How do we help the quiet ones?
It’s been a few weeks since RISE now, and I’ve had some time to reflect.
I’ve also found myself having, and hearing, more conversations circling the same themes.
Burnout.
Support.
Leadership.
And this fine line we’re all trying to walk.
I’ve heard from other leaders, too.
Some I agree with, some I don’t.
But there’s one question that keeps popping up:
How do we genuinely support our people who need help…
Without the whole system being taken advantage of?
That’s the tension.
In theory, we’ve made so much progress:
More resources.
More openness.
Better systems.
But in practice, these systems are starting to show strain.
And the more I tuned into this, the more I noticed a disconnect.
Between theory and practice.
Between intent, and impact.
So the below is my attempt to name a part of it we don’t talk about enough.
And to begin the conversation that needs to be had.
Some people shout when they need help.
Others stay quiet.
And more often than not, it’s the quiet ones we need to worry about most.
They don’t want to add pressure.
They don’t want to be seen as someone who can’t hack it.
They don’t want to speak up in a workplace where others are already struggling; and doing so loudly.
So they stay silent.
Keep showing up.
And keep delivering.
Until something finally gives.
As leaders, we’ve come a long way.
There’s more support now than ever.
EAPs.
Mental health days.
Resources like the RealCare app.
Flexible work and better leave structures.
These are all objectively good things.
Necessary things.
But we need to be honest about what’s happening inside those systems.
Because sometimes, that support gets misused.
If you’ve been around for long enough, at any level, you’ve seen it.
People who know the right language to use.
Who aren’t in crisis, but say things like:
“I just need a reset.”
“This job’s too toxic for me.”
“I’m burnt out.”
And maybe they are. Quite often, they are.
But sometimes, they’re not.
They’re performing.
This creates three big problems:
It disrespects the resources we put in place to help people.
It can cause resentment. Quietly, slowly, until it cracks the culture.
And it makes it so much harder to help those who genuinely need it.
Because now, asking for help feels political.
It feels performative.
And they don’t want to be part of that performance.
So they shut up.
Keep going.
Until they can’t.
Suddenly you’ve got top performers burning out, team members gossiping about who’s pulling their weight, and managers stuck trying to separate signal from noise.
I’ve seen this, the ugly side of genuine burnout, more times than I can count.
Often in people I care about.
I’ve been on the sharp end of it too, like so many in my network have.
Back then, we didn’t have many real support systems in place.
It was years before incense and scented candles started entering boardrooms.
Years before systems that could have helped me, and should have.
Even if we had them, I can’t honestly say I would’ve felt justified in using them.
So my stress levels went unchecked.
I started redlining.
Busy turned into stressed.
That stress became chronic.
Not a bad week; months on end.
But I kept showing up.
Kept “sucking it up.”
The end result?
I wound up in hospital.
And it took a long time to recover.
In reality, I don’t think you ever completely recover when something like that happens.
That bulletproof mindset is gone.
And the awareness of how you’ve been operating is revealed.
I want to be really clear about something here:
I’m not telling this story to glorify it.
In my opinion, that’s part of the problem.
This hustle-porn, mental-grindset culture we’ve created.
I don’t want to be part of that.
Because I got nothing out of that experience.
Yes, it taught me some things.
But they were lessons I could’ve learned without doing lasting damage to my health, my brain, my relationships.
I don’t ever want to see my kids go through that.
Or anyone else I care about.
And I refuse to let that kind of breakdown be worn like a badge of honour.
So, how do we fix this?
I believe that we should be celebrating grit and resilience.
And I believe that we should be supporting those who need it.
Both things are true.
But right now, it feels like we’re stuck between glorifying burnout, and tiptoeing around anyone who’s afraid of hard work.
How do we build cultures that protect the people who actually need help, without enabling the ones who just don’t want to be here?
How do we make support systems safe to use, but also respected?
I don’t have all the answers.
Even if I did, I’m just one person, and River is just one business.
But here’s where I think it starts:
Lead with clarity and care:
Set expectations clearly.
Follow up consistently.
Recognise patterns over one-off problems:
Be kind, but don’t be naive.
Don’t just create support systems:
Educate your people on how to use them.
When to use them.
And why they exist.
Focus on autonomy, not dependency:
Give people tools to support themselves, and they will.
And lastly, set an example:
Your quiet achievers will rarely be the ones asking for help.
So show them that they can.
Show them they don’t have to burn, just to keep the lights on.
None of this is about being cynical of people struggling.
And it’s certainly not about going backwards to some outdated “toughen up” culture.
It’s about protecting the people who genuinely need support.
Because if we lose them?
The calm, capable ones who carry the weight quietly?
We don’t just lose great employees.
We lose the heart of the business.
And if we want strong, human workplaces that last, we have to make sure those people are seen before it’s too late.