Can you describe a time when a colleague showed you support related to mental health in the workplace? How did their actions impact you, and what did you learn from the experience?

Working in psychiatry, we spend so much time listening to other people's trauma that it's easy to ignore our own stress. A few years ago, I had a heavy schedule packed with constant emergencies. I thought I was handling it fine, but the stress was quietly turning into severe burnout. A fellow nurse practitioner noticed I was quieter than usual during our morning meeting and taking too long on my patient notes. Instead of just saying hello, she pulled me into an empty office. She said, 'You've had really tough cases this week. I can see you are exhausted. I'm doing your afternoon evaluations so you can leave the floor and take a real break.' What she did meant a lot to me. It wasn't just about giving me less work; it was about feeling seen. Mental health workers often hate asking for help because we think we should be immune to the problems we treat in our patients. Because she stepped in first, I didn't have to force myself to admit I was struggling. That changed how I look at support at work. I learned that real support isn't just an HR hotline; it's paying attention to your coworkers. Now, I watch my colleagues for those same quiet signs of burnout. It taught me that admitting we need help doesn't make us bad at our jobs, it keeps us going.

I remember a period where I was juggling a lot between running the practice and supporting our clinicians, and I could feel myself getting stretched pretty thin. I tend to push through stress, so I probably wasn't fully aware of how much it was building up. One of the clinicians I work with pulled me aside after a meeting and just checked in. It wasn't anything formal. They just said something along the lines of, "Hey, you've been carrying a lot lately....how are you actually doing?" It caught me off guard a bit, but in a good way. What stood out was that they weren't trying to fix anything. They just created space for me to be honest. That gave me permission to slow down and recognize that I needed to step back a little and delegate more instead of trying to hold everything myself. The biggest takeaway for me was how impactful simple awareness can be. In a workplace, especially in helping professions, it's easy to focus outward and miss what's going on with the people next to you. That experience changed how I show up with my own team. I try to be more intentional about checking in, not just on performance, but on how people are actually doing. It reinforced for me that support in the workplace doesn't have to be complicated. Sometimes it's just noticing, asking, and being willing to listen. Darin King, LPC Clinical Director, Darin King Counseling

During a busy season at work, I was feeling overwhelmed and burned out. I was having trouble sleeping and found it hard to focus during meetings. One of my colleagues noticed that I seemed quieter than usual and asked if I was okay. Instead of judging me, she listened while I shared how stressed I felt. She offered to help with a few tasks and reminded me to take short breaks during the day. Her kindness made me feel seen and supported. Because of her actions, I felt less alone and more comfortable talking about mental health at work. I learned that small acts of care can make a big difference and that checking in with others truly matters.

A few years into running ResumeYourWay, I hit a wall. We were growing fast, I was managing a team of 30-plus writers, handling client escalations, and still doing intake calls myself because I didn't trust anyone else to get the details right. I wasn't sleeping. I was snapping at people over small things. I told myself it was just the cost of building something. My operations manager at the time pulled me aside after a team meeting and said something I didn't expect. She told me I looked like I was drowning and that the team could see it. She didn't frame it as a performance problem. She said, "You taught us how to do this work. Let us do it. You don't have to carry everything yourself." Then she handed me a restructured workflow she'd built on her own time that would take 15 hours of weekly intake calls off my plate. That conversation changed how I run the company. Not because she fixed my schedule, though that helped. It changed things because she showed me that mental health support at work doesn't have to look like a formal program or a benefits package. Sometimes it's one person being honest with you when everyone else is too polite or too scared to say what they see. What I learned is that the most meaningful mental health support in a workplace comes from colleagues who pay attention and say something. Not in a clinical way. Not with a pamphlet. Just direct honesty from someone who cares enough to risk an uncomfortable conversation. I've since built that into how we operate at RYW. Every team lead is trained to recognize signs of burnout in their writers, and we have a standing rule: if you see someone struggling, say something privately before it becomes a performance issue. We've found that early conversations like the one my ops manager had with me reduce burnout-related turnover by about 35%. People don't leave jobs where they feel seen. They leave jobs where nobody notices they're falling apart.

Last year during a particularly brutal product launch, my CTO noticed I was responding to Slack messages at 2am and sending increasingly terse emails. Instead of ignoring it or making a joke about hustle culture, he walked into my office one morning and said something I did not expect. He told me he was worried about me, that the quality of my communication had changed, and he asked if I wanted to grab lunch away from the office. That lunch lasted two hours. No agenda, no work talk for the first 45 minutes. He shared that he had gone through a similar burnout phase at his previous company and ended up in hospital with stress-related chest pains at 34. He was not lecturing me. He was just being honest about his own experience. What struck me was the courage it took. In tech especially, there is an unspoken expectation that founders are supposed to be unbreakable. Him being vulnerable about his own struggles gave me permission to admit I was drowning. I restructured my schedule that week, delegated three major responsibilities, and started protecting my evenings. The lesson I carry from that is that support does not need to be grand gestures or formal programs. Sometimes it is one person saying I see you and I have been there too. I now make a point of doing the same for my team members when I notice the signs.

A few years back during a particularly rough stretch at Cirrus Bridge — we'd lost a major client and were trying to figure out what came next — I had a senior engineer on the team notice I was running on fumes before I'd admitted it to myself. He didn't make it a big moment. He just came to me after a team meeting and said, "I don't think you're okay, and I don't think you have to be right now." That was it. It landed differently than I expected. I'd been so focused on projecting stability for the team that I'd convinced myself I was fine. Having someone I respected call it quietly, without turning it into a formal check-in or a performance concern, gave me permission to acknowledge what was actually happening. What he did right: he made it private, he made it low-pressure, and he didn't offer solutions. He wasn't trying to fix it. He was just naming it. That's the part most people get wrong — they immediately jump to "what can I do?" when sometimes the most supportive thing is just to say, "I see you, and you don't have to hide this." What I took from it as a leader is that the people you'd least expect to be struggling are often the ones who are most skilled at masking it. The ones holding things together for everyone else are frequently the least likely to ask for help. Since then, I try to create intentional moments — not formalized wellness programs, just honest one-on-ones where the question isn't "how's the project going?" but actually "how are you doing?" and I mean it when I ask it.

One experience that stood out to me was during a particularly demanding period when we were navigating complex client challenges and tight timelines. A colleague recognized the pressure I was under and took the initiative to step in—helping reprioritize what truly needed immediate attention and creating space for a more manageable pace. What made the biggest impact wasn't just the help itself, but the awareness. It reinforced how important it is to recognize when someone may be carrying more than they show. That experience shaped how I lead today. I'm more intentional about checking in with my team, encouraging open conversations, and creating an environment where people feel supported—not just professionally, but personally as well.

Leaving Intel after 14 years was harder emotionally than I ever expected. One of my former engineering colleagues noticed I was burning out long before I admitted it to myself--she pulled me aside after a team meeting and just said, "You look like you're disappearing. What's actually going on?" That one sentence cracked something open. She didn't offer solutions or tell me to see someone. She just made space. That's the kind of support that actually lands--not advice, just presence. It directly shaped how I run The Phone Fix Place now. When a customer walks in panicked because their phone died and it had the only photos of a loved one on it, I don't rush them through a transaction. I slow down, I ask what happened, and I listen first. People are often in genuine distress, and they need to feel heard before they can even process the technical stuff. What I learned is that support doesn't require expertise--it requires attention. Noticing someone is struggling and naming it out loud is sometimes the most powerful thing you can do.

There was a time when I was struggling with anxiety due to a demanding project deadline. A colleague noticed I was feeling overwhelmed and asked if I wanted to talk. During our conversation, they shared their own experiences with stress and encouraged me to take short breaks to reset my focus. They also offered to help prioritize tasks and divide the workload where possible. Their empathy and willingness to act made me realize the importance of creating a supportive workplace culture. I learned that even small gestures can significantly impact someone's well-being and productivity.

Mental health support in the workplace often comes through small, thoughtful actions rather than formal programs. One experience that stayed with me involved a colleague who noticed that I had been managing several overlapping responsibilities during an especially demanding period. At the time, I was focused on keeping everything moving forward, but the pace had quietly begun affecting my energy and focus. Instead of assuming everything was fine, the colleague approached the situation with empathy. They asked a simple but direct question about how things were going and whether the workload felt manageable. That moment mattered because it created space to acknowledge that the pace had become difficult to sustain. Their response was not to offer solutions immediately, but to listen and encourage a conversation about priorities and realistic timelines. Sometimes the most meaningful support is simply the recognition that someone may be carrying too much. Following that conversation, we worked together to adjust how a few projects were being handled. Certain tasks were redistributed temporarily, and we created clearer checkpoints so that progress could be shared without constant pressure to respond instantly. The workload itself did not disappear, but the structure around it improved. As a result, I was able to focus more clearly on the most important work while maintaining a healthier pace. Research consistently shows the impact of supportive workplace relationships on mental well-being. Studies from the American Psychological Association indicate that employees who feel supported by colleagues and supervisors experience lower stress levels and higher job satisfaction. Similarly, workplace well-being research from Gallup highlights that having even one supportive colleague can significantly improve resilience during periods of high demand. That experience reinforced an important lesson: mental health support at work is often about awareness and empathy rather than complex interventions. By simply noticing when someone may be under pressure and creating space for open conversation, colleagues can help each other maintain balance and sustain performance during challenging periods.

During a brutal stretch of custom work--two engagement rings, an heirloom diamond recut, and a trade-in/trade-up all landing in the same week--I hit that "I can't think straight" wall. One of our in-house goldsmiths noticed I was triple-checking measurements and getting weirdly short, and he pulled me aside and said, "You're not making decisions today--go breathe, I'll handle bench triage and customer updates." He took the most time-sensitive piece (a platinum solitaire with a tight deadline) and ran point: polishing, stone tightening, and a calm call to the client to reset expectations. That one move bought me a couple hours to decompress, eat, and come back with a clear head--no mistakes, no drama, and the client actually thanked us for the transparency. What I learned: in a high-trust, appointment-only business, mental health support isn't a pep talk--it's operational. If someone's overloaded, you shift load immediately, because a foggy brain in jewelry isn't just "less productive," it's risk (wrong prong work, wrong stone, wrong promise). Now I try to do the same thing for my team: I watch for "error signals" (rushing, snapping, obsessive re-checking), and I give explicit permission to pause while I take over the customer-facing part. The fastest way to protect quality and ethics is to protect the humans doing the work.

A few years ago, I went through a stretch where everything looked fine from the outside. Revenue was steady. The team was shipping. Investors were calm. Internally, I was running on fumes. I wasn't sleeping well, I was waking up with that low-grade dread that doesn't have a clear source, and I was compensating by working longer hours. Classic founder move — if you feel unstable, just add effort. One of my colleagues noticed before I did. He didn't pull me aside for a dramatic "Are you okay?" conversation. He did something much quieter. In a leadership meeting, when I started volunteering to take on another initiative, he cut in gently and said, "I don't think you should own this one. You've been carrying enough. Let's redistribute." It sounds small. It wasn't. After the meeting, he told me he'd been tracking how often I was stepping in to absorb problems. Not because I had to — but because I defaulted to it. He said, "You're solving everything. That's not sustainable. And it's not actually helping us long term." What hit me wasn't the offer to lighten my load. It was that he'd been paying attention. Mental health support at work often gets framed as time off or access to therapy. Those matter. But what helped me most was someone protecting me from my own over-functioning. I learned two things. First, high performers are often the least likely to admit they're underwater. They'll just swim harder. Second, support doesn't always look like empathy. Sometimes it looks like boundaries being enforced on your behalf. Since then, I've tried to replicate that for others. When I see someone quietly taking on too much, I don't praise the hustle. I question it. I redistribute. I make it explicit that sustainability is part of performance. That colleague didn't give me a speech about burnout. He interrupted a pattern. And that changed more than a motivational conversation ever could.

A few years back we had a stretch of Middle Tennessee storms where we were doing fast triage, documentation-quality inspections, and juggling adjuster meetings back-to-back. I was running on fumes and got sharp with my own people, which isn't me and isn't safe on a roof. One of my foremen pulled me aside and said, "You're carrying this like it's all on you--let me run the crew briefing and you go breathe for 15 minutes." He took the morning safety talk, reassigned the steep-slope work, and made sure the newer guys weren't rushed around ladders and tear-off. It impacted me immediately because it broke the tunnel vision; I came back calmer and we finished the day without mistakes, rework, or anyone getting hurt. In roofing, mental health shows up as patience, attention to detail, and not cutting corners on flashing, ventilation, and water management when you're tired. What I learned: normalize quick check-ins and "tap out" moments before you hit the wall, and treat mental bandwidth like PPE. Now we do a simple rule--if someone's overloaded, we redistribute tasks (inspection photos, paperwork, material checks) instead of pretending toughness is a plan.

One of our colleagues noticed I was pushing through fatigue and telling myself it was temporary. They pointed out patterns in my writing, like short replies and more mistakes. After a meeting, they suggested we take a walk, and they listened without trying to fix anything. Then, they asked me to choose one commitment to pause and offered to explain the change to others. That support made a big difference. It reduced my feelings of shame and made it easier to take a step back. I realized that psychological safety grows when someone uses their credibility to protect your well-being. Now, I try to do the same. I check in with one person each week to ask how they are doing beyond tasks. If they show signs of strain, we adjust their workload before it becomes a crisis.

Running BrushTamer means I'm on-site with heavy equipment and tight timelines, so when stress hits it's not abstract--it affects safety and judgment. One week we had back-to-back forestry mulching jobs plus a stump removal window that kept shrinking, and I could feel myself getting tunnel vision. Our Director of Ops, Carter, noticed and quietly stepped in: he reworked the schedule, took every customer update off my plate for 48 hours, and told me to take a full night off and show up late the next morning if I needed it. He also asked a simple, direct question--"Are you okay to be in the seat today?"--which is huge when you're about to run a mulcher. That support lowered the mental load immediately, and the next day I caught a near-miss hazard (a hidden wire in brush) that I'm not sure I'd have seen if I'd been fried. I learned "mental health support" on a crew isn't a pep talk--it's someone reducing cognitive load and giving you permission to tap out before it becomes a safety incident. Now I build it into how we run jobs: quick pre-start check-ins, a no-ego rule about swapping operators, and I'd rather reschedule than run tired. Customers remember results, but crews remember whether you protected them.

Working in redwood-based tourism (Alliance Redwoods + Sonoma Zipline Adventures), the "show must go on" energy is real--guests arrive excited, schedules are tight, and you're expected to be steady even when you're not. During a peak stretch supporting retreats and guest communications, I was carrying too much and it started showing in my focus. A teammate noticed and did two specific things: they quietly took over the next wave of guest-facing emails/calls for an hour, and they walked me through a quick "triage list" (what must happen today vs. what can wait). That small coverage window kept me from spiraling and prevented mistakes that would've impacted the guest experience. What I learned is that mental-health support at work doesn't have to be a dramatic intervention--it can be operational. If you can't offer therapy-level help, you can offer bandwidth, clarity, and permission to step out briefly without shame. Now I try to pay it forward by building "coverage" into the day (who can grab phones, who can handle reservations) and normalizing a quick check-in before big group arrivals or adventure days, because a calm staff creates a calmer guest experience.

Early in running my business, I went through a period where I was stretched thin — managing rapid growth, handling client complaints, and dealing with a family health issue all at once. I didn't say much about it, but one of my lead team members noticed I wasn't myself. She pulled me aside after a job one afternoon and said simply: "You've been carrying a lot. I just want you to know the team has your back this week." She didn't ask probing questions or make it a big moment. She just named what she saw and offered presence. That interaction changed how I lead. Her approach was low-pressure but high-impact — she gave me permission to not be at 100% without making me feel like I was failing. Because of that, I started checking in with my own team members the same way: not "are you okay?" (which invites a reflexive "yes"), but "I've noticed you seem off — no pressure, just want you to know I see you." What I learned is that mental health support in the workplace doesn't require a formal program or a policy. It starts with paying attention and being willing to name what you observe. In a service business where people are in clients' homes and under daily pressure to perform, that kind of human awareness from a colleague can be what keeps someone from burning out quietly. — Marcos De Andrade, Founder, Green Planet Cleaning Services (greenplanetcleaningservices.com)

A few years ago I was pushing through an extremely stressful stretch at work, the kind where you are getting minimal sleep and every conversation feels transactional. A colleague on my team noticed I had gone quiet in Slack beyond the usual, and instead of asking "is everything okay?" in a group channel, he sent me a direct message that just said "you seem like you are running on empty. Want to grab a quick call or just vent for a few minutes?" That was it. No script, no HR framework, just a direct observation and a low pressure offer. What struck me was how specific and private it was. A generic "how are you doing" in a standup would have gotten a "fine, thanks" from me. The fact that he had noticed something specific, and reached out quietly without making it a thing, made it feel safe to actually be honest. I took him up on it and spent 20 minutes just talking through what I was dealing with. The lesson I took from it was that mental health support from a colleague almost never looks like an intervention. It looks like noticing, being direct about what you noticed, and creating a low stakes exit ramp. You do not need training or resources or a program to do that. You just need to actually pay attention to the people around you and be willing to name what you see.

A few years ago, I went through a stretch where I was quietly burning out. I was still delivering, but everything felt heavier than it should. One colleague noticed the shift before I said anything. Instead of calling it out publicly or making it awkward, they checked in privately and simply asked how I was doing beyond work. What stood out was how they responded. There was no pressure to explain everything or "fix" it. They helped me reprioritize a few deadlines, offered to take a small piece off my plate, and reminded me that stepping back briefly wouldn't undo my credibility. It gave me permission to reset without guilt. The impact was bigger than I expected. I felt seen, but also safe. It made it easier to be honest about capacity instead of pushing through and risking deeper burnout. What I took from that experience is how powerful quiet, practical support can be. You don't need grand gestures. Just paying attention, creating space for honesty, and backing it up with small actions can genuinely change how someone experiences their work.

Leading large teams through organizational transformation at a global nonprofit taught me more about mental health at work than any training ever could. The pressure of rapid expansion across multiple countries created invisible stress loads that people rarely named out loud. During one particularly brutal stretch--restructuring three regional offices simultaneously while managing a hiring freeze--my VP of Programs pulled me aside after a staff meeting. She didn't offer solutions. She just said, "I see how much you're carrying right now, and I want you to know the team sees it too." That was it. No agenda. No performance conversation. That moment shifted how I led every team after it, including my current work coordinating complex coastal construction projects at AVENTIS. When timelines compress and FEMA compliance deadlines stack up, I now proactively name the pressure with my team before it becomes invisible weight. Acknowledgment costs nothing and protects everything. What I learned: the most powerful mental health support rarely comes from HR programs--it comes from a peer who simply decides to *notice* you.