Buzzword Burnout

From the Soul on Call series

Note: These reflections are fictional and intended for educational and reflective purposes only. They are not medical advice, are not based on any specific individual, and do not represent the views of any employer or institution.

The quinoa had wilted.

Once nutritional, now resigned.

Dr. Solan Call stabbed a chickpea with his fork, unconvinced.

Overhead, a laminated banner read:

OMH WELLNESS LUNCH & LEARN
"Resilience Is You!"

It fluttered slightly in the air-conditioned breeze like a banner over a battlefield.

A PowerPoint glowed at the front of the room. A cartoon brain, sprinting in fluorescent orthotics, jogged toward them under the caption:

"Keep moving — your resilience will catch up."

Someone had added a motivational soundtrack. Solan could hear faint notes of Coldplay under the opening slide.

He sat near the back, next to a plastic ficus and a bowl of leftover granola bars from the last CME event.

A wellness facilitator—maybe from HR, maybe just someone with a black belt in positive vibes—smiled at the front like she was being paid in serotonin.

Across the room, Dr. Buzz T. Grind slouched into a chair, still in scrubs, double-fisting espresso shots. His badge was crooked, his shoulders subtly stiff. He rubbed his back like he’d been holding retractors for too long. He looked proud and wrecked—like a guy who could reduce a dislocated shoulder in his sleep but might need help putting on his own jacket.

"Wonder if the brain’s wearing orthotics."
"Man, I did three hip fractures, two tendon repairs, and squeezed in a shoulder reduction before breakfast."

He glanced around to see if anyone was impressed.

They were not.

Next to him, Dr. Zen E. Flow sat comfortably on a yoga block he’d brought from home. He sipped herbal tea from a thermos that said You Are the Moment. His socks had mandalas. He looked like he’d moisturized recently.

He had the calm, steady energy of someone who reminds people to breathe for a living.

"Stress,"
"is just resistance to what is."

Solan blinked slowly. He was fairly certain what is included unfiled forms, the broken vitals machine in Room 6, and the patient who tried to elope using a visitor badge.

The facilitator—Alana, according to her lanyard and soft voice—welcomed them and launched into a presentation called Thriving, Not Just Surviving! Each slide featured a stock photo of a doctor laughing while holding a salad.

Solan could feel his skull folding in on itself.

Then came a pie chart titled Sources of Staff Burnout.

The biggest slice: Negative Self-Talk.
A tiny sliver, shaded faintly in gray: Systemic Factors.

Buzz snorted. Zen nodded thoughtfully.

Alana asked them to reflect on their "gratitude anchors."

Solan’s anchor was the cold spot on his forehead where he’d almost face-planted on the table during the third bullet point.

He tried to refocus, but his attention drifted. He imagined standing up and saying:

"Actually, I don’t think I’m burned out because I need more self-compassion. I think I’m burned out because I’m working 60 hours a week, documenting every bowel movement, and haven’t had a protected lunch since the pandemic."

But he didn’t stand.

The urge passed, like most things lately.

Instead, he poked at his grain bowl.

"Just allow what arises."

"If I allowed what arises, I’d be asleep on the floor."

"Any reflections?"

There was a silence so heavy it almost felt holy.

Solan cleared his throat.

"I think I’m allergic to this salad."

A ripple of laughter. Quick. Uncontrolled. Someone even clapped.

Buzz shot him a small nod. Zen’s mouth twitched in the faintest smile. Solan caught it, and for a second, the weight eased just a little.

Zen smiled. Buzz grunted. Alana beamed like they’d just made a breakthrough.

Solan wasn’t trying to be funny. Not really. He just couldn’t sit through one more slide pretending burnout was a branding issue he’d failed to manage properly.

It wasn’t the session that broke him.

It was the idea that if he just worked harder at feeling okay about being crushed, the crushing would stop.

Later, as he left the room, Buzz offered him a high-five and muttered:

"See you in the pit."

Zen handed him a folded quote:

"The wound is the place where the light enters you." – Rumi

Solan smiled, nodded, and walked out.
He didn’t crumple the paper.

But he didn’t read it either.

Somewhere behind him, the PowerPoint looped back to the running brain.

An email from HR landed later that afternoon:

Thank you for attending. Please remember: your wellness will be monitored for quality improvement purposes.

Solan stared at the screen, then quietly deleted it.

He knew another mandatory session would come soon.

Buzz and Zen would probably be there, too.

Maybe next time, they’d all bring their own lunch.
Maybe that would be enough.

🌱 Want to untangle a little more?
If you’ve been carrying fixes that don’t fit, this week’s Soul Kit might help sort what’s actually yours:
Is This Mine?

It’s not a strategy. Just a quiet space to set some of it down—and see what still feels true.