Ummm... I have questions (a rage on the unfairness of burnout recovery in a capitalist society)

Just read it can take 3 to 5 years to recover from habitual burnout. 

Life coach explains how it can take five years to recover from burnout

Three. To five. Years. 

And doctors pushing back on me over 3 weeks in 2018-2019. Sheeeeeeiiiiii....

I had nooooo idea. I've been wondering all this time why I still feel like my life is pointless given I've basically stuffed it in a drawer and neglected to use it for years. 

Every single solitary day of this multi-year, thus-far-failed attempt at recovery has been spent trying to recover by "resting" (i.e., finally attending to all the day to day life I couldn't get lived while working what felt like 27 hours a day), and wondering if I'm recovered yet, and how I'll know, and if I'm not how much longer, and what do I do to make this time as productive as possible so that it doesn't take longer, and somebody please tell me how will I know?

Do you know what the shortest recovery time estimate I read was? Sure, some pages were vaguely suggesting "days, weeks, months" but never gave any actual numbers, which it turns out just messes with your head. But the shortest actual numbered estimate I read in direct answer to the direct question, "how long does it take to recover from burnout"? Eleven damn weeks. Eleven weeks of complete, stress-free rest, focusing only on recovering from the syndrome of burnout symptoms through play, socializing and lots of good sleep. What the actual fuck. 

How long does burnout last

And you know what? Suddenly a weight has been lifted. I feel galvanized and ready to DO this and do it right. And also, I'm angry as shit that all I needed was a realistic ETA, and that it took me almost two full years and one goddamn Google search with the right question to find it. I've been in therapy since 2015, on meds since 2005, and nobody could mention this teeny tiny factoid that might have saved me two to 17 YEARS? Three weeks. Shiiiiiiit. 

And lest we settle on a defense of "You could have just asked..." let me remind you that No, I fucking could not, because burnout, anxiety, depression, and probable ADHD. Can we please just start acknowledging that it would be great if those whose job it was to help people recover from illness and hardship could actually take charge of that role and do the work required? There ARE people whose literal job it is to ask that right question and find that right answer for the person who needs it. I shouldn't need to have House as my GP (and let's face it, that would be just as terrible as it would be amazing) to have this happen. And I'm not saying the people whose job it was are at fault either. They are also parts of a system that fails to prioritize "healing from illness" because it's too busy prioritizing "getting back to productivity" - and doesn't even allocate enough staff hours to that priority to make sure said productivity is real and sustainable. In short, they too are drained and in need of recovery. Everyone has had too much, for too long, with too few resources and too little support. So if we're all burnt out, who's gonna ask the right questions?

I'm out. I'll be back in eleven to 261 weeks. 

Faith restored

If I ever I lose faith again in my favourite comforts, remind me of this moment.

Every summer, I look forward to fresh, perfect Ontario strawberries. I usually start daydreaming about them in late May, and really looking forward to them in mid-June. On and around the solstice, I start seeing people rave about them, or walking home with baskets of them from the stores or the markets. This is when my hunt begins. I buy a basket of any juicy looking strawberry with that trillium logo or the word “local” on the placard. Get them straight home and wash them as soon as I step in the door, so I can find a quiet moment to bite into one as soon as possible.

This year though, I’d had a few baskets, and every one had turned out to be a fraud. Hothouse imitators grown locally, yes, but just slightly out of season perhaps, or leaner, hardier, more productive hybrids bred to stay platonically pretty on the shelves.

My disappointment coloured my entire view of life, if I’m being truthful. Some days I assumed it was me. Maybe I just didn’t really like food anymore. I’d leaned on the bliss of perfect deliciousness as a comfort so heavily in these lately difficult times that at last, it had faded to a shadow of its former self. A bittersweet memory to be sighed about each time I tasted the still-surprising disappointment of the pink-fleshed pretenders.

Other days, I looked on the food industry with disdain. Another magnate somewhere must have sold out. Big Fruit had spoken, and good strawberries were no longer a thing, too costly to produce even here where they are capable of working such magic on the hot, sunny days. Cheap cheerfulness would have to be good enough. Toss a little yogurt on it and call it a salad. Local berries are so sugary; these low-cal ones are better for your health.

Essentially, I had reached the point of resignation. I no longer needed to feverishly check the Foodland Ontario website every spring to mark my calendar for the start of strawberry season. Picking expeditions could be scheduled for the kids’ amusement if desired, but it was no longer a matter of urgency to get a trip to the fields in before the season was up. It was fine. The diluted berries were fine. My faith in food and my relationship with it were fine. Everything was fine. Fine fine fine.

Until.

Until a visit to the farmer’s market yesterday.

There were only 6 or 7 pint baskets when we arrived, deep red and rounded like baby cheeks, and they were one of the first things the little one gravitated to, looking up at me with inquiring eyes. I knew if I was going to get some we needed to act soon, but I was lukewarm on the idea. I’d decided the previous week that I didn’t need to spend Market money on strawberries anymore. For the strawberries we’re getting these days, Grocery money would be quite sufficient, thanks. Cherries perhaps, this time. Although. The child had ignored the cherries entirely so far, for perhaps the first time in her life. And these berries, well they were the platonic ideal of temptation. They looked so… Plump. Honest. Summery.

After doing a round of the market, subconsciously tracking the fruit table out of the corner of my eye the entire time, I sent the poor bored kid to the playground while I gathered veggies for dinner. When I had everything, I came back around and stood in front of the berries, squared off with that yeah, I bet face. Skeptically, I picked up a basket. As I brought it closer to my face to examine the batch, the smell. The smell. If you know, you know — you know?

A tumble of round, ripe strawberries, washed and drying on a floursack tea towel

So, yeah: I bet. I bit. I bought. If they tasted “fine”, that was okay too, because already I had that look and that aroma, piquing my tired faith, and these alone might be worth the $4.99.

But they were not alone. No they were not. While my child played on the swing with other kids from the neighbourhood, I found a bench, dipped into my market bag, and brought one perfect specimen back out into the sunlight. I took my time. THIS was mindful eating, without any need for guidance or deliberation. I did deep breathe though, savouring that scent again, the smell of summer finally resolving itself into fond memories and futures to look forward to and trifles and sundaes past and future. I almost dribbled red juice onto my shirt. The flavour… Well it all matched up. You know.

I’m not gonna lie, I felt a bit guilty. Not long after the full flavour hit my tongue, but slightly before the last pulpy flesh had been snatched from the hull, it occured to me that it might be unfair of me, nay, irresponsible even, to be keeping such a moment to myself. I closed my eyes, and took a mental picture (the wonderful thing about mental pictures is, they perfectly capture and convey things like aroma and flavour).

I finished my treat, and went to fetch the child. She would have to taste this goodness for herself. I hesitated a moment. I should get them home and washed first. But no, there wasn’t time. Faith might be on the line.

Getting organized with my personal filing system

A personal filing system I've developed over 40-odd years of dedication and practise. I just put everything in the appropriate one of 4 basic files, and Boom. Like the explosion. 

Let me know if you've tried it and how it works for you!

~~~~~

It isn't functional, but it's mine. ❤️ 

No-fail filing system

File 1: Stuff I'm "working on" "right now"

- Location: top of nightstand, with overflow to top of desk, top of desk chair and top of dining table as necessary

- Contents: current (2014-2023) receipts, projects, reading and leisure, honey-dos, parenting literature, professional development, date ideas, invitations, most recent 2 years' (+/-Covid) gifts and mementos still sticky with guilt or nostalgia

File 2

- Label: Stuff I'll need "later"

- Location: A Safe Place where I JUST saw it yesterday, with overflow to the Bermuda Triangle, various clear and ostensibly visual-storage-friendly containers, the black hole in the exact middle of the floor under the bed, My Piles, the storage locker whose location and key I keep In A Safe Place   

- Contents: Things I don't need "now" but am keeping responsibly until it's time to use them between 3 and 21076 days from now

File 3

- Label: Stuff I "knew I had"

- Location: Around, with overflow to available containers and surfaces 

- Contents: Stuff I needed "the other day" and carefully made sure to roll over into my 'Stuff I'll need "later"' file but couldn't locate in time and now keep on display in its rendered useless state, as penance, forever 

File 4

- Label: Stuff I "already decluttered" and need to rehome before first grader de-rehomes it, again

- Location: between desk and balcony window, with overflow going to moving box we finally emptied 5 years ago (pictured) to use as a fort for the then-toddler, too-high-to-see shelf of hall closet, beside recycling bin, beside hall door, first grader's de-rehoming and fort decomissioning project 

- Contents: Stuff I don't need that MIGHT still be usable to someone someday and would be wasteful and harmful to the environment to throw away and socially and financially irresponsible to drop off at Value Village where they'll resell for profit, so I just need to find a place that's exactly like VV to drop it all at or probably if I can post enough of it on FB market place it will all magically disappear at a rate way faster than I can post and arrange pickup

 

You need to hear

I've seen a lot of posts and responses this past few months about people panic-blaming and defending their usage of things like personal pronouns and pronoun-verb agreement, and person- versus identity-first language, and individual vs group identifier preferences, etc. 

I can't help but feel that a lot of us are trying really hard to understand how to do it all right, and in so doing are completely missing the point. 

In trying to understand how to navigate these cultural spaces as an ally, your only job inside that space is this: 

Stop. 

Yes, stop. Relax for a second. Now walk it back a couple dozen steps, 'til you take yourself all the way out of the equation, because it's not about you, and in most cases your reply actually isn't necessary. 

Okay but, what about when your classmate was offended when you referred to them as "an autistic person" instead of "a person with autism"? Your proudly neurodivergent professor who's studied the intersections of neurotype, ability and politics for decades assured your class that identifier-first language was preferred! Is it or isn't it?

Yup! It sounds like you've wandered into a grey area -- congratulations. 😃  It's complex, and valid, and uncomfortable. And you don't need to tell either of your neuro-atypical acquaintances you discovered it, because they already live there. It's okay, you can sit down. Have a look around, and explore the squishy unease for a while, and then go share what you've learned with your neurotypical friends on the outside, who may not have been where you landed. 

I may sound flippant, but I'm serious when I say the idea that your reply isn't needed can come as a big surprise. It did to me. But consider your purpose in listening to these particular voices. And more importantly, consider their purpose in communicating the way they do.

The point of these spaces is to amplify voices that otherwise often go unheard. Sure, all we social justice warriors want to act -- to right all the wrongs, and do it properly. But if the problem is that voices have been silenced and people aren't being served, then the solution isn't to figure out how to properly speak for them. The solution is to listen when they speak. 

If your favourite genderqueer blogger posts a rant about how they don't like being called "they", just when you spent weeks practising to correctly use your coworkers pronouns, you might feel defensive, irritated, and turned around. It's okay to feel that way, you're safe, and your feelings are valid.  But they aren't the point. 

lt isn't about whether you're right to remember X and wrong to use Y and damned if you do or don't say Z. None of those things are the issue, because all of those things are about you, and this is about someone else. 

That's the point. You have your space, your turn. The entire conversation so far has been predicated upon it. But this, at last, is their turn, and they are telling you what you need to hear. Just... stop. And listen. And... that's it. 

Warmest Regards, Admin

Dear Teacher,

Here is a five-year-old child. We will add him to your volatile class of 20 five and six year olds. He tends to run away from adults. Please keep him safe and return him to his parents at the end of the day. 

To ensure success, we are placing a second adult in your classroom to support him for an hour in the afternoon every day 5. Please ensure he confines his escapades to this schedule. Should you feel your skills are inadequate to manage with this level of support, requests for increased aid, accompanied by the requisite 3 weeks' to 6 months' worth of documentation, lunch-time meetings and after school phone calls, will be duly considered once each of your shortcomings have been queried and found not at fault. 

If your new student should escape your watch during the mornings or on days 1-4, we encourage you to phone your grade team member or another of your colleagues for relief. As you may know, there is strength in numbers. If all colleagues are found to be unavailable, please ensure you yourself track down the child and tell him to return to class in such a way as to make him think it was his idea, and continue teaching and caring for your other students simultaneously. Remember that leaving your students unsupervised is a breach of your supervisory duties. If you find yourself in breach of duty, contact the office. At this point, if available, we will send a staff member to locate the child, and assign another to speak with you regarding your breach of duty and determine which classroom management modules you should be required to rewatch.

Please ensure you employ enough developmental psychology and plan enough fun activities and make available enough new and exciting resources and be amicable and attentive enough to make your new student WANT to stay in your classroom, because as you know, you may not use touch, restraint, intimidation, or limiting the timing of washroom visits to ensure he stays under your supervision. Also, please keep doors and windows open to allow air and other particles to circulate in a free and unconstrained manner.

We remind you that as per your job description, you continue to be required to ensure all of your students are productively engaged with the prescribed curriculum during instructional hours, to build a relationship with each child, to communicate constantly with each family, to ensure each child spends time reading with you individually and in small groups, to respond to each child's physical and emotional needs, to provide order and structure and boundaries, to build flexibility and fun and adaptability, and to model organization and self-regulation and social skills. Every child has different needs and you are expected to supply all of them to all your students at all times. 

Know that we APPRECIATE you and insist that you add self-care to your after-school to-do list so that you can continue to start each new day at school fresh and unjaded by the events of yesterday. We understand that this will be a challenge, and we are sure you're grateful for the chance to demonstrate your skills. We expect only the best from you -- as you know, maintaining high expectations is one of the best ways to lead our followers to success! 

Warmest Regards!

Short circuit

What it feels like inside my brain right now: 

Nails on a chalkboard

It doesn't feel this way all the time, but it feels like it feels this way all the time. No wonder there seems to be just the one alternative: 

Vacancy

I can't figure out how to reconnect. 

Update (after a short stint of mindful bodily sensation while finally forcing myself to get ready for bed): 

I'm feeling lonely and trapped in my head. I miss myself, my fun, my joy, my looking forward to things. It keeps being taken away when I can't be with the people I want to connect with, or I don't feel connected with them. What I need to do to get out of the short circuit in here is to be who I need in my life. 

I was looking forward to a date with dessert and games for my birthday. My date can't join me now, but I don't have to abandon myself because someone else won't be there. I love puzzle games, I love dessert. This is something I can do.

I was frustrated about feeling like I couldn't unburden with my therapist, and not all of my FB crowd would understand, and I didn't want all this stuff coming between me and my loved ones. But nobody understands me like me. I can tell myself by writing it out. It's why I have this blog and my journal. 

I was annoyed at the thought of knowing mindfulness was probably one of the other best ways for me to rewire, because I loathed the idea of doing meditations and exercises that didn't feel real. But 10 seconds of feeling my feet while I stood in the bathroom, and another 10 of intentionally paying attention while running a warm washcloth over my face certainly dimmed the dimmer-bulb sound in my brain to the point where I could think of other things than the pain of thinking again. 

Being in my body, feeling heat and pressure and air movement on my feet and my face and my hands, getting my thoughts out of my head into some form of account, and being here for myself in the ways in want someone to be there for me. These are how I will try to rewire. 

Motivation crumble

The painful thing of it is, when energy is already low, and motivation only comes in short, unpredictable bursts that can crumble under the light brush of frustration, you need to be ready to go when inspiration strikes.  

When you get an idea for something small and simple that could help you make real progress and you actually manage to immediately launch into action, well, discovering that your computer suddenly won't connect to the internet until after you complete a Windows Update is like cold water on the fading embers of your inner fire. 

I'm grateful that many tech companies are willing to handle necessary updates without too much intercession for me. But when I need to send a message, make a call, look up a term, find contact information, or take a note, later isn't good enough. Are all the updates absolutely necessary right when I'm ready to use my device? I really would like for the companies to find a way for their products to be ready when they're needed, every time. This would go a long way to making them as accessible for those who need the support to manage their regular day-to-day as it is for those who use the support to get ahead of the pack.

Methods in madness

Documenting some things that I think work well for me, including the act of documenting itself, and the data it brings. I need to be careful with documenting because it's one of the trickier culprits that contribute to overwhelm for me -- but its lack is one of the reasons I frequently find myself unable to figure out what's empirical data and what's assumption or confirmation bias. Without trying too hard to change anything else, I want to try and document what I already do, and I'm starting with my self care as the most important thing to document. I also have a documentation space for home care and maintenance tasks, but if both get to be too much, I have them separate so I can narrow it down to one. 

My goal is to understand my self-care patterns -- how often I tend to be able to do which kinds of self care, what other factors influence it, and eventually, which elements of routine and ritual will help me solidify some of the things that help me feel my best and function well.

Life's aches and pains (reflections after a Covid booster, hour 27)

Workout aches and pains be like: 

I see you've decided to run over a kilometer without stretching your hamstrings first. Smug upstart.

Getting old aches and pains be like:

I see you've decided to reach for the fork you dropped under the table without getting off your chair. Foolish mortal. 

Vaccine booster aches and pains be like:

I see you've decided to have wrists. Idiot.

Girl, (Somewhat) Uninterrupted

Curbing the pathological notification checking.

Trying to take a bit of time to reset, sort of. Try something a bit different. Shake things up. It's hard but I also feel like despite the hard things never really letting up, I'm feeling things shift a bit for me. More clarity. Maybe it's the vitamins. Maybe it's getting back to work but without the soul-tearingly early hours required to get everyone to their respective day jobs on time, now that we're all working from home. More willingness to move on things I had set aside too or was avoiding looking at. More intentionality. I'm starting to take charge of the push and pull of the tides and push back a bit so resentment isn't my only mental state -- which feels important. I can't analyze it too closely or try to force myself to document it all. I need to accept that some things are too big for me to reduce to words or lists or line items -- and anyway, that's a good thing in my books. I just need to actually make peace with it. 

 Something I've learned more concretely about myself in the last couple days of virtual school, and that I should probably watch for more and keep in mind, is that interruption is one of the main things that kills my productivity. So much so that even the thought that I might be interrupted kind of paralyzes my ability to transition to the next right thing. I just pace and wait and fritter away time on the less important but easily finished or abandoned tasks while I let the potential for interruption pass. Sometimes I think it's fine to acknowledge this and allow for myself to do just the one thing at a time. Other times though, I may need to find ways to control or redirect this tendency, since some interruptions never end but also never begin. That said, I also need to reduce the potential for interruptions in some areas. This week I've been shutting down a lot of sources of mini-crisis and it's been nice to have my mind free to continue the thought I was already having. More of that would be good. Basically, there's almost no need for me to ever rely on Social Media to keep me connected to the people I really need to keep constant connection with, and so turning of its push notifications and limiting checking it to a smaller window each day can help me avoid inviting interruption. So doing, I can increase the continuous flow time for things like serenity, creativity, and purpose.