When Autistic Burnout Won’t Go Away

How can I deal with the fact that most careers aren’t well-suited to me?

The morning I cried over my job was the moment I realized I needed to quit.

I applied for the job during the summer of 2022, while taking a university course related to the position. It was still a shock to me when the company offered me an interview, though.

I had spent months trying (and failing) to find work. When they offered me the position, I accepted without hesitation.

This turned out to be a mistake.

The term “autistic burnout” originated within the autistic community. It describes the extreme exhaustion experienced by some autistic people. This exhaustion can be mental, emotional, and/or physical.

Characteristics of autistic burnout include (but are not limited to):

• Exhaustion
• Difficulty managing emotions
• An increase in autistic traits
• A sudden loss of skills
• Increased sensory sensitivity
• Social withdrawal
• Physical pain and headaches

It started as an informal community term, but lately, an increasing number of scientific studies have investigated the phenomenon.

One study titled “Having All of Your Internal Resources Exhausted Beyond Measure and Being Left with No Clean-Up Crew”: Defining Autistic Burnout explored the experiences of people who had dealt with autistic burnout. Their conclusion included this:

Autistic burnout appears to be a phenomenon distinct from occupational burnout or clinical depression.

Wait. If autistic burnout is a unique phenomenon, how do we cope with and prevent it?

My enthusiasm for my new job started out strong. When I struggled to keep track of all the new information I learned, I didn’t let it phase me. I showed up to work early, took notes, and made flashcards. Even when the initial excitement faded and the stress increased, I kept trying.

Then, one Friday night, I went to sleep early — and woke up on Sunday afternoon.

Week after week, I slept through most of the weekend. In retrospect, this should have been a bigger warning sign, but I ignored it.

At work, I masked (or I tried — I’ve never been very good at masking) and tried to remember all the reasons I needed this job. I saved money for a trip to go visit my long-distance partner, even though she told me this job wasn’t worth sacrificing my mental health.

The prospect of quitting, though, filled me with dread.

I’ve learned the hard way that many jobs don’t suit me.

After graduating from high school, I tried working as a cashier. My auditory processing issues (often comorbid with autism), though, made this difficult. Talking to customers in the noisy grocery store seemed almost impossible.

Then I tried working at a hotel as part of their housekeeping staff. Here, my difficulties with fine motor control caused issues. I struggled with tasks like making a bed in a reasonable amount of time.

Some jobs have suited me better than others, though.

My first job was at a STEM summer camp at the local library, where I excelled. Each week, my coworker and I planned out activities to teach kids a variety of unique skills. These skills ranged from creating models for 3D printing to programming robots.

I loved working there. I felt confident in my abilities, and I rarely, if ever, felt the need to mask.

My next job was at an animal shelter. They warned me during the interview that most of the work involved cleaning. I didn’t mind, even though I always took a shower when I got home after work.

After five months of working there, though, my boss took me aside. I was being laid off. There weren’t enough animals to justify the number of employees. Once again, I had to look for another job.

Most articles on autistic burnout repeat the same advice for recovering from it. “Stop masking,” they say, as if it’s that simple. “Cut out sources of stress in your life.”

I try to squash the resentment growing inside me as I scroll through page after page of the same generic advice. Finally, though, I give some tips a try — starting with listing the sources of stress in my life.

It’s worryingly easy.

I notice a common thread as well. The activities and obligations that stress me out are often things without a clear finish line.

Meanwhile, when I list out the things that help me regulate or energize me, the pattern is the exact opposite.

These activities often have a clear beginning and end. For instance, writing an article on Medium leaves me energized. Some activities, like sitting outside in my backyard and watching the birds, don’t need it at all.

I can’t say if this pattern holds true for other autistic people, but it seems worth mentioning.

Then I need to track if my burnout symptoms are actually improving or worsening. Autistic people often struggle with awareness of our emotions and internal experiences. I, unfortunately, am no exception.

I make a list of my burnout symptoms. Social withdrawal stands out to me most, because I lean towards extroversion. I may be quiet, but I enjoy being around others, and I am — or rather, was — prone to cabin fever.

If my burnout improved, I decide, I’d likely spend more time out of the house and around people.

I end up finding some ideas for attempting to recover from my burnout. They include spending more time on my special interests and stimming more.

The hopelessness recedes a little. Things look more manageable.

I finally quit the job that sparked my burnout about a year ago.

Not everyone who goes through autistic burnout can just quit their job, though. Addressing the issue requires societal change, too. We need a world where autistic people don’t have to mask or try to live up to neurotypical standards.

In the meantime, though, if you’re going through autistic burnout, please know this:

You’re not alone, and it’s not your fault.