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!