Recognizing and Preventing Burnout

Somewhere in the past few months any time I had for myself during the day evaporated. Between Eric dropping his nap (yet still remaining grumpy and clingy) and the younger two occasionally striking from naps too, that formerly-reliable midday break has disappeared to leave long eleven-hour marathons in its stead. That, combined with losing my parents’ regular help with the kids, has made it easy to burn out.

The thing about burnout is that it’s so insidious for me. One minute it all seems fine: I’m managing four kids, all the laundry and meals for six and mopping, the school runs and lunch-packing and lessons at home—the next minute I’ve lost my patience, I’m blowing up at small things, I’m feeling suffocated. Why is that?

First, I don’t think I’ve ever really learned how to prevent or recognize burnout. Our culture, and particularly Silicon Valley, emphasizes productivity, being able to “do it all.” As Emma Seppala at Stanford puts it, overextension is simply a way of life. And I’ve always personally been what others would probably term an over-achiever: my modus operandi is pretty much to sink or swim, to work harder and get it done sooner. In high school, that was taking seven AP courses while doing a varsity sport and competitive piano. In college, that was finishing my major my first two years. In medical training, that was picking the hardest surgical rotation and residency. Those things didn’t make me the healthiest person, but eventually the cramming for tests, the terrible call shifts would end—but of course childcare never does. So when I approach motherhood in that same task-oriented, all-out way, without pacing or strategies for self-care, I inevitably burn out.

Secondly, I think burnout by nature is insidious. It’s not the same as being stressed. Stress is too much—too much pressure, too many tasks—but burn out is about not enough—being all used up or dried out. Stress often leads to anxiety or hyperactivity; burnout leads to depression and detachment. We tend to recognize being stressed out, but it’s harder to recognize burnout, particularly because it’s not a threshold we step over as much as a continuum we progress along.

What are the signs of burnout? There are different definitions out there, but I think for me, it boils down to five basic things:

1. Exhaustion: chronic physical and/or emotional fatigue and lack of energy. “I’m tired all the time”

2. Lack of motivation: losing interest and feel disconnected. “I don’t care anymore”

3. Cynicism and dread: loss of enjoyment, seeing the worst and assuming the worst. “Every day is a bad day”

4. Resentment and irritability: displacement frustration on others, angry outbursts, feeling isolated. “It’s his fault; no one understands me”

5. Helplessness: feeling suffocated, like you can’t get out. “I feel trapped”

As a mom, for example, burnout usually means I’m so chronically sleep-deprived that I don’t even realize how much of how I feel is due to being tired. And it’s a bad cycle, because when I start getting burned out, the first way I tend to get more time for myself is to stay up later, but this only leads to more exhaustion and burnout the next day. I start to lose interest in doing whatever is most edifying for my kids; I just count down the hours until they go to bed. I start to dread all the chores and caregiving I have to do each day, rather than enjoying the kids. I start to think resentfully about Dave: I criticize him in my head when he doesn’t see a need at home and handle it exactly the way I would, or I’m secretly happy a kid is tantruming when he’s around because I want him to see how hard my days are. I find myself getting angry at the kids for small things. I experience moments of distinct suffocation, when I feel like I just need to get away.

How do I prevent burnout? Again, there’s probably lots of advice out there, but I think for me it boils down to these five things:

1. Permission and pacing: recognizing how important taking care of myself is, and deciding it is worth investing resources of time and money into it. Realizing prevention is only possible if I incorporate regular breaks into my life.

2. Community: connecting regularly with someone I trust; discussing and strategizing with them.

3. Hobby: recovering the me that isn’t just a mom—it might be the me that writes, or makes music, or reads, or hikes to a view. Doing those things to remember who I am.

4. Physical care: diet, exercise, sleep. Incredibly difficult without intentionality.

5. Spiritual space: not just a one-minute Bible-read, but time to worship, to listen, to dwell and be fully present with God.

Figuring out what all that practically looks like will probably differ from person to person or from season to season. I’ve been gathering some ideas lately, and processing through what mental roadblocks I have to getting help and incorporating regular breaks. But the first step is to recognize where I am on the continuum, because well, I’m in it for the long haul here. The kids’ needs will change from stage to stage, both individually and in combination, but they will always be there.