Is professionalism making us sick?

Did we take the human out of work by performing? SPOILER: Hell yes

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

Can anyone really pinpoint the moment they realize they’ve been performing?

Does it happen all at once? Some rupture, or some undeniable collapse that forces a person to confront who they’ve been pretending to be, whose rules they’ve been following, maybe even the realization that they themselves have been played?

Or is it quieter than that?

A slow erosion.

A gradual inability to function while living completely adjacent to the self you buried long ago.

We talk so much about burnout as though it exists in isolation from the way we are expected to move through the world.

But what if exhaustion isn’t simply overwork, what if it’s grief?

What if the body can only tolerate performing for so long before it begins sounding alarms?

If our lives are supposedly the result of our choices, why are so many people burning out inside the very lives they built? By all accounts, they are achieving their ‘dreams’ but something seems elusive; missing.

Were they truly choosing?

Or were they adapting?

Performing safety. Performing belonging. Performing competence. Performing likability. Performing professionalism.

What roles did you learn to play in order to survive? Who did you become to avoid rejection? Who did you become to keep the peace? Who did you become because it was rewarded?

And what happened to the version of you underneath it all?

Professionalism fascinates me because we often speak about it as though it’s neutral, an acceptable compass for work, as though it’s simply about competence or integrity.

But so much of what we call “professionalism” is actually about compliance, proximity to power, about suppressing humanity in order to maintain comfort within a hierarchy.

Be agreeable. Be productive. Be polished. Be emotionally regulated. Be collaborative. Be confident, but not too confident. Be innovative, but not disruptive. Be passionate, but not angry. Be vulnerable, but never messy.

Be human, but only in ways that remain convenient for everyone else.

Most importantly: do not make others uncomfortable with the reality of your humanity.

Professionalism teaches people to constantly scan themselves.

Am I too emotional?
Too quiet?
Too loud?
Too opinionated?
Too ambitious?
Too soft?
Too difficult?
Not difficult enough?

For many people, especially women and marginalized folks, professionalism becomes less about doing good work and more about mastering self-surveillance.

Crying, hell, emoting in general is unprofessional. Boundary-setting is unprofessional. Talking openly about exhaustion is unprofessional. Conflict is unprofessional. Needing support is unprofessional.

Even clothing, tone of voice, facial expressions, and body language become part of the performance.

Join the gossip or become the gossip. Fit the culture or risk exclusion from it.And all of the constant scanning leaves the nervous system exhausted. Not because humans are weak but because humans were never designed to live in prolonged performance.

And professionalism extends past work, it follows people into communities.

Volunteer organizations
Sports teams
Parent groups
Activism spaces
Women’s circles
Health care
Education
Friendships

Anywhere there is hierarchy, there is often performance. Anywhere belonging feels conditional, performance begins. And eventually, something in the body starts resisting.

The version of you tasked with maintaining the performance becomes exhausted, not because you’re failing but because some deeper part of you no longer wants to disappear in order to belong.

Maybe burnout is not simply collapse.

Maybe it’s a confrontation.

Maybe it is the body asking:
How much longer are you willing to abandon yourself just to remain accepted by systems that were never designed for your humanity?

I have felt this tension in almost every area of my life.

Especially around work.

There are moments where I spiral because I can’t force myself back into what the world still considers “traditional” work, while at the same time scrambling to survive inside a system where capitalism remains the dominant reality.

The contradiction is exhausting.

My body feels it. My relationships feel it. The tension is visceral.

And still, I catch myself scanning for belonging and approval while simultaneously trying to disrupt the very systems demanding my compliance.

The judgment is real.

The intolerance can be heartbreaking.

The lack of meaningful support can feel paralyzing.

And yet, what unsettles me most is realizing how often I abandon myself the moment fear enters the room. (SO much lately)

The moment I worry about being accepted, being understood, being too much, not enough, too disruptive, too emotional.

Too human.

I leave myself. Again and again.

Workplace after workplace.
Relationship after relationship.
Community after community.

And eventually you realize how exhausted a person becomes from surviving themselves; how exhausted the body becomes from constantly negotiating between authenticity and belonging.

At what point do we stop abandoning ourselves just to remain acceptable?

Where in your life do you feel most performed rather than fully present?