When veterinarian Martina Načeradská finally stopped and allowed herself to admit she couldn’t go on, she had already spent years working at the edge of her physical and mental limits. The clinic, the patients, the owners, the responsibility — all those layers built up into an invisible pressure that eventually cracked. Today, after years of therapy and deep self-reflection, she speaks openly about burnout syndrome. Not just to help herself, but also others living in the same relentless cycle.
When did you first realize that your exhaustion wasn’t just physical but also mental?
Honestly, I didn’t realize it until I started treatment. As is typical for burnout, I had no idea I was experiencing it. You keep functioning, doing your job — until one day you simply can’t anymore. Back then, I was working over twelve hours a day, including weekends. It was everything combined: demanding work, no time for myself, constant stress. And on top of that came the animal owners — scared, grieving, sometimes aggressive. But no one prepares us for that. We’re taught to heal animals, not to communicate with people in crisis.
When does helping others turn into forgetting yourself?
Part of my burnout came from a deeper pattern — the need to always be available. I lived for my work and believed that if I wasn’t giving 100%, I was failing. But you can’t help others if you never think about yourself. Today, I compare it to being on a plane: when the pressure drops, you have to put on your own oxygen mask first, then help others. It took five years of therapy before I decided to share my story publicly. For a long time, I stayed silent. But eventually I realized that if I managed to help myself, I could help others in the same way. Sharing became part of my healing journey.
How does the image of a veterinarian differ from reality?
Burnout isn’t just a manager’s or doctor’s problem. Helping professions, including veterinarians, are among the most at risk. The public often imagines we spend our days cuddling animals — but the reality is different. We face difficult cases every day, often involving death. And we also talk to people who are suffering. It’s emotionally draining, and without supervision or support, it can end tragically. According to a recent PetExpert study, 16% of Czech veterinarians have either attempted suicide or seriously considered it. The number is terrifying, but true. It shows how little we talk about mental health in our field.
I lived for my work and believed that if I wasn’t giving 100%, I was failing.
What role does contact with pet owners play?
A huge one. If you don’t guard your boundaries, you burn out quickly. I paid dearly for not having any. Clients would emotionally blackmail me — saying if I didn’t do what they wanted, their animal would suffer. Now I know that I must protect not only the animal but also myself. Loving your work doesn’t mean sacrificing yourself.
Why did you decide to talk about burnout publicly?
When I filmed my first video about burnout, I hoped that even one person would recognize themselves in my story. I wanted to show what can happen when we ignore our body’s warning signs — and that seeking help isn’t weakness. Maybe it’ll save someone before it’s too late. Reactions from colleagues were mixed. Some supported me and shared their own experiences; others were embarrassed that I spoke about it at all. But that’s part of change — learning to talk about these things openly.
Having a job you love is wonderful — but you have to stay whole in it.
Do you think the attitude of vets towards mental health is changing?
Yes, slowly. The topic of mental health is beginning to appear at conferences, and support groups are forming — for example, the Czech branch of Not One More Vet. It’s just a start, but an important one. In my opinion, real change should begin where the problem starts — in education. Teach communication with clients, introduce supervision, and support veterinarians so they can talk about difficult cases. Stop pretending that mental health is taboo. These are small but essential steps.
What does your life look like today?
After years in a profession that nearly broke me, I live differently now. I’ve clarified what truly matters to me. I think more about myself, rest more, spend time with my husband, paint, and take photos. I have hobbies; I have joy. I used to only work — now, I finally live.
What would you say to younger colleagues who might be going through what you once did?
Guard your boundaries. Don’t let people hurt you. Learn to say no. And if you’re not feeling well, ask for help before it’s too late. Having a job you love is beautiful — but you must stay whole in it.
Martina Načeradská went through burnout that forced her to stop, breathe, and be reborn into her own life. She no longer lives to get everything done — she lives to make what she does meaningful.
“You can’t save the world if you don’t save yourself first,” she says.
And in that sentence lies everything: pain, experience, and the hope that every fall can become the beginning of something good.
