Recognising Burnout in Dentistry

There’s this interview of author and business leader Simon Sinek that my best friend and I absolutely adore.

He recounts a conversation with one of his closest friends about the little code they have for one another when they need someone to talk to.

“[They] say when somebody's struggling, all they need is eight minutes of help or support from a friend to get them back on track.

And so, we came up with a code. We write to each other, ‘Do you have eight minutes?’

It means, ‘I need you.’

And anybody can step out of a meeting for eight minutes to be there for a friend.”

I find myself reaching for my phone as I lay in bed. My mind is whirling with a million thoughts. I remind myself to breathe. Deep belly breaths — the kind you take to ground yourself and ease your minds. I feel the air expand every space in my lungs and I’m suddenly acutely aware of how hard it is to breathe.

Isn’t it odd? How something so instinctive can become something we forget to do?

My fingers find the keyboard and tap out a message: “Do you have eight minutes?”

I remember the day of our final dental school exams and the relief and elation we all felt. We finally made it! That was it - years of studying, at last completed. Little did I know that that was only the beginning. As I enter my third year of practice, the glitter and shimmer of being a wide-eyed new graduate is fading.

“It gets better” is a phrase we’re told repeatedly. ‘I’ll get used to it, right?’ we think to ourselves. And yet, every time we overcome a hurdle, it seems like another one appears in our path. It feels like the goal post is constantly moving.

This entire year I’ve felt like I’m running on fumes – like a sputtering flame trying desperately to stay alight. My sister tried to help. She asked, “Is it dentistry? Is it your workplace? Is it your friends? Is it the podcast?” So did my boss. “Can you pinpoint what exactly is stressing you out?”

I didn’t really have an answer for them.

I like dentistry. It comes with its hardships, but I genuinely enjoy it. I adore my patients. I work with an incredible team. I run a podcast and a community that lights me up and inspires me. I make time for hobbies and plans to see my friends and family. On paper, I was doing things I know I enjoy, and yet I couldn’t shake this feeling that my heart was not in it. I was tired. And not quite myself.

And that’s because it wasn’t any one thing.

The endless pings from work group chats, emails and voicemails. Patients who don’t show up or worse - the ones who do and are frustrated, upset and in pain. Answering constant questions, juggling ten different conversations and jumping from patient to patient, all while remembering to do it with a smile.

Trying to be everything for everyone but not too much at the same time. Be helpful, be dependable, make sure you don’t let anyone down — and somewhere in all of that, it’s slowly letting yourself down.

I found myself feeling frustrated with people easily. I was less patient and understanding. I was curt and reactive. I would feel guilty for not being available and present with those around me.

I felt like I had this heavy stack of paper like a to-do list that never seemed to end, and no matter how hard I tried to stay on top of it, I was struggling to breathe under its weight.

I see the text bubble with its three little dots begin to flicker immediately.

“I’m here.”

Sooner or later, everything catches up with you, and oftentimes it’s our bodies that decide to crumble.

Earlier this year, within the span of two weeks, I picked up a stomach bug, broke out with acne, developed a nasty cold sore and caught COVID. A doctor visit and blood test later, I discovered I was also iron deficient and anaemic. It was as if my body was waving a white flag, crying out for help and forcing me to slow down.

It was during those days that my practice manager gently pulled me aside at work, citing concerns among from staff. Some had said I wasn’t my ‘usual happy and bubbly self’ and others had told her that I was micromanaging or helicoptering.

And while the conversation was kind and clearly came from a place of genuine support, it hit home. And it hit hard. Because I’ve never wanted to be a ‘problem.’ I’ve always tried to be helpful. Capable. Hold it all together.

And suddenly, I wasn’t.

The reality was I was frazzled — scattered, disorganised, haphazardly trying to fix things that I couldn’t even name. I was also disappointed. Disappointed that I was not myself. Disappointed that all my stress was manifesting outwardly and impacting those around me. Disappointed that even though the people around me were concerned, they didn’t - or couldn’t - understand where it was all coming from.

Later that same day, my practice manager checked in again. She asked if I was okay and that little crack in the shield that had been created that morning suddenly split. She didn’t try to offer solutions. She listened. She told me that it was okay to not be okay. And it felt like the first time that I had permission to feel that way.

I lean into those eight minutes. Into the comfort and familiarity of a loved one’s voice. Let it weave through and steady my racing thoughts.

When my friend asks what’s on my mind, I tell them. They encourage me to ramble. As I speak these words, these confusing thoughts and intangible worries, they begin to take shape. They gain form. They’re acknowledged. I can see them and name them. In their recognition, they lose their power.

It’s the release of a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding.

Burnout doesn’t always announce itself with a dramatic breakdown. Oftentimes it creeps in quietly, oozing in and seeping in under our skin. It’s forgetting things you normally wouldn’t and resenting the things you normally enjoy. It’s feeling guilty for saying no but then angry when you say yes. It’s desperately needing time to yourself but profusely apologising for inconveniencing others. It’s knowing you should go for a run but choosing to wallow. It’s a Catch-22. Contradictory. Confusing. Crushing.

The truth is, I didn’t feel burnt out just because of work. I felt burnt out because I kept saying yes to everything in my life. I was afraid of letting people down. I felt burnt out because I was trying to prove my worth through productivity. I felt burnt out because we live in a world that praises being ‘busy’, and rarely celebrates when someone says “I need a break” or “I’m not okay” or admits that “This is too much.”

I felt burnt out because I was available to everyone but myself. But burnout is not a failure, it’s feedback. It’s a reminder that something isn’t sustainable, and that it’s okay to take a pause.

Burnout recovery isn’t a single breakthrough moment. It’s a series of small, gentle decisions to bring you back to centre.

1. Pause before you say yes. 
   As a chronic people pleaser, I find it hard to say no out of fear of being unlikeable or inconveniencing others. However, I’m learning that saying no to one thing is saying yes to another. Yes to peace and yes to ourselves. Setting boundaries is not about being difficult, it’s about being honest.
2. Breathe — consciously. 
   You know those deep belly breaths? They really do help. Feel the breath through your nose and fill your chest. Grow with it and let the tension release. It’s incredible how much capacity our lungs can take.
3. Talk it out. 
   Send that text. Call a friend. Ask for eight minutes. You don’t need to make sense. You just need to let it out. There is no need to carry all the burden on yourself.
4. Reclaim the basics. 
   Project Erica is a mission I gave myself last year when I had finally run out of other extracurricular activities and wanted to take better care of myself. It was a time when I focused on eating proper meals, going out into the sunshine, drinking more water, sleeping earlier, exploring new hobbies. It was a time I was happy. And while these little things may seem trivial, they make a world of difference. We can get so caught up on working on patient cases, life admin, chores and taking care of others, that we forget to work on our most important project: ourselves.
5. Trust your decisions. 
   You don’t need to justify or defend your choices. Over-explaining devalues your voice and invites doubt. Stand firm in what you decide — your confidence reflects your self-worth.
6. Protect your peace.
   Honour your time, energy and peace. Find your sanctuary, your happy place, the thing that recharges you, and protect it no matter what.

I’m still working my way through it, and I always will be. I am reminded that burnout, emotional exhaustion, and mental health is an ongoing journey and there will be highs and lows. Moments of progression and moments of regression. Push and pull.

But a low moment will always just be a low moment, and it isn't a representation of our entire life. What’s important is that we are actively working on ourselves, acknowledging and accepting who we are and making little improvements bit by bit - with intent and purpose.

I share all this not because I’ve figured it out, but because I know many of us do or will feel this way at some point. We just don’t always talk about it, and burnout thrives in silence.

Healing begins in community — in connection. That starts by simply saying, “I’m struggling,” and letting yourself be supported.

So let this be your reminder, that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to have an off day, or week, or month. And it’s okay to ask for help — even if it’s just eight minutes of someone’s time. That can make all the difference.

Erica Hwin is a dental practitioner based in Brisbane and founder of The Graduate Dentist Podcast, a platform for open and honest conversations about the challenges and triumphs young dentists face. She hopes to build a community where young dentists can feel supported, empowered, and ready to tackle the many hurdles that come with the profession.

Dental Practitioner Support is a 24/7 national and confidential support service for dental practitioners and students across Australia. If you’d like to chat to someone, you can call our support line on 1800 377 700 or learn more here.