The Invisible Cost of High Performance

And Why IT IS NOT Sustainable.

There is a cost.

Not the kind that shows up in your paycheck or your benefits package, but the kind that slowly etches itself into your bones. The kind you carry home in your jaw, clenched so tight from holding your tongue all day. The kind that wakes you up at 3:00am, remembering a detail nobody else noticed, but would have mattered.

We don’t talk enough about what happens when you’re the person who always delivers.

When you’re the one who’s sharp, fast, clear, and dependable. When excellence becomes your brand—until it also becomes your burden.

You think you're just doing your job.
But the moment you do it too well, you quietly inherit the jobs no one else wants.

Your boss? Starts piling on…"because you’re so good at this."
Your coworkers? Shrug and hand things off…"you’re better at it anyway."
People start saying “we have people who do that”…but the people?
It’s you.
You're the people.

You become the infrastructure. The workhorse. Silent. Overloaded. Sweaty. Tired.

You stop being a person with a capacity and start being a solution that never fails.

The Climb

You get there at the job, and at first, and no one expects anything from you.
You learn what you need to learn—sometimes through a structured onboarding, but most of the time? You’re dropped in the deep end. Thrown to the wolves.

So you figure it out.

You bust your ass piecing together systems no one documented. You memorize names, departments, where the files live, who the gatekeepers are.
You learn, fast, because your job description ends with that cursed catch-all: “other duties as assigned.”

And that’s where it begins.

You become reliable. Sharp. Efficient. You find your rhythm. But with each win, the fires start coming.

First it’s, “Can you just help with this?”
Then it’s, “You’re so good at this—just add it to your plate.”
Then it’s silent delegation. People stop doing their part, because they know you will.

You become the go-to. The fixer. The one who always figures it out.
Suggestions start rolling in from people who will never have to implement them. They just roll off the tongue so happy and freely.
Colleagues start saying, “I could do this, but I’d mess it up. You go ahead.”
Or worse—they stop seeing you as a peer at all.
You become their assistant, their safety net, their excuse to stay mediocre.

And you carry it. Because that’s who you are. Until one day, the rocks become mountains.

You wake up. Your legs are heavy, heart heavier. You don’t want to go in. You realize: I can’t do this anymore.

The Search

You browse Indeed. LinkedIn. Wondering.

Every job post feels like a cosmic joke:
“Master’s degree in Theoretical Computational Alchemy required. Must be fluent in Python, R, SQL, Rust, Klingon. Must also have 7+ years of experience in an ‘entry-level’ role. Salary: $52,000.”

You laugh. Or you cry. Or both.

You realize someone in HR wrote this, trying to sound technical without having the first clue what your title even means.
They figured out they could say “specialist” instead of “analyst” and shave $40,000 off the expected salary.
You see jobs that are three roles stapled together. You think, “How is anyone supposed to meet these expectations?”

So you pause. You sigh.
You stare at the screen.
You think: Is it even worth it?

You dig through Reddit, Quora, Medium, hoping someone has a blueprint.
Instead, you find a sea of other weary warriors:
Overqualified, underpaid, ghosted mid-interview.
People who passed technical screens, gave perfect answers—and still got the “we went with another candidate” email.

Or worse: no response at all.

And then that other voice whispers:
“You’re not even as good as them. What chance do you have?”

So you sit. You stay longer.
You bury your burnout under polite emails.
You take mental health days that don’t fix anything.
You keep showing up to the mountain you never asked to climb.

The Unfinished Line

I wish I could tell you this ends with a triumphant resignation letter, a new badge on my desk, and the kind of job that values me for more than what I can carry.

But it doesn’t.
Not yet.

Right now, I’m still searching.
Still reading job posts that sound impossible.
Still debating if I have the strength to jump into another unknown.
Still building my escape route one brick at a time.

If you’re here too—in the thick of it, staring at the mountain, wondering if you’ll ever find the right door—know this:

You’re not alone in the search.
And maybe, for now, that’s enough to keep going.