A few months earlier, I had sensed this oncoming crash. There were telltale signs that, even though I hadn’t ever experienced them before, felt out of the norm. I would eat very little. Cooking, the activity that once brought me alive, now felt like a chore. I started ordering in more unhealthy food, almost daily. I had no will to wake up in the morning – my bed became my best friend and my safest space. I withdrew from my people, places, and meetings. I would feel numb for most of the day, and often, my only source of any reaction or emotion would be a lot of cortisol from doomscrolling and abysmally little dopamine from the scarce reels of baby animals.
There were many triggers, which I choose not to disclose here. But my response to each of them steadily and increasingly became leaning on my vices each time, and then wallowing in my shame and overthinking said triggers. I beat each dead horse so much at times that all semblance of sense vanished.
The signs I mentioned were the ones I noticed and made sense of. But when I think back now, I realise how many other signs I noticed and ignored. There are probably a few more that I didn’t notice at all.
All this to say, burnout happened in stages. At least in my experience, it set in well before my breakdown actually happened. What I did not have, however, was a fallback plan in place to catch it before all hell broke loose.
There is a lot to be said about the inability to change these deep-set ruts, though. The fact is, they set in when I wasn’t paying attention and set hard. By the time I realised what was happening, it was too late. These new and worse trends became habits of life. They became the new normal, the new comfort, and the new familiar spaces. They had almost become ritualistic because they took away from the numbness, even if momentarily.
The human condition, while persistent, is quite fickle, now that I think about it. It can be affected by many things. It endures, but there is always a straw that breaks the camel’s back. Once broken, it takes nothing short of a village to fix it. Hopefully, one that would stay for subsequent breakdowns too. Maybe even recognise that the next breakdown is imminent and work collectively to employ mitigative measures. What an ideal world that would be.
The day I snapped, things happened quickly. And it was an almost immediate “light bulb” moment. Because, in that moment, I realised that everything I thought was off in my daily routine and mental and physical health all led to this one moment.
I was right. Things were going wrong. So why did I not trust my gut instincts then?
The answer was simple. I was never taught to recognise these symptoms for what they were. I was always told to “power through”. I was warned against these “weaknesses” rearing their heads in public. But guess what happened? They reared their heads in public. It was ugly. It was almost a spectacle I had to spend my time quelling. Because when the dam breaks, the river gushes out.
So what did I do to make my way out of this flood? Of emotions, fallouts, and resentments?
I was.
I let myself be for a few weeks. I let myself not think, overthink, do nothing, do too many things in one day. Whatever my brain and body felt like doing, I did. Some days, I hosted people. I shut out most of them on others. I let myself feel every emotion I refused to acknowledge for months, even years.
Then, when my body found a semblance of equilibrium, I started therapy.
I would like to digress here for a minute.
Therapy gets a lot of slack. People call it useless, excessive, costly, unnecessary, and even difficult. It is also deeply misunderstood. There are different types of therapy and therapists, and most people never delve deep enough to understand these distinctions. They forget the fact that the human experience is complicated. They forget that everyone needs help. And that it is okay to seek help. And most people fight to keep the stigma around mental health alive and well. And by extension, therapy ends up staying stigmatised too.
Is it so wrong to not be mentally okay?
I went through 5 therapists over 3 years to find the right fit. The only adjective from the list above is “difficult”. It is difficult to find the right therapist. It is also hard to show up for yourself in the first few sessions, and it gets even more difficult to keep showing up when things get tough and your skeletons peek out of the closet.
But here is where it eases up somewhat: a good therapist can help decide the optimal therapy for you and work with you to arrive at what is most suited to your lifestyle and personality. They also offer acceptance. Unconditionally. It is their job to do so. And that is liberating.
For me, being self-aware helped. I am naturally a very introspective person. I knew what I needed from my therapist (my failed past experiments with others helped too). I was able to communicate these needs within the first session. And it has worked great. Who woulda thunk that communication was key?!
Things may be different for different people, and I am no one to advise on how to make headway in therapy. I will just say, however, that what does help is pattern recognition, a little bit of introspection, and the will to make a change. If you, reader, have other helpful mechanisms and processes, please let me know. We grow the more we share.
We also destigmatise mental health and wellbeing the more we share and talk about our progress. Positivity motivates. Seeing a light at the end of the tunnel helps.
We are now back to our regularly scheduled… reading.
Repression helps no one. I learned it the hard way. It kept me second-guessing everything I did. And years of my repressing have started pouring out in therapy. This is hard too. Because I thought I was keeping strong by repressing my experiences and emotions. It almost breaks my heart to realise that I was harming myself more than I was protecting.
There are still up/down days. I still have days when I do not wish to do anything. But I have more will now to be present. I feel more supported now, knowing that I can discuss any issues I face with a professional who can walk with me to choose my path of resolution, but I am grateful for the guidance nonetheless.
I can already sense my light at the end of the tunnel. I feel better, more optimistic, and I am already able to regulate my emotions more easily. I am building my safe space and stacking it with my own support group (they support me big time, and I am ever grateful for these people).
Like I said, it takes a VILLAGE. Mine is a beautiful one with wonderful humans.
I am proud to say that I, the self-appointed mayor of my village (I know now that I have to show up for myself more than anyone else does), have been working to recognise patterns that arose last time. My partner, shoutout to him, picks up the slack on days that I am not, or simply cannot, be there for myself.
There is more work to do. And I will gladly do it. But I am happier now than I have been in the last 5 years.
This is where I implore you now: listen to your gut instincts about your symptoms of burnout. They are generally right. Career is important, yes. But your health — body, mind, and soul — is so much more important. There are too many cautionary tales for us not to take mental wellbeing seriously.
I hope you hold space for yourself, fellow human. It’s worth it. You are worth it.