The Video I Deleted - Road to Recovery

In February 2023, I recorded a video for my boss explaining why I couldn't come in that day.

I sent it. I waited. She didn't reply. And eventually I went back into the chat and deleted it — because I had exposed myself completely, and the silence on the other end felt worse than if I'd said nothing at all.

I still remember every word.

I said it feels like I've been punched in the eyes. Like I've been squeezed empty. Not just tired — hollow. I said I have nothing to give. Not to my clients, not to my children, not to myself. I said I want to cover my ears, contain my head, block out every sense. And I couldn't stop crying. Not about anything. Just crying.

My voice was shaking. I couldn't hold eye contact with my own camera. But I knew what I was trying to say, even if I didn't yet have the right words for it.

That was burnout. But not the kind that arrives suddenly. The kind that had been accumulating for years.

What I didn't know then

At the time, I thought burnout was something that happened to people who weren't coping well. A bad week. A patch that would pass.

What I understand now is that it was the result of years of giving my energy with no strategy for getting it back. I was coaching. I was parenting. I was absorbing other people's pain and distress every single day — which is part of what I do, and part of what I'm good at. My ADHD means I feel everything in the room. The dynamics, the tension, the unspoken things in the body of the person across from me. I pick it up instinctively.

But I had no container for any of it. No ritual, no boundary, no way of returning what I'd taken on. And my ADHD made this worse in a specific way that I think often gets overlooked: my brain doesn't send gentle signals that it's running low. It doesn't slow gracefully. It keeps going, hyper-focused, pushing through — until it simply can't any more.

That's not a character flaw. That's a neurological reality. But I had been operating as though willpower and discipline could override it indefinitely. They can't. They didn't.

What recovery actually looked like

I didn't overhaul my life in one clean moment. There were dark stretches. But I started, slowly, to put things in place — what I now call my non-negotiables.

Not a list of wellness habits. An honest account of what genuinely changed things.

I started training in sync with my cycle. This isn't as complicated as it's sometimes made to sound, but it did require me to stop treating intensity as the only valid gear. Some weeks I lift heavy. Some weeks I walk. I stopped apologising for the difference. My hormones impact my energy, my attention, my capacity. Ignoring that was costing me.

I started meditating — briefly, imperfectly — every morning and every evening. Not because it made me feel transcendent, but because it created a before and after. A container for the day.

Before every client session, I began taking five minutes to replenish my own energy before I gave it away. That one shift changed how I showed up — and, more importantly, how I came home.

I became deliberate about socialising. I stopped attending high-stimulation, crowd-heavy events unless I was in my follicular phase — the point in my cycle where my nervous system is genuinely equipped for that level of input. And I rested properly afterwards. Not because I'm antisocial, but because I know my system now.

I stopped drinking. Completely. My body has thanked me for it every single day since.

I started eating with intention. Warm food. Nourishing food. Present with my hunger rather than disconnecting from it until it became something else entirely.

And every night before sleep, I say the same words: I am strong, I am calm, I am peaceful. I am non-reactive, I am united, and I have a circle of light around me at all times.

That last part might surprise you. But those words are not decorative. They are a genuine signal to my nervous system that it is safe to stop. That the day is complete. That I don't need to keep holding everything.

What changed

Since February 2023, I have not burnt out again.

I am the fittest I have ever been. I am also — and this is the part that took longer — the kindest I have ever been to myself. I can look in the mirror and mean it when I say I love what I see. That used to feel like an impossible thing.

When I work with women now, I see it clearly. They arrive having given everything. They come to me thinking more training is the answer. Sometimes it is. But often, what they actually need first is to stop. To arrive. To let the system discharge before we ask anything more of it.

Recovery isn't collapse. It isn't weakness or slowdown or giving up. It is completion. The part that makes everything else sustainable.

If you've been running on empty for so long that full feels like a distant memory — I want you to know it is possible to come back. Not by doing more. By finally doing less of what depletes you, and more of what actually restores you.

Here's my clarity call link. It's £50, and it comes off your first month if we work together. Come and talk to me.

Coming Up | When Pain Speaks

On Thursday 21 May, I'm hosting When Pain Speaks — a clinical and somatic symposium at Beckenham Place Mansion, London (and online via Zoom).

Joined by a Pain Specialist Physiotherapist and a Yoga Therapist-Psychotherapist, we'll be exploring what pain is really trying to communicate — and what becomes possible when we finally listen.

7:00–8:30pm | In person or online | Recording included | Tickets £65

👉 Book your place here

Seema Chopra works with high-performing women to train intelligently, recover well, and sustain performance without burnout