. 😊”
Clara stared at the screen for a long moment, closed her laptop, and went back to bed.
Unpacking Burnout
Burnout (n.): A modern affliction where enthusiasm goes to die quietly behind a glowing screen.
It starts innocently enough. You’re motivated. You’re driven. You say things like “I’ll just finish this one last thing.” Then “one last thing” multiplies like rabbits hopped up on espresso, and before you know it, you’ve forgotten what weekends are for and why your shoulders feel like they’re made of bricks.
Burnout isn’t just tiredness — tiredness can be cured with a nap and a burrito. Burnout is existential fatigue. It’s when your brain says, “I literally cannot,” and your body says, “Same.” It’s the point where you start fantasising about quitting society to raise goats somewhere with poor Wi-Fi.
Corporate America loves to talk about “preventing burnout,” usually by adding more meetings about burnout. You’ll hear phrases like self-care, work-life balance, and resilience — all wonderful words that mean nothing when your boss emails you at 10:43 p.m. asking for “just a quick update.”
The burned-out person becomes a paradox: hyperproductive yet barely functional, overconnected yet emotionally unplugged. They sip iced coffee like medicine and say things like “living the dream” with the dead eyes of someone who hasn’t seen daylight since Q2.
Burnout is not laziness; it’s the bill your body sends after years of overdrafting your energy account.
The cure? Maybe it’s boundaries. Maybe it’s therapy. Maybe it’s throwing your laptop into the sea and walking away in slow motion. Whatever it is, burnout is your body-mind’s polite way of saying: “You can’t keep doing this, champ.”
And deep down, you know it’s right.
Seriously though, how do you detect bunrout at work?
FAQ: Detecting Burnout at Work
1. What’s the difference between regular tiredness and actual burnout?
Regular tiredness improves with rest—a good night’s sleep or a weekend off helps you recharge. Burnout, however, is a state of chronic exhaustion that doesn’t improve with typical rest periods. You’ll notice it persists even after vacations, affects multiple areas of your life, and comes with emotional detachment or cynicism about your work. If you find yourself dreading work constantly, feeling emotionally numb, or thinking “what’s the point?” even about tasks you once enjoyed, that’s a red flag for burnout rather than simple fatigue.
2. What are the early warning signs I might miss while they’re developing?
The earliest signs are often subtle shifts in behavior: needing an extra coffee to get through the morning, procrastinating on tasks that used to be routine, or feeling irritable with colleagues over minor issues. You might notice yourself working longer hours but accomplishing less, or withdrawing from workplace social interactions you previously enjoyed. Physical symptoms like tension headaches, digestive issues, or disrupted sleep patterns can appear before you consciously recognize burnout. Many people also experience a creeping sense of detachment—going through the motions without feeling connected to their work’s purpose or impact.
3. How can I tell if it’s burnout or just a bad project/period at work?
A bad project creates temporary stress with a clear endpoint—once it’s done, you feel relief and can bounce back. Burnout feels pervasive and doesn’t lift when specific stressors end. Ask yourself: Does this feeling extend beyond one project to color how I view my entire job? Am I still finding satisfaction in any aspect of my work? Have I lost my sense of accomplishment even when completing tasks successfully? If negative feelings persist across multiple projects, affect your attitude toward work in general, and don’t improve during easier periods, you’re likely experiencing burnout rather than situational stress.
4. Can burnout affect my physical health, and what symptoms should I watch for?
Yes, burnout significantly impacts physical health because chronic stress keeps your body in a prolonged state of alert. Watch for persistent fatigue that doesn’t improve with sleep, frequent headaches or muscle tension (especially in the neck and shoulders), weakened immune function (catching every cold that goes around), digestive problems, changes in appetite, and disrupted sleep patterns including insomnia or sleeping too much. Some people experience heart palpitations, chest tightness, or increased blood pressure. These physical symptoms often appear alongside emotional exhaustion and shouldn’t be ignored—they’re your body’s way of signaling that stress levels have become unsustainable.
5. What’s the “Sunday Scaries” test, and why is it useful for detecting burnout?
The “Sunday Scaries” test refers to examining your emotional response as the weekend ends and the workweek approaches. Occasional mild anxiety about Monday is normal, but if you experience intense dread, physical symptoms like nausea or insomnia every Sunday night, or find your entire weekend overshadowed by thoughts about returning to work, this suggests burnout. The test is useful because it reveals whether your work stress has become chronic rather than episodic. When work anxiety colonizes your personal time and you can’t mentally disconnect even during days off, it indicates your relationship with work has become unsustainable—a hallmark of burnout that requires intervention.
Possible Burnout at Work Solutions
It is my life’s mission, first as a medical doctor and now as a retreat host, to help people manage stress, so they can avoid the permanent damage stress can cause.
Journaling Prompt to help you determine if you suffer from burnout: The “Past You” Conversation
Set aside 15 minutes in a comfortable spot. Imagine you could have a conversation with yourself from one year ago—before things felt this heavy.
Write a letter to the person you were a year ago, starting with: “Hey, it’s me from the future. Here’s what I need you to know about where we are now…” Tell them honestly: What’s different about how you feel at work? What have you lost along the way—maybe it’s enthusiasm, creativity, patience, or the ability to leave work at work? What would surprise them about who you’ve become in your job? Now, flip the perspective. Let that past version of you respond: What would they ask you? What would concern them? What advice would they give you, knowing what mattered to you back then? The powerful question: If your past self could see you now, would they recognize you? Or have you compromised so much of what made work meaningful that you’ve become someone you didn’t set out to be? Here’s your permission slip: The person you were a year ago had wisdom. They had boundaries, dreams, and standards for how they deserved to be treated. You don’t have to abandon who you’ve become, but you can reclaim what you’ve lost. Write one thing you want to bring back from who you used to be.
This isn’t about regret—it’s about remembering who you are beneath the exhaustion.
The Burnout to Breakthrough – a Roadmap to Resilience Protocol
The burnout epidemic has motivated me to create a 2-day online course called the Burnout to Breakthrough – a Roadmap to Resilience course. It is designed so that you can burnout-proof yourself during a weekend, by devoting four hours a day to the course two in the morning and two in the afternoon. It has gotten excellent reviews so far, so I am hoping that it will serve as my contribution to reducing burnout worldwide.
Worldwide.
Isn’t that awe-inspiring? That I can now reach hundreds or even thousands of people online, instead of just the few that come to my Camino de Santiago Walking retreats. Reaching people is so much easier since the pandemic.
The Camino de Santiago Crossroeds Retreats
My retreats focus on helping people who are going through life transitions, or who have to make important decisions, by walking the Camino de Santiago de Compostela.
More often than not, my onsite retreat guests arrive burnt out by the stress they had to endure trying to cope with the life transition they are stuck in, whether it is an empty nest, retirement, redundancy, losing a loved one, changing careers, starting a business etc.
We can detect burnout at work early, merely by paying attention to what others are saying, and to what we are saying to ourselves.
The warning signs whisper before they shout—in the colleague who suddenly goes quiet in meetings, in our own internal dialogue that shifts from “I can handle this” to “I can’t do this anymore.” When we notice the cynicism creeping into conversations, the exhaustion that no longer lifts with rest, or the growing disconnection from work that once mattered to us, we’re receiving vital information. This awareness isn’t weakness; it’s wisdom. By listening closely to these signals—both in ourselves and in those around us—we give ourselves the chance to course-correct before burnout takes root. Early detection means early intervention, and early intervention means we can reclaim our energy, our boundaries, and our sense of purpose before they’re completely depleted. The power to prevent burnout begins with the simple, courageous act of paying attention.
“Just because you take breaks doesn’t mean you’re broken.” ― Curtis T. Jones
If you’re feeling overwhelmed, exhausted, or on the edge of burnout, you need immediate support. The Road Map to Resilience: Burnout to Brilliance online course (with the option of adding coaching sessions) is designed for exactly that: a practical, step-by-step course to help you regain control, rebuild your energy, and find clarity in the chaos. This isn’t a quick fix—it’s about proven strategies to calm your nervous system, shift your mindset, and create sustainable resilience. No need to cope with this on your own—let’s get you back on track.
“I am an experienced medical doctor – MBChB, MRCGP, NLP master pract cert, Transformational Life Coach (dip.) Life Story Coach (cert.) Stress Counselling (cert.) Med Hypnotherapy (dip.) and EAGALA (cert.) I may have an impressive number of letters after my name, and more than three decades of professional experience, but what qualifies me to excel at what I do is my intuitive understanding of my clients’ difficulties and my extensive personal experience of managing major life changes using strategies I developed over many years.” Dr M Montagu
Recommended TED-talk of the Monthduration 5 minutes
Early this morning, when I should have been getting out of bed to go and feed the horses, the -3°C reading on the thermometer and crackling frost on the fields was so discouraging that I resisted my coffee cravings to watch one more TED talk: Rahaf Harfoush’s talk “Burnout makes us less creative. “
I am in the process of creating an online course called Burnout to Breakthrough/Road Map to Resilience, so I read everything I can lay my hands on about “burnout.” I actually hadn’t thought about the effect that burnout has on our creativity, but I should have because the more creative we are, the greater our ability to problem-solve. I reflected on my own experience and realised just how detrimental an effect burnout has on my own creativity – when I am stressed, I write to reduce stress, but burnout gives me complete writer’s block.
I thought I would share this talk with you here. It’s excellent, if you have 5 minutes, I recommend you watch it. Twice, if you have time, it makes so much sense. According to Rahaf Harfoush, a digital anthropologist (that sounds like an amazing job,) “Our obsession with productivity — to-do lists, life hacks, morning routines — is making us less productive. We need to redesign our workday around creativity – not just efficiency. She says the average American takes only half of their allocated leave…
Burnout Inhibits Creativity: When Your Inner Fire Burns Out, So Does Your Spark
Burnout doesn’t just make you tired—it murders your creativity, strangles your innovation, and leaves you staring at blank pages, wondering where your brilliance went. As a medical doctor who’s been there, survived it, and now guides others through it on Camino retreats, I’m sharing why your brain stops producing when you’re running on fumes, and more importantly, how to get your creative mojo back. If you’ve ever felt like a shell of your former imaginative self, keep reading.
5 Key Takeaways
Burnout literally rewires your brain’s creative centres: Chronic stress shrinks the prefrontal cortex (your innovation hub) whilst enlarging the amygdala (your fear centre). You’re not lazy—you’re neurologically compromised.
Rest isn’t optional; it’s the prerequisite for creativity: Your best ideas don’t come from pushing harder—they emerge in the spaces between effort. Walking, silence, and doing “nothing” are actually doing everything.
Storytelling rewires burnt-out brains: Sharing narratives in safe circles activates different neural pathways than analytical thinking, offering your exhausted executive functions a genuine break whilst reconnecting you to meaning.
Physical movement unlocks mental movement: Rhythmic walking (especially pilgrimage-style) synchronises both brain hemispheres, creating the conditions where creative insights spontaneously arise.
Community heals what isolation destroyed: Burnout thrives in loneliness. Creativity flourishes in connection. You cannot think your way out of burnout—you must walk, talk, and feel your way through it with others.
Introduction: Empty is Expensive
Burnout doesn’t just steal your energy. It pickpockets your imagination, burgles your curiosity, and leaves you holding an empty bag where your creativity used to live.
I know because I’ve lived it. As a medical doctor, I spent years believing that exhaustion was simply the price of excellence, that running on empty was a badge of honour, and that my worth was measured in productivity. Then one morning, I sat down to write a simple patient letter and couldn’t find the words. Not medical jargon—I had plenty of that. But the connecting tissue, the creative phrasing, the human touch that makes medicine an art as much as a science? Gone.
That’s when I realised: burnout doesn’t just dim your light. It fundamentally alters how your brain processes possibility itself.
The relationship between burnout and creativity isn’t just correlation—it’s causation. When your nervous system is perpetually flooded with cortisol, when your prefrontal cortex is starved of resources because your amygdala is screaming danger signals, when every ounce of cognitive energy is devoted to simply surviving the next email, the next meeting, the next demand… there’s nothing left for imagination.
Creativity requires spaciousness. Burnout is the ultimate space invader.
But here’s the good news I discovered walking the Camino de Santiago: creativity isn’t dead. It’s dormant. And with the right conditions—movement, community, story, and rest—it comes roaring back to life.
Tina’s Story: The Marketing Director Who Lost Her Spark
Tina Pyper arrived at a Camino de Santiago Crossroads Retreat carrying a leather portfolio she never opened and a smartphone she checked every seven minutes. Her fingers twitched constantly, as though typing invisible emails on invisible keyboards. When I asked what brought her to the Camino, she laughed—a brittle, humourless sound like ice cracking.
“I used to be brilliant,” she said, staring at the limestone path stretching ahead. “Now I’m just… functional.”
Tina had spent fifteen years building her reputation as the creative director everyone wanted on their team. The woman who could walk into a room and spin three campaign concepts before coffee arrived. Who dreamed in metaphors and saw connections nobody else noticed. Who made clients weep with the beauty of her brand stories.
Then came the promotion. More responsibility, more budget, more visibility. And with it, more meetings, more stakeholders, more nights working until 2 AM because someone in New York had “just one quick question.” More mornings waking with her heart already racing, mentally triaging the day’s disasters before her feet touched the floor.
The first sign was small: she stopped noticing things. The way autumn light slanted through her office window. The smell of rain on hot pavement. The particular green of new leaves in spring. Details that used to spark ideas now barely registered. Her world had narrowed to screens and deadlines.
Then the ideas stopped coming. She’d sit in brainstorming sessions, her team looking at her expectantly, and find… nothing. Just a vast, echoing blankness where her imagination used to live. She’d panic, reach for old formulas, and regurgitate what worked last year. Nobody complained—her execution was still flawless. But Tina knew. The magic was gone.
“I felt like a fraud,” she told me on our second day walking, her voice barely audible above the crunch of gravel beneath our boots. “Like everyone would eventually realise I was empty inside. Just going through the motions.”
On the third morning, during our storytelling circle, I asked each person to share a childhood memory—nothing work-related, no lessons, just pure recollection. The group sat in the dappled shade of an ancient oak, and when Tina’s turn came, she hesitated so long I thought she might refuse.
Then she began: “I was seven. My grandmother had this garden…”
Her voice changed as she spoke—softened, warmed, came alive. She described the weight of tomatoes in her small palms, sun-warm and heavy. The sharp, green smell of tomato leaves that stuck to her fingers. Her grandmother’s soil-stained hands guiding hers, teaching her to pinch off suckers. The taste of cherry tomatoes eaten straight from the vine, still hot from the sun, bursting sweet and acid on her tongue.
As she spoke, I watched the others lean forward. Watched their faces soften. And I watched something shift in Tina’s eyes—a light flickering back on after a long darkness.
“I’d forgotten,” she whispered when she finished. “I’d completely forgotten how that felt. How alive everything was.”
That evening, she borrowed paper from my notebook. Not to make lists or plans—she’d been doing that compulsively since arrival—but to write. Just to see what came. She sat on a stone wall overlooking the valley as the sun set, and her hand moved across the page in a way I recognised: the unselfconscious flow of someone reconnecting with a lost part of themselves.
Later, in our final storytelling circle, she shared what she’d written: a piece about gardens and grandmothers and the particular quality of light through tomato leaves. It wasn’t marketing copy. It wasn’t strategic or targeted or optimised for anything. It was simply beautiful. Several people cried.
“I thought creativity was something I did,” Tina said, her eyes bright with tears and laughter both. “But it’s something I am. I just needed to remember how to be quiet enough to hear it again.”
She left the retreat with her portfolio still unopened and her phone notifications permanently silenced. Six months later, she sent me a message: she’d taken a sabbatical, was consulting part-time, and had started writing again—not for clients, but for herself. “The ideas are back,” she wrote. “Better than before. Because I’m back.”
In my storytelling circles, I’ve witnessed this resurrection countless times. When we create space for people to share without agenda, without performance, without the pressure to be productive—something fundamental shifts. The stories we tell reconnect us to the stories we’re living. And in that reconnection, creativity doesn’t just return. It transforms.
The Neuroscience of Burnout and Creativity: Why Your Brain Can’t Do Both
Let’s talk about what’s actually happening in your brain when burnout and creativity collide. This isn’t woolliness—it’s biology.
Your prefrontal cortex, the sophisticated CEO of your brain, handles executive functions: planning, problem-solving, and creative thinking. It’s where innovation lives, where you make unexpected connections, where your best ideas emerge. But here’s the catch: it’s an energy hog. When resources are scarce, your brain has to make choices.
Enter burnout. Chronic stress floods your system with cortisol, triggering your amygdala—your brain’s alarm system—into overdrive. Your amygdala doesn’t care about your brilliant marketing campaign or your novel’s plot twist. It cares about survival. And when it’s screaming “danger!” your brain diverts resources away from that expensive prefrontal cortex and towards immediate threat response.
Studies using brain imaging have shown that chronic stress literally shrinks the prefrontal cortex whilst enlarging the amygdala. You’re not imagining it—your creative capacity is being structurally diminished.
But there’s more. Creativity requires what neuroscientists call the “default mode network”—the mental state you enter when you’re not focused on external tasks. It’s the wandering mind, the daydreaming state, the shower-thoughts phenomenon. This is where your brain makes those unexpected connections that feel like genius.
Burnout kills the default mode network. When you’re in constant fight-or-flight, your brain never gets to wander. You’re always on task, always vigilant, always scanning for the next threat (email, deadline, criticism). There’s no mental space for the mind to meander, to play, to stumble upon something new.
This is why forcing creativity when you’re burnt out is like trying to grow tomatoes in concrete. It’s not about willpower or discipline. Your brain literally lacks the conditions necessary for creative thought to emerge.
The Creativity-Burnout Cycle
Here’s where it gets particularly cruel: for many professionals—entrepreneurs, leaders, creatives—your creativity is your livelihood. Losing it isn’t just personally devastating; it’s professionally catastrophic. So what do you do? You work harder. You push more. You try to force the ideas to come.
Which, of course, worsens the burnout. Which further inhibits creativity. Which increases panic. Which drives you to work harder still.
I see this cycle constantly in the corporate professionals and entrepreneurs who come to my retreats. They arrive believing they need to “fix” themselves quickly so they can get back to producing. They’re treating their burnout like a software glitch—reboot and resume.
But burnout isn’t a glitch. It’s a message. Your nervous system is essentially staging an intervention, saying: “We cannot continue like this.”
Why Rest Isn’t Enough (But It’s Essential)
“Just rest” sounds simple. And yes, sleep matters enormously—the glymphatic system that clears metabolic waste from your brain works primarily during deep sleep. But here’s what I’ve learned both personally and professionally: passive rest alone doesn’t restore creativity.
You need active recovery. You need experiences that engage your senses, that connect you to something beyond your inbox, that remind your nervous system what safety and pleasure feel like.
This is where walking comes in. Rhythmic bilateral movement—the left-right, left-right of walking—has been shown to integrate both brain hemispheres and reduce amygdala activation. There’s a reason so many philosophers and writers throughout history were dedicated walkers. The physical rhythm creates a mental rhythm. Ideas don’t come from thinking harder; they emerge from the steady pace of feet on earth.
Pilgrimage-style walking—walking with intention but without rigid destination—adds another layer. You’re moving, but you’re not rushing. You’re going somewhere, but you’re fully present to where you are. This paradox is precisely what burnt-out brains need: forward momentum without pressure, purpose without performance.
The Power of Sensory Awakening
Remember Tina’s tomatoes? That wasn’t nostalgia—it was neurological rehabilitation.
Burnout narrows our sensory aperture. We stop noticing. Everything becomes instrumental—this thing to get through to reach that thing. Food becomes fuel. Walks become transportation. Conversations become transactions.
Creativity requires the opposite: a wide-open sensory engagement with the world. When you truly taste your food, feel the sun on your skin, smell the particular scent of pine after rain—you’re not just being mindful. You’re giving your prefrontal cortex novel sensory data to play with. You’re reminding your brain that the world is full of interesting inputs worth paying attention to.
In our Camino retreats, I watch this awakening happen gradually. Day one, people barely notice their surroundings—they’re too busy managing their anxiety about being away from work. By day three, someone stops the group to point out a spider’s web jewelled with dew. By day five, we’re pausing to taste wild blackberries, to press our palms against sun-warmed stone, to listen to the specific quality of birdsong at dusk.
This isn’t frivolous. This is medicine. You’re retraining your nervous system to perceive abundance instead of scarcity, wonder instead of threat. And from that shifted state, creativity doesn’t have to be forced. It simply bubbles up, natural as breathing.
Storytelling Circles: The Unexpected Antidote
One of the most powerful tools I’ve discovered for healing burnout and restoring creativity is also one of the oldest: storytelling in community.
In my storytelling circles, there’s no agenda. No workshopping. No critique. Just humans sharing stories and other humans listening intently. It’s deceptively simple. And profoundly transformative.
Here’s why it works: storytelling engages completely different neural pathways than the analytical, problem-solving thinking that dominates most professional environments. When you tell a story, you’re not in your prefrontal cortex trying to optimise and strategise. You’re in a more embodied, emotional, intuitive space.
Moreover, storytelling is fundamentally creative. Even if you’re sharing something that “really happened,” you’re making creative choices: where to begin, which details matter, how to convey emotion, what the story means. You’re exercising your creativity without the pressure of it having to be “useful.”
And here’s the magic: when you tell your story and someone truly listens—not to respond, not to fix, but simply to receive—something in you relaxes. You remember that you matter beyond your productivity. That your experiences have value beyond their professional utility. That you are interesting simply because you are human.
For women especially—and I see this repeatedly in my circles—this permission to take up space, to be heard without having to prove value, to share without apologising, is revolutionary. So many professional women have internalised the message that their worth equals their output. Storytelling circles disrupt that equation.
One member of my circles, Sarah, shared this insight: “For the first time in years, I experienced something without immediately thinking about how to monetise it or what it could teach me. I just… experienced it. And then I shared it. And people cared. Not because it was useful. Because it was true.”
That shift—from instrumental to intrinsic, from performing to being—is where creativity lives.
Your Body Keeps the Score
There’s a reason burnout recovery requires physical intervention, not just cognitive reframing. Your body has kept meticulous records of every threat, every stressor, every time you overrode your needs for productivity. Those records are stored in your nervous system, your muscles, your fascia.
You cannot think your way out of burnout because burnout isn’t just a thought problem. It’s a whole-body experience of depletion and dysregulation.
This is why our Camino retreats combine walking with mindfulness and meditation practices specifically designed for stress management. We’re not trying to relax your mind whilst your body remains clenched. We’re helping your entire nervous system recalibrate.
The walking provides bilateral stimulation and rhythmic regulation. The mindfulness practices teach interoception—the ability to notice and interpret bodily signals. The meditation cultivates the parasympathetic “rest and digest” response. Together, they create the conditions for genuine recovery.
And here’s what happens when your nervous system finally feels safe: creativity returns. Not as something you have to chase, but as something that simply emerges. Ideas arise on the walk. Insights appear during meditation. Connections spark in conversation.
Because creativity was never gone. It was just waiting for you to come home to yourself.
Further Reading: Three Unconventional Books
1. The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk
Why this book: Van der Kolk’s groundbreaking work on trauma provides the neurological framework for understanding why burnout can’t be resolved through positive thinking alone. His research on how trauma (and chronic stress) physically reshapes the brain and nervous system validates what burnout sufferers intuitively know: this isn’t “all in your head.” More importantly, his exploration of body-based healing modalities—from theatre to yoga to EMDR—offers concrete pathways to recovery. For creative professionals, his chapter on how trauma silences the “watching” part of the brain (the area that notices and creates meaning) is particularly illuminating.
2. Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estés
Why this book: Estés, a Jungian analyst and storyteller, explores how women’s creative lives are destroyed not by lack of talent but by the systematic severing of their connection to their wild, instinctual selves. Her analysis of fairy tales reveals archetypal patterns of how women lose themselves to overwork, perfectionism, and the demands of others—and how they find their way back through story, ritual, and reconnection to their deeper knowing. For burnt-out professional women who’ve sacrificed their creativity on the altar of success, this book is both mirror and map. It’s not a business book, which is precisely why it’s essential reading for anyone whose business has consumed them.
3. Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer
Why this book: Kimmerer, a botanist and member of the Citizen Potawatha Nation, weaves together indigenous wisdom and scientific knowledge to explore humanity’s relationship with the natural world. Her central thesis—that reciprocity, not extraction, is the basis of sustainable relationship—applies as much to our relationship with our own creative energy as it does to the earth. For those recovering from burnout, her writing models a different way of being: attentive, grateful, reciprocal, and deeply creative. Reading her prose is itself a lesson in how creativity emerges not from forcing but from careful attention to what’s already present. Every page reminds you that abundance, not scarcity, is the truth of things—you just have to slow down enough to notice.
Real Voices: Testimonials from the Path
From a First-Time Camino Walker
“I came to Dr Montagu’s Crossroads Retreat in pieces. I’d spent three years building my startup, convinced that burnout was just weakness I needed to push through. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had an original idea—I was just recycling the same strategies, hoping something would stick. The concept that I needed to stop working to start creating again felt dangerous, even irresponsible.
Walking the Camino changed everything. Not instantly—I spent the first two days mentally composing emails I couldn’t send. But something about the rhythm of walking, the mindfulness practices, the complete absence of wifi and demands… my brain finally exhaled. By day four, I was noticing things: bird patterns, stone walls, the way light moved through leaves. By day six, I was having ideas again. Not forced, not strained. They just… appeared.
The mindfulness and meditation exercises Dr Montagu taught us weren’t fluffy nonsense—they were practical tools for regulating my nervous system. And the storytelling circles showed me that I’d become so focused on strategic messaging I’d forgotten how to simply share a human experience. I left with more than rest. I left with a completely different relationship to my work, my creativity, and my worth as a human beyond what I produce.
Six months later, I’m still walking every morning. My business is thriving—not because I’m working harder, but because I’m finally creative again.” — Emma R., Tech Entrepreneur
From a Storytelling Circle Member
“Joining Dr Montagu’s storytelling circle was terrifying. I’d never travelled alone before, never put myself in a space where I had to speak without a professional reason. As a corporate consultant, I was used to having all the answers, being the expert in the room. The idea of just… sharing a personal story with strangers? Vulnerable doesn’t begin to describe it.
But that vulnerability was exactly what I needed. In the circle, nobody wanted my expertise. They just wanted me. My actual experiences, my real reactions, my honest struggles. For the first time in my professional life, I wasn’t performing. I was just being.
What surprised me was how this transformed my confidence about travelling alone. When you’ve sat in a circle and shared something true and been met with genuine attention and care—not judgement, not critique, just presence—something shifts. You realise you’re not as fragile as you thought. That connection is possible even with strangers. That you have intrinsic worth beyond your utility.
Now I travel alone regularly. And I’ve started writing again—not reports, but actual creative writing. The circle didn’t just help me overcome travel anxiety. It helped me remember I’m more than my job title. That the stories I have to tell matter simply because they’re mine.” — Patricia L., Strategy Consultant
FAQs: Your Burning Questions Answered
Q: Can’t I just take a holiday and recover from burnout that way?
No, and here’s why: burnout isn’t simple exhaustion that resets with time off. It’s a profound dysregulation of your nervous system that requires active intervention. A typical holiday—especially one where you’re still checking emails, planning the itinerary, managing logistics—keeps you in the same hypervigilant state. Recovery requires experiences that fundamentally shift your nervous system from sympathetic (fight-or-flight) to parasympathetic (rest-and-digest) activation. The combination of pilgrimage-style walking, mindfulness practices, storytelling, and genuine disconnection creates conditions a beach holiday simply cannot.
Q: How do I know if I’m burnt out or just tired?
Fatigue responds to rest. Burnout doesn’t. If you’re burnt out, you’ll notice: emotional exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix, cynicism or detachment from work you once cared about, reduced sense of accomplishment despite working harder, inability to concentrate or create, physical symptoms like insomnia or tension, and feeling trapped with no way out. Most tellingly, if creative tasks that used to energise you now feel impossible, you’re likely beyond simple tiredness into genuine burnout territory.
Q: I can’t afford to take time off work. What then?
I understand this fear intimately—I felt it myself as a doctor. But here’s the harder truth: if you don’t take time off to recover now, burnout will eventually take the choice away from you through illness, breakdown, or such profound performance decline you’re forced to stop. Burnout is expensive—to your health, your relationships, your career longevity, and yes, your creativity. The question isn’t whether you can afford time off; it’s whether you can afford not to recover. Even a long weekend retreat can provide the reset that prevents months of dysfunction.
Q: Does walking really make that much difference to creativity?
Yes, and the research backs this up. Stanford University studies found that walking increases creative output by an average of 60%. The bilateral movement synchronises both brain hemispheres, reduces amygdala activation, and allows the default mode network to engage—precisely the conditions creativity requires. But not all walking is equal: walking in nature, at a comfortable pace, without screens or podcasts, provides maximum benefit. The Camino’s pilgrimage context adds another dimension: you’re walking with intention but without the pressure of productivity, which is exactly the paradox burnt-out brains need.
Q: I’m not naturally creative. Is this still relevant to me?
Absolutely. Creativity isn’t just for artists—it’s fundamental to problem-solving, strategic thinking, relationship-building, and finding meaning in your life. If you’re an entrepreneur, you need creativity to innovate and adapt. If you’re a leader, you need it to inspire and navigate complexity. And as a human, you need it to craft a life worth living. Burnout steals creativity from everyone, regardless of job title. And everyone, regardless of profession, deserves to get it back.
Conclusion: The Fire You Tend, Not the One You Smother
Burnout doesn’t just inhibit creativity—it fundamentally severs your connection to the part of yourself that imagines, innovates, and dreams. But here’s what I’ve learned from walking hundreds of kilometres on the Camino, from sharing stories in circles, from guiding others through recovery, and from my own journey back from the edge: creativity isn’t something you lost. It’s something that’s been waiting, patiently, for you to create the conditions where it can return.
You cannot force creativity any more than you can force a seed to grow by shouting at it. But you can tend the soil. You can provide water, sunlight, and space. You can remove the rocks choking its roots. You can wait, with faith, for the green shoots to emerge.
That’s what genuine recovery from burnout looks like: not a quick fix, but a fundamental reorientation towards what makes you human. Rest, yes. But also movement. Connection. Story. Sensation. Beauty. The permission to exist beyond your productivity.
Your creativity isn’t gone. It’s dormant. And winter, as any gardener knows, is not death—it’s preparation for spring.
The fire that creates, that imagines, that makes meaning from chaos? It’s still in you. It’s just waiting for you to stop adding fuel to the wrong flames—the flames of pressure, perfectionism, and endless productivity—and instead tend the quiet ember of your essential self.
That ember is enough. Given the right conditions, it will become a blaze again.
But first, you must stop. You must walk. You must remember. You must come home to yourself.
And then? Then the creating thing happens on its own.
Begin Your Journey Back to Yourself
If these words resonated in your chest like a bell that’s been silent too long, perhaps it’s time to consider something radical: actually stopping.
Not collapsing. Not failing. Stopping with intention.
My Camino de Santiago Crossroads Retreats in the beautiful south-west of France aren’t your typical hiking holidays. They’re carefully designed recovery experiences for burnt-out professionals and entrepreneurs who’ve forgotten they’re human beings, not human doings.
Picture this: walking ancient pilgrimage paths through landscapes that have witnessed countless journeys of transformation. Not the full Camino—these are carefully curated sections chosen for their beauty, significance, and capacity to restore. The rolling hills of Gers, the medieval villages where time moves differently, the paths through oak forests where the only sound is your footsteps and birdsong.
Each day combines mindful walking with meditation and mindfulness practices specifically designed for stress management—not the kind that feels like another task on your to-do list, but embodied practices that help your nervous system remember what safety feels like. We move slowly enough to actually notice things: the quality of light, the scent of wild herbs, the feeling of your feet on earth.
In our evening storytelling circles, you’ll discover what happens when you share your experience without having to prove anything, fix anything, or turn it into a professional development opportunity. Just stories. Just listening. Just the profound recognition that your life—exactly as it is, with all its contradictions and complexities—matters.
These retreats are small by design. Intimate enough that you’re genuinely seen, large enough that you’re not carrying the social weight of one-on-one intensity. You’ll walk with others who understand what it means to have given everything to your work and found yourself empty. And you’ll discover that you’re not alone in this—not in the struggle, and not in the journey back.
The south-west of France offers spaciousness. The villages are quiet. The paths are uncrowded. The pace of life itself is different here—slower, richer, more sensual. The food is extraordinary (because recovery also requires pleasure). The sunlight has a particular golden quality that makes everything feel like a painting.
But more than the location or the practices, what makes these retreats transformative is this: they’re led by someone who’s been where you are. I understand the particular exhaustion of high-functioning professionals. I know what it’s like to believe rest is weakness and pushing through is strength. I’ve experienced firsthand what happens when your body finally forces you to stop. And I’ve found my way back—not to who I was before, but to someone more whole, more creative, more alive.
You don’t need to walk the full Camino to experience transformation. You just need to begin. To take a few days away from the noise and remember what your own voice sounds like. To walk without destination and discover that you have everything you need already within you.
Your stories matter.
10 Powerful Life Lessons Learned While Walking the Camino de Santiago– a free guide filled with 10 not just “quaint anecdotes” or Instagram-worthy moments (though there are plenty of those) but real transformations from real people who walked the same insight-giving trail you might want to walk one day – Subscribe to my monthly newsletter to Download the Guide
“I am an experienced medical doctor – MBChB, MRCGP, NLP master pract cert, Transformational Life Coach (dip.) Life Story Coach (cert.) Stress Counselling (cert.) Med Hypnotherapy (dip.) and EAGALA (cert.) I may have an impressive number of letters after my name, and more than three decades of professional experience, but what qualifies me to excel at what I do is my intuitive understanding of my clients’ difficulties and my extensive personal experience of managing major life changes using strategies I developed over many years.” Dr M Montagu
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