Burnout

The post I almost didn't write

This is a post I wasn’t sure I would write.

It’s about that existential dread you feel at the beginning of every work week, and most work days. The cold sweat you wake up in at 3 a.m. on a Wednesday morning, realizing that you’ve just had another nightmare about work. The tears that well up every day, unexpectedly, for no particular reason at all.

You tell yourself you’re fine. But you’re not.

Somehow, though, you keep pushing through. You manage to deal with yet another:

• Return-to-office initiative that no one wants

• Mandate to cull 10% of your team, even though you have no low performers left to manage out

• Unexpected round of layoffs, despite record company profits

You’re living in a constant crisis state because your leader can’t plan for sh*t. Every day there’s another manufactured emergency, a new push for something that’s needed immediately.

It happens over and over—month after month, year after year.

Until one day you find yourself hoping (praying even) that the next round of layoffs will include you. And then feeling guilty because you do.

It’s About Burnout

I know so many folks who are barely hanging on. They hate their jobs, but they’re waiting for the next stock vest. For the kids to finish college.

“They” are us. Colleagues, friends … maybe even you. Despite the loathing, we find reasons to stay so we don’t have to face the much harder question: what happens if I go?

It’s so much easier to stay than to step into the unknown.

Quitting is uncertain, and scary. It can be hard to imagine what comes next. And so we continue to live a miserable existence in our job until … when? Until it breaks us?

It’s no life to live. But we all do it at some point or another.

We tell ourselves it’s normal, and temporary—it’s just this project, this manager, this busy season. But is it?

It Broke Me

I did this for two decades. Over 20 years of continuous work in pressure-cooker roles (CIO, anyone?) with only “regular” time off: week-long vacations and those 10 treasured days of holiday downtime at universities each year. That and a few weeks off between jobs—often with a major cross-country move to occupy that time.

Then earlier this year, something in me broke. I woke up one morning and thought: I cannot do this for one. more. second.

So I called my doctor, and went out on leave.

It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done—admitting that I could not magically transcend my situation while remaining in it.

I felt like a failure for needing to tap out. But it was one of the best things I could do for myself: prioritize self-care over everything else.

The Time I Needed

During my leave I slept 8 hours a night or more, regularly. I took long walks, and restarted my yoga practice. I wrote more on this blog.

I caught up on doctor’s visits for medical issues I’d long been avoiding—a herniated disc that caused me daily pain for years, among them—because who has the time when you’re working around the clock?

And I learned a few new skills: AI—looking at you, bud.

I also spent a considerable amount of time thinking about what’s really important to me—not what I was supposed to want, but what actually energized me. What I wanted at this stage of my life. And critically, what I was no longer willing to tolerate.

It turns out that toxic work environments and the stress that comes with them are at the top of that list. Who knew? 🤦🏼‍♀️

I Was Done

Like, truly done. No amount of money … or status … or job title was worth it.

It took 13 weeks and a little—or perhaps a lot of—soul searching, but I had finally found my peace.

I hope that you find yours, too.

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Bonus read: Acknowledging when things are not okay—and doing something about it—isn’t weakness. If you’ve ever done this, I’m proud of you. It reflects tremendous strength, courage, and leadership.

The Courage to Quit

I Am Not Okay

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Cover photo credit: Cullan Smith on Unsplash