Standing in an aisle at Bunnings one Saturday morning my body finally said enough. The surprise was that I didn’t see it coming.

I was 45 at the time. The year was 2019 and I was a father of four and carrying the weight of leading a business my wife and I had founded 10 years earlier – picture the typical mix of client pressures, finance and people.

I’d been soldiering on, day in, day out, telling myself the same thing most leaders tell themselves under pressure: She’ll be right. Just keep going.

But it turns out she wasn’t gonna be right. Right there in aisle 10 the room started to spin slowly. My chest tightened. My hands went clammy. I leaned on the shelving like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

Hardly thinking, I abandoned my trolley and stumbled to the car, barely making it home before collapsing on a bed and sleeping for seven hours in the middle of the day.

It was a panic attack – my body’s way of telling me that years of unchecked stress, fear and anxiety plus limited self-care had finally caught up. Cortisol had built up in my system like a toxic chemical, overwhelming everything.

My doctor later told me something I’ll never forget: “Most men come to see me when they’ve crashed into the proverbial tree, but you’ve come to me just before you hit it.”

I share this story not because it’s unusual, but because it’s painfully common – especially in the not-for-profit sector, where the emotional load on leaders is enormous and almost never talked about openly.

A sector that puts itself last

Here’s the uncomfortable irony. People who dedicate their careers to caring for others are often the worst at caring for themselves and their teams. Research bears this out. One Australian study found that 58 per cent of charities surveyed prioritised the needs of their clients and communities instead of investing in their own teams.

A separate survey found nearly half of social sector workers are stressed or anxious “often or always” – and frustrated, cynical or exhausted at similar rates.

It turns out, servant-hearted people often put themselves last, to their detriment.

You’re probably nodding at this point. Hardly surprising given most NFP leaders wear an impossible number of hats – strategist, fundraiser, counsellor, crisis manager – and they do it with fewer resources and higher emotional stakes than their corporate counterparts.

For there, it’s all too easy for the exhaustion to compound. A familiar pattern unfolds as decision fatigue sets in, cynicism emerges and the talk-track in your mind starts running riot.

And how does it feel? From experience: like you’re stuck with few options, fading hope and swirling questions: How did I get here?  (A brilliant line from Talking Heads’ Once in a Lifetime).

The story that keeps us stuck

The deeper issue is that it isn’t just the workload burning us out. It’s a common narrative carried by many NFP leaders — we believe caring means carrying lots of loads. That self-sacrifice equals effectiveness. That putting your hand up and saying “I’m struggling” somehow betrays the mission.

I know this story well because I lived it. As a business owner facing hard times, I told myself I had to hold it all together for everyone else. I wore the mask. I pushed through. And it nearly broke me.

Through my research and personal experience, I’ve come to understand that high achievers and leaders of all stripes are vulnerable to burnout and the stress that comes from fighting our own inner narratives. An inner critic pops up, whispering that they’re not enough, that the work is never done, that they can’t afford to rest.

This is what I call the Story Code — the internal narrative that shapes how we see ourselves, our work and our place in the world. And when that narrative says you must carry everything alone to be worthy, it becomes quietly destructive.

Rewriting the narrative

The good news? These stories can be rewritten.

Six years after that panic attack at Bunnings, I’m thriving. Years of therapy, exercise, better food, improved sleep and — critically — rewriting my inner narrative have done the trick. I can walk through a busy shopping centre without triggering a fight-or-flight response. I’ve recovered my energy and I’m busy working on new projects.

The turning point was learning to recognise the stories I was telling myself, challenge them and consciously write new ones.

And as you might well imagine, the experience has helped me quickly spot others going through a similar journey. Spending time with NFP leaders, it’s clear this work is not a ‘nice to have’ luxury — it’s a necessity.

The sector needs healthy leaders who can sustain their impact over the long haul and avoid the burnout recovery cycle. It needs leaders who give themselves permission to stop carrying everything themselves.

Related story: Why critical thinking is the leadership skill NFPs need most right now

Here’s what that can look like in practice.

In The Story Code I discuss the four stages on this journey: Challenge the negative stories you tell yourself, Overwrite the old narrative, Decide on your new narrative backed by evidence of success in your own life, and finally Encode – committing to small, repeatable habits that slowly but surely shift you from survival mode to thriving.

In simple terms, those habits are built on the core pillars of a healthy life: good food, proper sleep and exercise and the easily overlooked fourth pillar — how we manage our mindsets through the stories we tell ourselves.

So be sure to pay close attention to the words you use about yourself, because we become what we say. Watch for the inner critic, especially in moments of success. And create cultures within your organisations where emotional load is shared, not silently shouldered.

After all, this is a built by compassion and service. It deserves leaders who extend that same compassion inward. Rewriting your story isn’t selfish. It’s the most important leadership work you’ll ever do.

Mark Jones

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Mark Jones is a keynote speaker, author and storytelling mindset strategist. His book, The Story Code, helps leaders rewrite their narratives to unlock resilience, influence and purpose.

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