Dreading the return to work after a relaxing weekend is so common it has a name: the Sunday scaries.

And even if it’s not the start of a new working week, feeling less-than-delighted to head to work in the morning isn’t exactly uncommon.

But according to Jackson Parsons, work culture expert and founder of the Duvet Flip, sometimes it can be a red flag.

He explained: “There’s a huge difference between feeling physically tired and emotionally resistant to the life you’re waking up to. Many people mistake burnout, disengagement or emotional exhaustion for laziness because the symptoms often show up first thing in the morning.”

Here, he shared seven signs to look out for:

This, the expert said, might be a sign your body associates your workplace with stress.

“This is very overlooked as people only think anxiety matters once it becomes extreme such as having a breakdown. But low-level dread every morning is still your body sending a warning,” he shared.

“Whether it’s checking job sites during lunch, imagining moving abroad or fantasising about quitting dramatically, escapism usually reveals emotional dissatisfaction early on,” Parsons said.

“Most people don’t daydream about disappearing from their own life if they feel genuinely fulfilled in it. It doesn’t always mean you need to quit immediately, but it often means something important isn’t being met anymore.”

Parsons said our bodies are pretty good at telling us what we need, if only we can bring ourselves to listen. And part of that communication system can involve fatigue.

“A major sign your exhaustion is emotional rather than physical is when your energy suddenly returns outside work. If you feel more alive on weekends or holidays, that’s useful information,” he said.

A healthy workplace will leave you resilient. But when your job isn’t quite right, replying to emails begins to feel impossible, small requests irritate you, and meetings feel exhausting before they’ve even started, the expert said,

“This often happens when people lose emotional connection to their work.”

If you spent a long time working up to your career, you might feel guilty for hating it now. “A lot of people stay stuck because they feel guilty. Careers often become tied to identity, making dissatisfaction emotionally hard to admit,” Parsons said.

But if a role isn’t right for you, that’s OK; honesty is the first step.

It’s rare that your “weekend drinks” self is the same as your “replying to emails” self. Still, Parsons told us, if you feel much lighter out of work than you do in it, that might be worth paying attention to.

“Some become quieter, more annoyed, or emotionally flat without even knowing it. When your work environment consistently pulls you away from who you naturally are, your mornings start feeling heavier as your brain already knows it’s about to enter survival mode again.”

“One of the most damaging things people do is mistake emotional exhaustion for personal failure. People can be incredibly harsh on themselves. They’ll call themselves lazy or unmotivated instead of asking whether their environment is actually healthy for them anymore,” the work culture expert said.

“Overworking has become so normalised that people ignore warning signs for far too long. We live in a culture where exhaustion is almost treated like a personality trait now.”

Parsons recommended the following steps:

• Stop checking work off the clock. Giving yourself 20 minutes before checking work can help to create healthier boundaries, he said, and avoid late-night email refreshes if you can.
• Get specific about your feelings. “Many people call it ‘work stress’ without identifying the real issues behind it. Targeting whether it is from workload, lack of purpose, burnout or poor management makes the feeling easier to address,” he added.
• Create one part of the day that feels yours. Something as small as a workout can keep you grounded. “You need a moment in your day that reminds you you’re a person, before you’re an employee.”
• Stop normalising exhaustion. “Many people treat burnout like a normal part of success. Constant exhaustion shouldn’t feel like a personality trait or something you simply just have to ‘deal’ with.”
• Get real about what needs to change. Whether that’s better boundaries, more rest or admitting you’ve outgrown your current role.

Today I am volunteering at an outpatient addiction treatment clinic in Baltimore, in what my Uber driver warns me is “a very dangerous neighbourhood”.

It’s a cold Saturday morning in February, and I’ve travelled about an hour from Washington, D.C., where I live. I’m here to share some business management methods and operational tools with the team, based on a class I teach at Georgetown and my job as a management consultant.

The driver drops me off in the parking lot, and as I walk toward the entrance, I see an armed guard at the door. I walk past him into a large open waiting room, which is bright and clean. The right wall is lined with staff sitting behind glass partitions like bank tellers, but big, heavy-looking curtains hang from the ceiling at each window.

I check in and have a seat against the back wall. I try not to stare, but I’m curious about the curtains. I look around at patients coming and going.

A young woman enters the clinic and has the skinniest legs I’ve ever seen, like two drawing pencils in colourful, patterned leggings. She rushes down a hallway like she’s late for something, and I wonder where she’s going.

Most are men in dark, battered jackets that don’t look very warm, with their hoods up and heads down. No one makes eye contact with me. I am suddenly aware of my warm, beige cashmere coat and Stella McCartney bag, and I feel ashamed and ridiculous that I wore these things (that I even have these things). Still, my unconscious bias makes me feel my family’s story is somehow different from those in this waiting room.

As I’m waiting for my friend, the doctor who runs the clinic, I think about why I’m here: In 2017, my youngest sister, Jenny, died from liver failure due to prolonged use of prescription opioids and alcohol; she was a 44-year-old suburban mother.

Since she died, I’ve tried to learn as much as I can about the opioid crisis and be part of the solution – or, more selfishly, maybe I’m just here to do penance for my role in her death.

I experienced the entirety of my sister’s struggle and death in just six gruesome days at Kenmore Mercy Hospital in Buffalo, New York. That week, my sister Colleen and I stayed in Jenny’s hospital room every night. All day and night, Jenny moaned for Dilaudid, a synthetic opioid she’d previously been prescribed.

For the first three days, I held Jenny’s hand a lot and touched her hair. I don’t think I’d ever touched my sister’s hair before, but now I feel it all the time on my right hand. I put drops in her eyes, rubbed her swollen feet and fed her Ensure. She was in and out of consciousness but never lucid enough to talk with us coherently.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a conversation with her. When was the last time I’d told her I loved her?

When I think about that week, I only remember a series of degrading and horrific incidents, one worse than the next: the first time I saw my sister’s severely jaundiced skin and light green eyes that were covered with bubbles, as a result of liver failure; shuffling Jenny to the bathroom all night long; my mother signing “Do Not Resuscitate” forms; full bags of bloody fluid hanging from Jenny’s bed; and, finally, her death.

I watched my sister die with my parents on either side of her hospital bed, a picture I’ll never be able to unsee. No wake. No funeral. Her estranged husband stole her body from the hospital, without our consent, and left her ashes in a funeral home a few days later, unwilling to pay the bill.

I was on a plane back to Washington, D.C., the day after she died, shocked that I was no longer the oldest of three sisters – just the older of two.

The bone-crunching grief of this experience was compounded by the stigma that gets unfairly associated with certain types of death: suicide, drug abuse, alcoholism, mental illness. You see it in euphemistic obituaries with vague explanations like “passed away unexpectedly” or “died after a long struggle,” descriptions that do a disservice to both the living and the dead.

My coping mechanism has always been reading, and there are tons of materials about grieving the death of a parent, spouse, child – even pets! But I found only one book, Surviving the Death of a Sibling, by T.J. Wray, who lost her 43-year-old brother, that captured exactly how I felt on that flight back to D.C.

Wray wrote: “The year my brother died I stopped breathing, but no one noticed.”

Our siblings are with us at the beginning of our lives, and most of us take for granted they will be there as we approach the end. Yet surviving adult siblings are often forgotten mourners; the focus of grief is usually on parents, spouses and children. As a surviving adult sibling, I am the lowest member in the hierarchy of sorrow – well below my parents and Jenny’s two children.

I’ve only recently learned about the psychology of this type of bereavement, called “disenfranchised grief”. It is not openly acknowledged, socially mourned or publicly supported. Immediately following her death, when people asked if I had siblings, I wanted to answer, “I have two sisters. Colleen is great. Her youngest just graduated from college. And … well … Jenny’s dead.” But I never did.

Volunteering and trying to be an advocate have become my version of grieving. I’ve shared our family’s story (at least the parts I know about) as honestly as I can. I’ve written opinion pieces and talked about my mistakes on national television.

I’ve tried to learn about addiction, more accurately referred to as “substance use disorder (SUD),” to understand how our family never realised Jenny had this issue, never had an honest conversation about what was happening to her.

Instead, we rationalised away the warning signs and accepted her increasingly threadbare explanations for them, ultimately enabling her. Jenny didn’t do a single stint in rehab or have any interventions. I’m not ashamed of my sister for struggling with drugs and alcohol, but I’m so ashamed of myself for not being educated about it sooner.

In the years since my sister’s death, my swells of grief are usually triggered by childhood memories. For many summers while my two sisters and I were in grammar school, my parents would take us camping in Chautauqua County, New York. Colleen, Jenny and I would build forts, catch fireflies, try to catch sunfish and collect kindling for campfires. But our favourite activity was putting on shows at “the spider,” a metal jungle gym that looked like a gigantic tarantula.

We spent hours planning routines and practicing. Even though Jenny was the youngest and only about four or five years old, she was fearless, doing all the difficult flips with me on the high bars. On “show nights,” my parents would walk down to the spider after dinner, my mom in a Buffalo Bills sweatshirt and my dad in his 82nd Airborne hat. It’s one of my most vivid childhood memories. I can still feel the warm metal behind my knees, hear the crickets and smell the grass.

Another recurring memory is when we girls were ages four, six and eight, and my dad would take us tobogganing during the long Buffalo winters. The four of us scooched to fit on the long sled going down the chute (so fast!) over and over. But only Jenny got the free ride back up the hill with my dad pulling her on the toboggan while Colleen and I waddled back up in our puffy jackets from K-mart.

Since her death, I’ve tried to remember my sister, not in her hospital bed, but flipping fearlessly on the spider or laughing on the toboggan, with her red cheeks and light green eyes, getting pulled up the snowy hill by my dad.

Back in Baltimore, I’m waiting for another Uber at the end of the day, and I’m so glad I came. It’s an amazing operation, and I feel lucky to have been a small part of this dedicated team for a few hours. (I eventually even learned that the long curtains at the glass windows are for privacy as patients take their medications.)

On my way out, I notice a sign on the wall that I didn’t see on my way in. It’s written in multicoloured markers with big artsy letters, advertising a program called, “Women Who Want to Change Their Lives,” meeting on Saturday mornings. I bet that’s where the skinny-legged girl was going! I hope she made it on time.

The sign is so positive and inviting, I want to go with her. But more than anything in the entire world, my heart aches to be able to attend that program with my sister. I feel the tears coming as I get into my Uber, and I realise that nothing about our family’s story is different at all.

Kelly O’Connor is a management consultant and lives in Washington, D.C.; she has been a patient advocate in the opioid crisis since 2017, including a TEDx Talk, “My Introduction to Narcan.”

A full-blown civil war has erupted in the Labour Party after another former minister called on Keir Starmer to quit as prime minister.

Josh Simons triggered an angry backlash by urging the PM to set out a timetable for his departure to allow “an orderly transition” to a new leader.

His intervention is hugely significant because he used to run Labour Together, the moderate think-tank which helped Starmer become party leader in 2020.

One minister told HuffPost UK: “This sort of behaviour is why Josh is widely disliked and mistrusted by every part of the Labour Party, which is some achievement from somebody who has been an MP for 20 months.”

Simons, who was forced to resign as a Cabinet Office minister in February over his part in a Labour Together smear operation against journalists, said Starmer had “lost the country” and needed to go.

Writing in The Times, he said: “He should take control of the situation by overseeing an orderly transition to a new prime minister.

“What happens next is not a horse race, it’s about the future of our party and our country. Over the coming months, how the Labour Party conducts itself matters.

“To avoid leadership chaos, senior figures across factions should come together to decide the best way forward. The public expects nothing less.”

Simons added: “The alternative risks handing Farage the keys to Downing Street and giving up on working class people. I could not look my children in the eye without doing my bit to stop that.”

A government source said: “This is a desperate attempt at an epilogue by Josh for a political career that has already ended in disgrace, less than two years in. This is more likely to push Labour MPs away from the edge.”

But a Labour MP hit back: “Josh is right. The No.10 briefing operation against him is a pretty ham-fisted attempt at intimidating other colleagues.”

Simons is one of around 40 Labour MPs who have broken cover since Thursday’s elections to call on Starmer to stand down.

His intervention came after former Foreign Office minister Catherine West said she would trigger a leadership election unless the cabinet agrees a candidate to replace the PM.

West this morning she would wait until the PM delivers a make-or-break speech on Monday before trying to get the 81 nominations she would need to kick-start a contest.

She told the BBC: “What we need is … an orderly transition into a leadership election, which will allow us to make the case to the country, as well as to our colleagues, so that we can go forward.”

Former deputy prime minister Angela Rayner and health secretary Wes Streeting are expected to throw their hats into the ring should a contest be announced, and would also need to get the backing of 81 MPs each.

Starmer has insisted he “won’t walk away” from Downing Street, and under Labour Party rules his name would automatically go on the ballot paper.

However, left-wing supporters of Andy Burnham have hit out at West as he is not currently an MP and therefore would be unable to take part in a leadership election which takes place imminently.

They fear that would play into the hands of Streeting, who is on the right of the Labour Party.

Leeds East MP Richard Burgon said: “Catherine says that if there isn’t a cabinet deal, she will trigger an immediate leadership election.

“I fear there’s a real danger that, whatever her good intentions, her move will be exploited by people on the right of the party who want a coronation and not a proper democratic contest in the party.

“It may even be that those people help secure the 81 nominations needed to kickstart any leadership race.

“What we need instead is for Keir to set a date for his departure, followed by a full and proper democratic contest that can look at what went wrong and how we change course to win back trust and support, with a broad range of candidates and viewpoints represented.”

Education secretary Bridget Phillipson rejected the calls for Starmer to quit, and insisted he will lead Labour into the next election.

She said: “The prime minister will set out a fresh direction for our country and for our party that will rise to the scale of what we face.

“But we have to be honest about the scale of what we face. I share the impatience that people feel about how, nearly two years on, people want to see more. I get that, I’m not going to step back from that.

“But I also have to level with people about the enormity of the decades-long challenges that some of this comes back to, the status quo won’t cut it.”

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