An honest look at the invisible role of PMs who are accountable for everything—but given authority over nothing.

“You’re responsible for the project’s success. But you can’t choose your team. You can’t shift the timeline. You can’t say no to scope creep. You can’t discipline anyone. You can’t reward anyone. And you have no real authority.”

Sound familiar?

If you’ve ever worked as a project manager, you know this dance. In so many cases, you’re expected to lead but given no actual power. You’re the designated driver of a vehicle you don’t own, can’t modify, and aren’t allowed to brake.

You’re not lazy, ineffective, or unqualified, you’re just stuck in a broken role, asked to deliver outcomes with only influence as your tool. It’s like being some kind of emotional duct tape that holds projects together by sheer force of personality. And all the while, your hands, feet, and hard-earned expertise are shackled—preventing you from acting in the best interest of the project, the project team and often even the company itself.

It’s no wonder so many PMs burn out and even lose their jobs in this kind of environment.

The Misunderstood Middle

Project managers are often portrayed as taskmasters, spreadsheet-lovers, or glorified schedulers. But those who’ve been in the trenches know: real project management is part diplomacy, part emotional labor, part crisis control and all communication.

You’re the go-between. The human buffer. The translator. You soften the blow of leadership’s demands. You shield your team from the chaos raining down from above. You sit in every meeting, take every note, and chase every deliverable—but when things go wrong, you’re frequently the first to be blamed and the last to be protected.

And yet, despite this, you care. You care about people. You care about outcomes. You want things to run better, smoother, kinder. So you do the impossible, again and again, with no safety net, very little thanks and probably far too many uncomfortable private sit-downs with a boss, manager or project owner.

The Hidden Toll

Burnout for PMs doesn’t always look like collapse. Sometimes it’s just quiet withdrawal. Or bitter sarcasm. Or the slow erosion of passion. You stop believing things can change. You start avoiding new projects. You fantasize about walking away.

When a role asks for so much and offers so little support, it’s not weakness to feel worn out. It’s wisdom. It means your inner compass still works, and the fact that it does, means there’s hope.

So What Now?

If this is you, know that you’re not alone—and you’re not the problem.

There’s no productivity hack that will fix a system designed to overburden you. No to-do list, time-blocking trick, or new software will change the fact that you were asked to lead without power.

But here’s what can help:

• Name the truth—not for them, but for you. When you say out loud, “I was given responsibility without authority,” you stop carrying the weight like it’s a personal failing. What if you stopped bending yourself into knots trying to ‘manage better’? Well, for one, the shame will start to fall away, and that’s a big deal.
• Reclaim your lens. Instead of asking, “How can I survive this job better?” start asking, “Does this job deserve me?” Even if the answer isn’t one you can act on today, asking the question begins the shift.
• Find your people. Not the performative social media posters or the bootstrapping hustle-culture crowd. The real ones who’ve lived what you’re living. Swap stories. Share reality. Start making meaning together. We can noodle on how to do this together. Just leave a comment to start the conversation. Maybe we can even make such a group ourselves!

And finally:

• Remember that your empathy isn’t a flaw. It’s your resistance. Your refusal to treat people like tasks is the very thing that proves your humanity is intact. Let that be your anchor—not because it saves the project, but because it saves you.

This isn’t a call to try harder. It’s a call to stop blaming yourself for trying at all, in a space where you probably aren’t even allowed to point out that anything’s wrong to begin with. It’s time to stop performing and start healing. Not alone. Not this time.