Burnout in Expat Life: A Personal Reflection from the happiest countries yet another year

It’s easy for me to recognize burnout in others — the overwhelm, the emotional distance, the slow unravelling of joy, the dark humor (cynicism?), the lack of attachment not only in professional, but in other parts of life too. When it quietly crept into my own life, I almost didn’t notice.

I was in my third year of psychotherapy training, just about this time of the year, working full-time as a medical doctor in psychiatric departments, going through one of the biggest challenges in my personal life, juggling professional and personal responsibilities. On paper, I was functioning. I was showing up for work, doing the required, ticking the boxes. Then one day I noticed I was no longer worried, when working with particular issues in my patients’ lives – the usual emotion, for which to get rid off at the end of the day, I needed the extra efford. I still cared — technically — but I wasn’t feeling it. The emotional attunement that had always been part of my identity as a clinician was dulled, somewhat distant, like feeling life through a glass. I could master the thought, this is not me. And I was right — something essential had gone offline.

Burnout wears many faces, but in my case, it arrived quietly, masked by professional experience. In Finland, where I arrived over 20 years ago, high-functioning burnout is common — especially among professionals in healthcare, education, and social services. According to a 2023 report from the Finnish Institute of Occupational Health, nearly one in four Finnish workers experience symptoms of burnout, and the numbers are rising. For foreigners navigating the already demanding terrain of relocation, cultural integration, and professional performance, the stakes can be even higher.

While solid national statistics on expat burnout in Finland are limited, global research shows expats are at increased risk of emotional exhaustion, loneliness, and work-life imbalance. In a country like Finland — where social systems are efficient but naturally deeply tied to local language and norms — the experience of being “other” can be subtle but cumulative. Cold winters, limited daylight, and a quiet social fabric can be both soothing and isolating, depending on where you are in your emotional journey.

My own tipping point came in the beginning of the autumn, when the light was fading and everything felt beautifully slowing down. That’s when I was granted a four-month sabbatical. It wasn’t just a break — it was a lifeline. I started it with 10 days road trip in the beauty of Norway. It wasn’t just a trip with my dog – it was a lifejacket. During that time, I didn’t escape into nothingness; rather, I immersed myself in something that had always given me meaning — learning. My studies kept my mind engaged, while my children, my dog, and a small circle of friends anchored me in love and responsibility. That unusual combination — something for the mind, something for the heart, something for the body — was what started my healing.

Recovery, of course, is not linear. Even after the sabbatical, I noticed I struggled with getting excited with asks I’d once found interesting. I procrastinated. Sleep eluded me. My inner voice, once clear and confident, had become somewhat distant. Burnout lingers in the nervous system, in habits, in the cracks of self-doubt and lack of interest.

Looking back now, I know that what helped me survive wasn’t just time off. It was the permission I gave to myself to be the way I am - not perfectly feeling it. To admit I might need time to get back to myself. And that’s ok.

If you’re an expat in Finland or anywhere else, and something inside you feels flat, distant, or too heavy to carry: you’re not alone. And most definitely you are not lazy (ungrateful, irresponsible, lacking integrity or knowledge). Burnout doesn’t discriminate, but it does often hide behind the faces of those who care deeply and give generously.

Here are a few quiet truths I’ve learned:

• Burnout is not a failure — it’s often a form of deep loyalty to work, family, or identity, taken too far without rest.

• Being an expat amplifies vulnerability. The pressure to adapt, succeed, and “not make a fuss” can become internalized.

• You can function well and still be in burnout.

• Recovery requires more than a vacation. It needs connection, meaning, and softness — especially from yourself.

• Love and responsibility can co-exist. You don’t have to choose between your people and your healing.

If I could say one thing to someone facing burnout now, it would be this: Start with noticing. You don’t have to fix everything at once. Telling the truth about how you feel to yourself, and later to others is the start, the first real act of recovery.