When the System Expects Your Overwork
How to Navigate Unhealthy Workplace Accountability
This is Part 4 of a 5-Part Series: The Work Culture Energy Scale & The Future of Sustainable Leadership.
Part 1: If you feel like you’re burning out, read this.
Part 2: The speed of survival.
Part 3: The Accountability Trap – How Leaders Burn Themselves Out in the Name of Responsibility.
Before I ever led a team, I was standing onstage in rehearsals for a professional production of Grease, belting out Freddy My Love atop a prop bed.
It was an absolute blast. Until it one rehearsal, right in the middle of my number, our director slammed his script on the stage, face flushed and trembling, and screamed:
“You’re supposed to be high schoolers. HAVE FORKING FUN!”
(Except he didn’t say “forking.”)
Blink. Blink. Blink.
This behavior continued, and It became a running joke between us in the cast.
As a bunch of early twenty-somethings, we weren’t exactly well-equipped to deal with that kind of tension with compassion or grace.
Instead, we laughed about it. Bonded over it.
But beneath the laughter was that shared, slightly terrified glance of:
What the heck is actually going on with him?
At the time, I chalked it up to him just being that guy. Dramatic. Intense. A little stressed.
But now, almost 20 years later, I find myself wondering something else entirely:
What kind of pressure was he under?
What invisible expectations were bearing down on him?
What system was quietly demanding that he hold it all together, no matter the personal cost?
Because here’s the thing:
He was telling us to have fun.
But the environment he was leading in made that impossible.
And whether he realized it or not, we were feeling every ounce of the stress he thought he was hiding.
Sound familiar?
When the system says one thing… but demands another.
"We want balance."
"We don’t expect overwork."
"Take time off whenever you need."
Workplaces love to say the right things.
They love to sound like they care about burnout.
But the lived reality? Tells a different story.
Because most systems aren’t actually built for balance.
They’re built on quiet, compliant over-functioning.
They rely on a handful of people holding everything together, absorbing the strain, picking up the slack, and making it work—often at their own expense.
(If you were the kid who held the group project together in high school and set the curve, you probably know exactly how this works.)
And when you decide to step back, slow down, or work sustainably, the system responds by pushing you to pick up the slack again.
And if you don’t?
It quietly—or not so quietly—penalizes you.
Performance reviews.
Missed promotions.
Lack of raises.
Side comments about being “less committed.”
The system reasserts its expectations.
What happens when you’re trying to break the burnout cycle…
…but the system keeps demanding more?
That’s the trap so many leaders find themselves in.
You start doing the work to shift your own patterns.
You set better boundaries.
You commit more wisely.
You stop automatically saying yes.
And then? The system pushes back.
The deadlines stay impossible.
The expectations remain sky-high.
The praise still goes to whoever sacrifices the most.
That’s the trap.
Systems pretend they want balance, but behind the curtain?
They’re built on someone quietly carrying the load until they break.
And suddenly, you’re standing on stage, just trying to hold it all together, while someone is screaming at you to HAVE FUN—while everything is quietly falling apart.
That’s the trap.
Systems pretend they want balance, but behind the curtain? They’re built on someone quietly carrying the load until they break.
And here’s the deeper truth:
We all carry the system inside of us.
All of us.
Unless we’re actively working to break them down, we’re almost always—knowingly or unknowingly—helping to keep them alive. We will become “the man” unless we actively work to not become “the man.”
From the moment we step into preschool and learn to follow the schedule.
Respond to the bell.
Stand in line.
Raise our hand.
Perform for gold stars.
To the moment we clock into our first job and figure out what really gets rewarded:
Staying late.
Saying yes.
Going above and beyond, even when it costs us.
We learn the rhythm early:
Hustle. Achieve. Produce. Repeat.
And if we play it right?
If we work hard enough, climb high enough, become indispensable enough?
Maybe we’ll finally get to benefit from the system that’s been burning us out all along.
We’re programmed to keep the machine running.
We’re taught that if we work hard enough, play by the rules, climb high enough, maybe we’ll finally get to benefit from the system that’s been burning us out all along.
And a burnt-out, overloaded population?
Too tired to fight back.
So I’m not here to shame that director.
Or any leader who finds themselves holding the bag for an entire, broken system.
I’m here to ask questions.
To shed light.
To work toward something different.
Because this?
This isn’t working.
Here’s what I know:
When workplaces run on over-functioning, leaders crack.
Sometimes loudly (hello, script-throwing).
Sometimes quietly (hello, simmering resentment).
But always, eventually, the cracks start to show.
And if you don’t actively protect your capacity, the system will drain you dry.
So… what do you actually do about it?
Because I know you already know this:
You can’t out-boundary a broken system.
But there are ways to protect your capacity—even when the system won’t.
How do you protect your capacity when the system won’t?
Here’s where I always come back to the same four moves:
Call out what's really happening.
Not just to yourself, but out loud.
In the room. In the meeting. In the email.
Systems thrive on silence.
The first disruption is saying the quiet part out loud.
You might say:
“We say we value balance, but the workload doesn't reflect that.”
“This pace isn't sustainable.”
“I'm noticing we're depending on people over-functioning just to keep up.”
And when the system responds with:
“Well, it’s just a busy season.”
“Things will slow down soon.”
“We’re almost through the crunch.”
You say:
“We said that last season. What’s actually going to change?”
Refuse the hero role.
You are not the safety net.
You are not the fail-safe.
If the system only runs because you're constantly breaking yourself to hold it together, that's not noble. It's extraction.
And when someone says:
“We just really appreciate you going above and beyond.”
You say:
“Thanks, but this isn’t sustainable—and it shouldn’t have to be.”
Invite collective accountability.
Workplaces shift when people stop playing along.
Ask your people:
Who else is feeling stretched too thin?
Who benefits from us staying quiet?
What would change if we all stopped filling the gaps?
Naming it together gives you power.
Redefine what good leadership looks like.
Because what you carry doesn’t just stay with you.
When you self-exploit, your team follows your lead.
If you keep carrying more than your fair share, that pressure has to go somewhere.
It rolls downhill.
It fractures trust.
It burns out everyone in its path.
Good leadership isn’t self-sacrifice.
Good leadership isn’t being the last one online.
Good leadership isn’t absorbing every failure so no one else has to feel discomfort.
Good leadership is sustainable.
Good leadership sets the pace—not just for performance, but for well-being.
But What If Nothing Changes?
Here’s the hardest truth of all:
You can model sustainability.
You can communicate clearly.
You can hold healthy boundaries.
And still, the system might keep asking for more.
And in that moment, you get to decide:
Is this a system I can shift from within?
Or is it one I need to leave behind?
Because breaking your burnout cycle is brave.
But opting out of someone else's?
That’s leadership, too.
Next up? The Future of Work & Leadership—How Do We Build Something Better?
See you then.
Brittany
P.S. If you’re nodding along thinking, ‘Okay, but what does protecting my capacity actually look like?’—I made you something. Grab the full Protect Your Capacity Playbook. It’s a free, practical guide to help you put these moves into practice.
