“Imbokodo” My Foot: A Journey from Burnout to Becoming

When the Strong One Breaks

My name is Mantha Makume a 46-year-old South African woman, a mother, a former corporate high-flyer, and now, a woman in healing. This blog post is an intimate reflection of a journey I didn’t sign up for, but one I’m fully walking. It is for me, and it’s for every woman who has ever been told to “hold the knife by the sharp end.”

The Breaking Point

It all began, ironically, with a simple question at work. I wasn’t feeling well, teary, anxious, sleep-deprived, and running on fumes. I thought maybe I was just dealing with a bout of hormonal fluctuations. But when I tried to push through another full day of meetings, I knew something had to give. I told a colleague I wasn’t well and asked to reschedule our meeting. She replied with a simple question: “Did you send me that document?”

That’s when I stopped breathing. Literally. I couldn’t breathe. I hyperventilated, I cried, and I screamed, loudly, uncontrollably, painfully. In a professional environment, in front of colleagues, I unravelled. My mind, body, and spirit had nothing left to give.

The Shame of Burnout

That moment triggered a tsunami of shame. How does a high achiever, someone who ticks all the boxes break like this? How would I face my colleagues? What would people say?

I drove home and cried. I cried harder than I’ve ever cried in my life. For hours. I stayed in bed, and for what felt like days, I couldn’t do anything except breathe… barely.

I had been booked off work for a month. I was diagnosed with burnout and extreme exhaustion. It wasn’t just work. It was life. Parenting. Daughtering. Sistering. Friending. Being all things to all people. I was completely overwhelmed. At the time I thought I broke my brain, even requesting a neurological exam (yes..I am dramatic), because my brain was the only thing I could count on, a precious commodity, especially for the type of work I was paid for.

When the Body Decides for You

Looking back, there were signs: brain fog, chest pains, chronic insomnia, and a gnawing sense of dread, lack of desire to perform even the most mundane of tasks. But I pushed through…until my body made the choice for me. I physically and emotionally crashed.

It became clear that I had to start a new journey; one of healing, of understanding, of reclaiming myself. I began to speak openly about my burnout. When people asked, “How are you?” I began to respond honestly: “I’m burnt out. Thanks for asking.”

Peeling Off the Labels

Burnout forced me into deep reflection. I questioned the expectations I had placed on myself and those placed on me by family, society, and the corporate world. Who am I beneath the labels of “strong Black woman,” “go-getter,” and “Imbokodo”?

“Imbokodo” is a term often used in South Africa to describe a woman who is strong, tough, and unbreakable. It’s meant to honour resilience, but at what cost? I also explored the Sesotho saying Mosadi o tswara thipa ka bohaleng—“a woman holds the knife by the sharp end.” These cultural accolades often glorify suffering, self-sacrifice, and silence.

And I’m tired. Tired of being the strong one. Tired of being the achiever. Tired of leaning in (what was I leaning into anyway, I lost sight of that) . I don’t want to be “hard.” I want to be heard.

From Breakdown to Breakthrough

I started therapy. I began taking medication. And I asked myself the hardest question: Who are you, Mantha? What makes you tick? What do you expect of yourself, and what do others expect of you? Why have you allowed those expectations to define your worth?

This journey made me re-evaluate everything including the curriculum of my life. The metrics I used to measure success were killing me softly. I had to ask: are these societal pressures sustainable? Is this how I want to live?

What It Means to Be a Woman—Really

As we mark Women’s Month, I can’t help but interrogate the very idea of womanhood. Are the labels and accolades meant to empower us or trap us? Do they remind us of our worth, or do they burden us further?

For me, this journey is no longer about becoming more. It’s about unbecoming letting go of what no longer serves me, even if it once brought applause.

An Invitation to Walk With Me

So, here I am. A South African woman, mom, daughter,sister, friend, colleague. I show up in spaces filled with different people of varying ages, races, genders, religions—and I ask: Where do I fit in? Who am I in this vast social ecosystem?

As someone who believes in mentorship and legacy, I also ask: What example am I setting for those who come behind me? The phrases we hear growing up “have it all” and “do it all flawlessly” “lean in” are romantic, but dangerous.

I invite you to walk with me. Let’s question everything. Let’s redefine everything. Let’s deconstruct what it means to be a woman, a mom, a professional—and let’s rebuild on our own terms.

Final Thoughts: Beyond the Labels

I chose to grow connected to my soul, my purpose, my being. A bold, exhausted rejection of the myth of the indestructible woman. I don’t want to be superhuman. I want to be human.

I want to be heard. I want to be hugged. I want to say “I can’t” or “I won’t” without being seen as weak or rebellious.

So, if you’re reading this and nodding; even silently. I invite you to walk with me, to question with me, to unlearn with me.

Let’s find out who we are without the labels.

Let’s be instead of do.

Let’s heal.