At 29, Rahul had stopped worrying about money. That was supposed to feel like freedom.
He was a lead software engineer at a product company in Bengaluru, earning well enough that EMIs were manageable, savings were growing, and family expectations were finally met. His parents no longer asked about job security. Relatives mentioned his name with pride. From the outside, everything looked settled.
But nights were different.
Sleep had become unpredictable. Some nights he lay awake till 3 a.m., staring at the ceiling, replaying conversations from work. Other nights he slept but woke up exhausted, as if rest never really happened. Mornings felt heavy even before the day began.
“I earn well,” he admitted once, almost apologetically. “But I don’t sleep well. And that’s starting to scare me.”
There was no single moment when things went wrong. No dramatic failure. No breakdown at work. Burnout arrived quietly, disguised as ambition.
It started with staying late to finish tasks. Then responding to messages at night. Then checking Slack before brushing his teeth in the morning. Somewhere along the way, being “available” became part of his identity. Rahul was dependable. The one who fixed issues. The one who didn’t complain.
At first, it felt good to be needed. Over time, it became exhausting.
Even on days without pressure, his mind refused to slow down. He would sit on his bed scrolling endlessly, not because he wanted entertainment, but because silence felt uncomfortable. When he tried to sleep, thoughts rushed in – deadlines, half-finished tasks, conversations that might have gone wrong.
During the day, everything looked normal. He attended meetings, wrote code, met expectations. Colleagues saw a high-performing engineer. Friends saw someone “doing really well.” When Rahul hinted at feeling tired, the responses were familiar.
“This is normal at this stage.”
“At least you’re earning well.”
“Everyone is stressed. You’ll get used to it.”
So he stopped talking about it.
What made it harder was the guilt. Rahul knew many people struggled to find jobs. He knew his position was privileged. Admitting he was unhappy felt ungrateful. So he convinced himself it was temporary. That things would settle down after the next release, the next appraisal, the next milestone.
They didn’t.
His body started sending signals he couldn’t ignore. Constant headaches. Weight gain. Random acidity. A smartwatch that kept reminding him his sleep quality was poor night after night.
Still, he pushed through.
The moment that finally shook him wasn’t a work crisis. It was a quiet Sunday evening. Rahul had done nothing all day. No meetings. No laptop. No travel. Yet when night came, his chest felt tight. His mind wouldn’t slow down. Sleep refused to arrive.
“I realized something was wrong when even rest felt stressful,” he said.
That night, instead of scrolling, he opened his notes app and typed a single line: “I am exhausted, and pretending I’m not is making it worse.”
It wasn’t a solution. But it was honest.
Rahul didn’t quit his job the next day. He didn’t move to the mountains or start a startup. His life didn’t change overnight.
What changed was quieter.
He told his manager he was struggling – not dramatically, just truthfully. He stopped responding to messages after a certain hour. He removed work email from his personal phone. He started walking in the evenings without podcasts, without calls, without trying to be productive. For the first time, he spoke to a therapist.
None of it fixed everything immediately. But the noise reduced. Sleep returned slowly. In pieces. Then in longer stretches. Some nights were still difficult, but they no longer felt endless.
Today, Rahul still earns well. His career hasn’t stalled. But he no longer measures success only by output or availability.
“I used to think burnout meant failure,” he said. “Now I think ignoring burnout is the real failure.”
He’s still ambitious. Still serious about his work. Just no longer willing to sacrifice his health for the illusion of constant progress.
There are many engineers like Rahul – earning more than they ever imagined, yet sleeping less than they ever should. Their lives look successful, so their struggles stay invisible.
If you’re earning well but sleeping poorly, you’re not broken. You’re not weak. And you’re definitely not alone.
Sometimes the bravest thing an engineer can do isn’t working harder.
It’s admitting they’re tired – and finally listening to it.