From Burnout to Breakthrough

My Journey Through Long COVID and Career Change

👋 Hi, I’m Theresa. Welcome to my newsletter on career growth, leadership, and navigating the challenges of working in tech. Learn more about my 1:1 coaching practice at theresaaristarco.com.

Read time: 15 minutes

Did a friend forward this to you? Subscribe to get my posts directly in your inbox:

---

How have you been?

“How have you been?” is a question I’ve been asked frequently as I return to work after an eight-month sabbatical. I’ve struggled to share succinctly how dramatically my life has changed in the last year. How unwell I was, how much better I am now, and how my perspective has forever changed. It’s a story I feel compelled to share in full because I’ve learned that telling my story has power. Sharing openly and honestly connects me more deeply with others and creates a safe space for others to share in return.

When we tell our stories, we take control of them, rather than letting fear or shame dictate how they exist in our minds. We can transform past challenges into sources of strength, and in doing so, we can inspire others to do the same.

This is the story of how burnout and long-haul COVID transformed me, launching me into a new career and life trajectory.

Spoiler: it has a happy ending. ❣️

PART 1: COVID

I got COVID for the second time in February 2023. In some ways it was similar to my first round with the virus in 2022: sore throat, fever, body aches, fatigue. But this time I had a new symptom: searing pain. Each time my fever spiked, my legs throbbed with deep, unrelenting pain. Medication did little to help. For a week I was stuck in bed, with nothing to do but endure and hope for relief.

Months after the infection, the pain still gripped me. I relied on ibuprofen three times a day just to function. Simple tasks - standing to prepare a meal, carrying a laundry basket downstairs, walking the dog, picking up groceries - became exhausting feats, draining what little energy I had. More intensive physical activities I previously enjoyed, like hiking, skiing, and dancing were completely off the table.

Only in hindsight can I fully grasp how sick I was then. Stuck in survival mode, I clung to a sense of normalcy. I was still working full-time, seeing friends, traveling for weddings. But internally, every day was an exhausting, painful slog. My mind ran an endless loop of fear-based calculations: How many steps have I taken today? If I walk to the coffee shop three blocks away, will my leg pain flare up? If I push myself now, how will I feel tomorrow? Will I be well enough for that event on Saturday? I was very anxious, but anxiety wasn’t new to me - I have faced anxiety for as long as I can remember. Over the years, I had developed ways to manage it, to push through discomfort, to remind myself that the fear would pass. Because I had always found a way through before, I told myself I could handle this too.

PART 2: BURNOUT

Just before I got sick, I was given the opportunity to step up into a manager-of-managers role at work, and I accepted. It was the dream job for me: the opportunity to grow and lead an organization at a company I felt aligned with. I was proud and grateful to be given this leadership opportunity and I jumped in with both feet.

In the spring of 2023, while most of my physical life became inaccessible due to leg pain and resulting fatigue, I could still sit at a desk and work. I threw myself into my new role. I scaled my engineering organization from 11 people to 22 in under 6 months with 100% retention. I covered for two other engineering managers who went on parental leave, having upwards of 14 direct reports at a time. I navigated a rough sea of company and organizational changes, determined to be a stabilizing force in a chaotic corporate environment.

The increased scope and responsibility raised my stress level significantly. At night, I lay in bed, running through my work to-do list. I’d wake up in the middle of the night, my legs throbbing in pain, and I’d toss and turn as work worries ran through my mind. I’d drag myself out of bed each morning, my legs in pain and already exhausted. I would obsessively check my Oura ring stats to gauge how I might feel that day. I sat in my home office on video calls for hours on end, attempting to show up with high energy and a strong presence for my team. But what I was putting on display was a facade. I often did not leave the house during the work week. After shutting my laptop at the end of the day, I’d crash on the couch, absolutely spent, while my sweet fiancé walked our dog, made dinner, did the dishes, and handled everything else I physically couldn’t. My career looked successful on the surface, but in reality, I was not okay.

And yet, I kept most of this to myself. I didn’t talk about how anxious I was or how I was struggling to get through each day. I shared only the basics of my physical symptoms with my closest circle, mostly to explain why I could no longer engage socially in physical activities. When I thought about how seriously ill I was, I broke down into tears. I was so afraid that I would never get better, and that the chronic pain and fatigue I lived with would be my new normal. I often found myself in an anxiety spiral about the future: Would I be able to dance on my upcoming wedding day, in August 2024? Would I be able to travel on a lengthy, international honeymoon? Would I ever be able to hike or ski again? I was ashamed to admit that my body was so weak and broken. In talk therapy I mostly focused on work, and when my health came up, I just cried. My reality felt too overwhelming to confront, so I operated on the surface, keeping my anxiety buried deep. I pushed myself through each day, each week, each month, as I had before when facing anxiety. I focused on my job because it gave me a sense of purpose and stability when everything else felt uncertain. Even though I couldn’t control my health, work was one area where I still had some control.

In December 2023, I had a wake-up call. I had been managing 14+ direct reports for months, with the expectation that help - another manager reporting to me - was on the way. With an excellent candidate ready to sign their offer letter to join, the role was closed without warning. This was devastating. I desperately needed help, and the lifeline I had expected was suddenly not coming. It was a jarring realization that, despite my best efforts, work was not actually something I could control. The truth smacked me upside the head - I had to make a serious change in my life, and I had to make it now. I couldn’t keep sacrificing myself for a job that wouldn’t save me. I had to make a massive change or else I really would never be healthy again.

I entered 2024 with a singular, unwavering goal: to reclaim my health. I threw myself into every possible treatment. I committed to physical therapy twice a week, massage therapy and acupuncture weekly, and continued regular sessions with my therapist. I saw a functional medicine doctor and experimented with supplements, nutritional IVs, and medications, doing everything I could to heal. I explained the treatments and therapies to my close circle, but I still didn’t share the full picture of how anxious and scared I was that I would never physically recover. I still could not face my deepest fears without being entirely overwhelmed with emotion.

After weeks, then months, of dedicating myself to recovery, I began to see small signs of progress: I was in less pain after IV treatments, I could do more reps in PT, I could comfortably walk my dog around the block a few times a week. Each small win lifted my confidence and optimism, but setbacks hit hard and spiked my anxiety, which I still was white-knuckling. I was still so far from "normal," and the road ahead felt so daunting. I wanted nothing more than to feel strong and capable in my physical body.

As I devoted more time to healing and recovery, I could no longer ignore how much my job drained me. I was so proud of my career and my leadership role, and I deeply wanted to excel in it. However, I could finally come to terms with the fact that it was holding back my recovery. No matter how much I wanted to hold on, I knew deep down I needed to step away to fully heal.

Letting go of that part of my identity was a profound loss, and I grieved a version of myself I had spent years building. My career had given me purpose, confidence, and a sense of accomplishment. Walking away wasn’t just about leaving a job - it meant letting go of the structure, recognition, and impact that had defined so much of my adult life.

In April 2024, with the unwavering support of my fiancé, family, and friends, I made the difficult decision to step away from my corporate career in big tech without knowing when, or if, I would return

PART 3: SABBATICAL

I entered my sabbatical hopeful and optimistic, but then my health unexpectedly declined. I began having vertigo and vestibular system issues. I couldn’t read a book (one of my favorite hobbies), comfortably look at screens, or drive. My body experienced undulations like it was constantly rocking on a boat. This brought my anxiety to a fever pitch - this was not the plan. I expected to have a restorative spring and summer, continuing to heal ahead of my August wedding and honeymoon. Instead, I faced a new set of severe symptoms that required new doctors, lifestyle adjustments, and more physical therapy. I panicked. How would I manage this on top of everything else? How much more could I take? The anxiety I had been avoiding ballooned and became all consuming. I could not imagine a world in which I was healthy again.

In late May, I had a panic attack for the first time in many years. In retrospect, my body was screaming at me to tend to my mental health, as I had my physical health. But I didn’t see the gravity of the situation I was in. I still thought I could ride it out as I had before.

I am so lucky and grateful that my fiancé saw me drowning in anxiety and would no longer accept it. He sat me down and pointed out every red flag that I had shoved aside. It was a bizarre experience to have someone see me, and what I had been avoiding, so clearly. He accurately articulated that my deteriorating mental health was the biggest thing holding back my recovery. There was no longer a stressful job for me to hide behind. He implored that I take a new approach to managing my anxiety, because hoping it would simmer down was clearly not working. It was a deeply serious conversation, unlike any other in our 7+ year relationship, and that scared me into action.

With support from my team of doctors and therapists, I began an SSRI 8 weeks before our wedding. This was a high-risk, high-reward move, as treating anxiety and depression can be a challenging trial and error of medication and dosing. The adjustment period was tough, but almost immediately I experienced a massive shift. It felt as if I was stepping out into the warm sunlight after living in darkness for so long.

I experienced a significant energy boost and I made big strides in physical therapy. I quickly regained a lot of my physical strength and this bolstered my confidence. I slowly saw parts of my old life, before long-haul COVID, return. My fiancé and I cried tears of joy after the first time we went to the grocery store together. Walks to the local coffee shop felt achievable and not threatening. The protective mental gymnastics I performed slowed.

Finally, I could think and talk about my health without sobbing. I could express more in therapy about what I was experiencing, and I was able to go deeper, to the root cause of the anxiety I had been white-knuckling through. I addressed the shame and fear I held that my body and spirit were broken and unrecoverable, and that I might never experience a full recovery. The more I accepted the presence of these feelings, the less power they held over me.

Most importantly, I started to speak honestly with friends and family about how I was. I did not hold back or minimize my experience. Every time I shared with someone new, something significant was shared with me in return. I learned that everyone around me was struggling in some way, and this was oddly comforting, because it meant I was not alone. I heard over and over how much people wished they had known what I was going through so that they could have helped me. Every real conversation forged a deeper connection between me and my community. I felt so deeply loved and cared for. I felt, for the first time in a very long time, that I was being seen and supported as my true self. It was a miraculous gift after traveling such a long, lonely road.

On August 10, 2024, my husband and I triumphantly celebrated both our wedding and the return of my health. It was a celebration of our relationship and the fight we had put up, together, to get me through to the other side of burnout and long-haul COVID. I danced for hours on our wedding night, and on our honeymoon, I walked 10K steps daily in Copenhagen and hiked mountains in Norway. While not entirely symptom-free, I had finally accomplished what I had so deeply desired at the start of 2024 - I had reclaimed my health. I was no longer controlled by pain. There was no longer a monster of anxiety controlling me below the surface. I had agency over my body and life again.

PART 4: PIVOT

We returned from our honeymoon still on cloud 9. But my husband went back to work, the wedding and honeymoon were over, and my instinct was to get a job. My husband pushed back on this, encouraging me to take more time and space for myself, to reinforce my only recently recovered physical and mental health. I thought I was ready to go back to work, but I reluctantly took his advice.

With my now wide open schedule, clear mind, and able body, I signed up for a program I had been curious about for years: The Artist’s Way. It was a 12-week group course, meeting weekly online, designed to inspire creative and intentional living. I didn’t know what to expect, but I was excited. Through the course I started journaling daily and taking myself on weekly solo “artist dates.” I paid more attention to my creative interests and hobbies, dissecting my life and analyzing how I spent my time. I started doing things I had always wanted to do, but never made time for: I learned how to make sourdough, gardened, and crafted mixed media art. I was prioritizing my inner artist child, whom I had unknowingly abandoned over time. I found so much joy in “little” things. I felt so damn happy. I was glowing.

I was also deeply inspired by the other women in my class. They were solo-entrepreneurs: artists, coaches, writers and healers, working in a way that was meaningful to them. They had families and robust, beautiful lives. I wanted what I saw that they had: purpose, conviction, good health, creativity and autonomy in work. They made me realize I didn’t have to go back to the corporate world, that work could look different. This was exciting to see and to realize. I continued to consider returning to a corporate engineering leader role, but I felt a growing resistance to that. It felt too demanding and too restrictive. I had more to give than ever before and I wanted to harness that for myself, and not for a corporation.

I journaled to sort through my new priorities and values. Health was at the top of my list, and next was community. I could see so clearly that these things were intertwined. My instinct to isolate my anxiety was the wrong choice in my healing journey. I was never going to recover on my own. I needed my support system of doctors, therapists, my husband, family, friends and colleagues. I was not a burden for needing their help, they wanted to give it to me. I learned that help is a gift, and that everyone needs and deserves help. This became a bottom line for me. My return to work thesis statement was, “I want to help people.”

I realized that what I had always loved most about being an engineering leader was using my skills, position, and experience to benefit others. I had earned a reputation as a people-first manager, someone who deeply cared and excelled at nurturing people and teams. But now, I saw that this work didn’t have to be confined to the corporate world. I had been a mentor, advisor, champion, and coach for years - and I could continue doing this as a solo entrepreneur. I could create a business that allowed me to prioritize my health while still making an impact and helping people. The women in my Artist’s Way class did it, so I could too. It became clear to me that this was the path forward.

PART 5: BEYOND

My private coaching practice, Theresa Aristarco Coaching LLC, was born. After everything I’ve been through - the chronic pain and fatigue, the burnout, the uncertainty, the deep reckoning with myself and my reality - I now have the privilege of helping others navigate their own challenges and find their way to a fulfilling career.

I feel truly aligned with this work. I wake up early, excited for the day ahead, energized in a way I haven’t felt since the early years of my career. My physical health is benefitting from the joy and satisfaction I experience from coaching. I graduated from physical therapy, I’m hitting weightlifting PRs in personal training, and I successfully got back on skis.

This isn’t just a new chapter, it’s a homecoming. In some ways, it feels like a bold reinvention. In others, it feels like I’m finally stepping into who I was always meant to be:

👋 I’m Theresa Aristarco, a software engineering leader turned career growth and leadership coach. I help tech professionals gain clarity, take action, and build fulfilling careers as confident, effective leaders.

If that sounds like you, let’s connect.

---

Connect with Theresa

• Are you new to my newsletter? Subscribe for free

• Follow me on LinkedIn for more insights

• Work with me for 1:1 coaching

  ---