What an HR Friend Taught Me About Work, Boundaries, and Burnout

When I started a new job last year, I didn’t expect to find a friend.

I especially didn’t expect that person to be in HR.

At the beginning, she was simply the one who welcomed me. She showed me around, explained how things worked, asked what I needed to get started. She was kind, professional, and attentive — exactly what you hope for when you’re the new person trying to find your footing.

But I kept a certain distance.

Not because she wasn’t warm — she was — but because she was HR. And if you’ve ever worked in a company, you know the unspoken rule: you’re polite, you’re respectful, but you don’t assume safety right away. You don’t overshare. You don’t blur lines you don’t yet understand.

So in my head, she stayed in a box.

The HR person.

As the weeks went on, the workload intensified. The pressure didn’t arrive all at once — it built quietly. Tasks piled up. Expectations stretched. The kind of stress that creeps in slowly until one day you realize you’re holding your breath without noticing.

And that’s when she showed up differently.

She didn’t minimize what I was feeling. She didn’t laugh it off or offer generic reassurance. She asked the right questions — the kind that make you pause because they cut through the noise. She understood the company, the systems, and the reality of the work in a way that made me feel seen.

One day, I was overwhelmed. Truly overwhelmed.

And I broke down.

I cried with her.

And she cried with me.

That moment shifted everything.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t about roles or titles. It was about being human. She wasn’t just listening — she understood. She had done my job before. She knew how demanding it could be. She had stepped into difficult roles when the company needed it. She knew what it felt like to carry responsibility when things weren’t stable.

What started as a casual vent turned into something much deeper: real support.

After that, I noticed a change in myself.

I didn’t just think, “I need to talk to HR.”

I thought, “I need to talk to her.”

Sometimes I even separate the two out loud.

“I need HR right now,” I’ll say — and she’ll immediately step into that role: clear, grounded, professional.

Then, when needed, she’ll pause and say, “Okay. Now let me come back as a person.”

That distinction mattered more than I ever expected.

What an HR Perspective Changed for Me

What stood out most wasn’t that she normalized my exhaustion.

She didn’t.

She reframed it.

Instead of saying, “This is just how work is,” she said something that stopped me cold:

You’re not failing the system. The system is failing you.

According to her, I wasn’t underperforming. I was undertrained and overworked. And that difference matters.

She could see the signs of burnout clearly — because she had lived them herself. She understood that sometimes people don’t struggle because they’re incapable, but because they’re being asked to do work that doesn’t make sense within the structure they’re given.

That kind of clarity is rare.

And it’s powerful.

The Truth About Boundaries I Didn’t Want to Admit

I thought I had set boundaries early on.

I knew I was working harder than I should have, but I told myself it was temporary. I wanted to put systems in place. I wanted to make things better long-term. I believed that if I pushed harder at the beginning, it would pay off.

It didn’t.

No matter how much effort I gave, the structure around me didn’t change. And that’s when I knew I couldn’t keep going like that.

I had been through burnout before. I recognized the signs.

So I stopped.

I drew a hard line: forty to forty-five hours a week. Whatever was done was done. Whatever wasn’t — wasn’t. I protected my time because I knew the cost of not doing so.

When I talked to her about it — not as HR, but as a friend — she didn’t push back.

She said, You can’t do more than that.

And when I worried about failing, she reframed it again:

Sometimes when things don’t work, it’s not because you’re not doing your job. It’s because what you’re being asked to do is wrong.

That sentence lifted a weight I didn’t realize I’d been carrying.

Burnout, Motherhood, and the Quiet Math We Do

Being a working mom adds another layer to all of this.

Before motherhood, I could give more — more time, more energy, more flexibility. Work could come first, and I could keep up.

That version of me doesn’t exist anymore.

And that’s not a failure.

After burnout, I became deeply aware of the warning signs. When I feel them now, I stop. I don’t negotiate with them. Still, my mind tries to sabotage me.

You’re not doing enough.

You’re not good at this role.

When that happens, I interrupt the spiral.

I remind myself: I am doing enough.

And more importantly — I don’t want to burn out again.

There’s a quiet sadness in realizing that sometimes we have to let go — not because we lack ambition, but because our lives demand balance. Especially when the system isn’t designed to support us fully.

Choosing What Actually Matters

It is okay not to give your 110%.

It is okay not to give your 100%.

Balance isn’t about caring less. It’s about choosing what matters more.

For me, that answer is my family.

I ask myself what I want my children to see. A mother crying from stress every day — or a mother who knows when to close her computer and show up fully as herself?

As a woman.

As a mom.

The person who helped me understand this most clearly is someone who knows both sides — someone who has goals for the company, but never forgets that the people working there are human beings first.

She understands pressure.

She understands burnout.

And she understands when someone reaches their limit and needs rest, not more pushing.

When I say, “Thank you for the advice, but right now I need a friend,” she switches immediately — with kindness and understanding.

That’s what I’ll miss the most.

Not policies.

Not systems.

But the reminder that work doesn’t have to cost us our humanity.

If you’re reading this and you’re exhausted or questioning whether you’re doing “enough,” hear this:

You are allowed to choose balance.

You are allowed to protect your time.

You are allowed to live — not just work.

That choice doesn’t make you less capable.

It makes you human.

If you saw yourself in this story, my book explores motherhood with the same honesty — the pressure, the balance, and the moments we don’t always say out loud.

You can find it at the link below:

👉 https://caffeinatedcapable.gumroad.com/l/ujkdn

Thank you for reading.

— Fabi