It’s Not Your Intuition, It’s Your Shoulders
I used to think it was my office chair. Maybe the lumbar support was off. So, I swapped it out for one with all the bells and whistles—adjustable arms, neck rest, memory foam.
Still, the ache remained. Deep and dull at first, then sharp and insistent. I blamed my pillows. Maybe I wasn’t sleeping right. Maybe I needed a new mattress. I told myself I just needed a weekend to rest, maybe a massage, maybe less caffeine.
But the pain remained. Migraines pulsed behind my eyes nearly every other day. My neck tightened without warning. My lower back sent shooting messages of distress I tried to drown in ibuprofen and heating pads. It was not until I physically could not stand up straight because my back gave out, literally, that I realized something deeper was happening.
It wasn’t my chair. It was not my bed. It wasn’t even my sleep. It was burnout.
My body had been sounding the alarm for years. But when you're used to functioning in overdrive, when pushing through has become your norm, you forget what ease even feels like. You dismiss the symptoms as the cost of doing business. As part of leadership. As something you can fix on your next self-care day.
We like to say, “listen to your intuition,” but sometimes the message is not coming from your gut. Sometimes it’s your shoulders. Your back. Your neck. Your jaw clenched tight every night. The tension migraines you call “just a bad week.” The twitch in your eye that does not go away. The fatigue that rest does not fix. That’s not intuition. That’s survival mode failing.
This is how the body keeps score. No matter how many affirmations you recite, no matter how many planners you buy, your body remembers what your mind has learned to override. And for many of us, we’ve been trained to override for so long we confuse not collapsing, from near collapsing, with strength.
I did not grow up with the language for this. We did not call it “somatic trauma” or “chronic stress.” We called it “working hard.” We called it “doing what you have to do.” I professionally grew up seeing leaders around me shouldering the weight of entire families and entire systems. I saw them pour into others until there was nothing left for themselves. And I swore I would be different. I swore I would rest, pace myself, create boundaries. But even in leadership, even in a sector that claims to care, I found myself replicating the very exhaustion I once promised I would escape.
I started to believe my pain was a flaw in me. A weakness. Maybe I was not built for the pressure. Maybe I was the problem. So, I doubled down. I got a better chair. I drank more water. I made wellness checklists and stuck post-its around my monitor that said “breathe.” But breathing does not solve systems. And checklists do not heal betrayal.
And back support will not undo the decades of overextension.
Burnout is not just a personal failing. It is a systemic outcome. And for those of us who are expected to be the strong one, the responsible one, the face of resilience, it takes longer to admit we are collapsing under this system.
What I have learned is this. The body whispers before it screams.
The early whispers look like tight shoulders. Like forgetting why you walked into a room. They look like missed calls from friends you love, because you are too exhausted to talk. They look like standing in the mirror and not recognizing your own face because the light is gone from your eyes.
The screams? They come when you have ignored every nudge, and every nudge turns to a shove. Mine came the day my back went out and I couldn’t stand. Could not walk without help. I laid there thinking, I should’ve listened. I should have slowed down. I should’ve taken the leave. I should have said no. I should’ve stopped trying to prove I was fine.
But hindsight only helps if we bring it forward.
So, here is what I want to say to you if your shoulders are telling you something. Believe them. If your body feels heavy before your day even begins, believe it. If your head hurts every Sunday night, or your jaw aches, or you can't remember the last time you felt rested, don’t wait for collapse.
Burnout does not always come with a dramatic exit. Sometimes it arrives slowly. Quietly. In the form of a stiff neck that never quite loosens. In the creeping numbness that follows your once deep passion. Pay attention to your body. It is not betraying you. It’s trying to protect you. You do not have to earn rest through collapse. You don’t need a doctor’s note to justify your exhaustion. You do not need another crisis to make your healing a priority.
If the cost of being “reliable” is your health, the price is too high. If your job is making you sick, your body is not the problem. The job is. This blog is not about a chair. Or a bad mattress. Or hydration. It is about recognizing that your shoulders know things your mouth has not said yet. Mine did. And once I finally listened, I found my way back to myself. Not all at once. But with every exhale, every pause, every decision to stop pushing through, I am healing. And you can too.
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