Gen Z: The Burnout Generation

By Somya Rajoriya, 21, India

I’m 21, and I already feel like I’ve lived five lives. One minute I’m studying for exams. Next, I’m doom-scrolling through climate disasters, economic collapse, and another human rights crisis. 

We’re called the most “connected” generation, but connection doesn’t always mean community—sometimes it just means constant pressure. Every notification adds pressure. Every headline feels heavier. Pressure to perform, succeed, stay informed, involved, outraged, and inspired—all at once. Our calendars are full, inboxes overflowing, and our minds caught between ambition and anxiety. We keep going—posting, working, showing up—while quietly burning out. It’s exhaustion we don’t talk about. Burnout that looks like procrastination. Anxiety behind a smile. Sadness that still shows up and gets things done.

We are Gen Z: born into recession, raised by Wi-Fi, fed on crisis, and expected to bloom in a burning field. We were handed a world on fire and told to fix it—without a break, a plan, or enough sleep. They praise our resilience, but resilience without rest becomes ruin. Somehow, we still try. But how do you dream when the world keeps screaming? We’re told to push harder and stay productive, but productivity isn’t a personality, and success isn’t salvation. We weren’t made to be machines—we are poems, not programs. Stardust and soft hearts under impossible expectations. 

They named us after the last letter of the alphabet. Gen Z: digitally native, politically alert, emotionally aware—and utterly exhausted. This isn’t just fatigue. It’s brilliance burning at both ends. There are no off switches, no exits. Just more: more content, more crises, and more pressure to stay relevant while being perpetually replaceable. And yet, beneath the exhaustion, there is fire. Sharp minds. Unfiltered voices. Boundless vision. We are not here to adapt to broken systems. We are here to dismantle, disrupt, redesign. The burnout you see is not failure—it is friction. The kind that sparks revolutions. This isn’t the end of 

the alphabet. It’s the beginning of a new language. Our burnout doesn’t mean we’re breaking; rather, it means we’ve been holding up what should’ve collapsed long ago.

To the student staring at a glowing screen at 2 AM. To the activists pouring their souls into change. To the one who jokes in the group chat but cries alone— this is for you. You’ve grown up in a world that moved too fast, asked too much, and offered too little safety. Still, you’ve shown up. Even on the days you didn’t think you could. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay if all you did today was survive. You are not a burden. Take care of yourself the way you’d take care of someone you love.

You are a heartbeat in a generation that still believes things can be better. And they will be—because you’re in it. 

My work is inspired by the present condition of Gen Z’s silent exhaustion. Writing it meant confronting vulnerability, yet through struggle I found meaning—turning burnout into resilience, and vulnerability into shared hope.

Photo by Marlis Trio Akbar