Perfectionists are more likely to burn out, extensive study suggests

Perfectionists are more likely to burn out, extensive study suggests:

 Christmas has come and gone once more and I hope it went as an enjoyable few days of togetherness with family and friends, not a stressful exhausting holiday!

How to Identify Your 'Dominant Emotional Style' (and Why It's so Important)

Emotions 

 

Too much of a single emotion can lead to burnout. These strategies can help.

 

 Photo by Yasin Yusuf on Unsplash

 

By

Rachel Fairbank

During difficult times, we often find ourselves defaulting to a single, dominant emotion, even when another might be more “logical.” For example, your default emotion may be anxiety, which is what you’ll feel during the stressful times, even if a more appropriate emotional reaction might be anger, sadness, or frustration.

This is your dominant emotional style, said Alice Boyes, Ph.D., author of the book “The Healthy Mind Toolkit,” in a recent article she wrote for Psychology Today. In times of stress, a “dominant emotion” is the emotion we default to and is often linked to how we interpret and react to situations. Going back to the anxiety example, your reaction may be due to a tendency to blame yourself for situations; if your dominant emotion is anger, that might be due to a tendency to assume others are trying to hurt you.

Why being able to feel a range of emotions matters 

We default to our dominant emotion because that’s what we know and what is most familiar to us. However, it’s important to be able to experience a range of emotions, as this is often the key to a healthier, happier life.

One way to think about emotions is to think about all of the different emotions as being part of a balanced ecosystem. Within an ecosystem there are many different components, all of which are important for a healthy system. If this balance gets disrupted though, with one emotion becoming heavily dominant, then the overall health of the system gets thrown off balance.

As studies are showing, people who experience a broad range of emotions tend to have better mental and physical health, which includes lower rates of depression. One possible reason is that a mixture of emotions, even if they are negative ones, can help prevent a single emotion from completely taking over.

Two options for reducing your dominant emotion 

Feeling too much of one emotion is exhausting and can leave you burnt out. According to Boyes, there are two options that can help you step back from your dominant emotion.

The first option is to think through other possible interpretations of the situation. As Boyes notes, her dominant emotion is anxiety, where she will usually blame herself. However, when she slows down and evaluates the situation, trying to think through other reasons for what is going on, this allows her other emotions to surface.

The second option is to focus on the quieter feelings, the ones that have been drowned out by your dominant emotion. “If I tune into my smaller emotions, they rise to the surface more,” Boyes wrote. These other feelings can help you come up with different solutions to your problem, while also helping you to have a more balanced perspective.

As Boyes points out, these strategies for dialing down your dominant emotion can have a lot of positive benefits. This includes feeling a sense of relief, enhancing your creativity, identifying new ways to problem-solve, as well as motivating you to try alternative approaches that you might not otherwise think of.

As Boyes noted, when it comes to feeling these other emotions, “It’s okay if feeling your non-dominant emotions leaves you feeling unsettled and perhaps a little at sea. You can feel unsettled and still also benefit.”

Our burnout moment is a good thing

Burnout 

 

 Thanks to Thought Catalogue on Unsplash

 

As lockdowns start to lift, we have a rare opportunity to address burnout on a systemic level – and make sure everyone’s included

 

IT STARTS WITH a lack of energy, which gradually builds into a sense of exhaustion. You feel an apathy towards your job, when you previously took pride in it. Cynicism sets in. Your productivity drops, or at least it feels that way. You put in more time and effort to try to compensate, but you don’t feel the sense of accomplishment you used to – you just feel even more tired. You’re burned out.

More than a year-and-a-half into the Covid-19 pandemic, burnout is having a moment. Having initially scrambled to adjust to the sudden upheaval of the workplace – made to switch to remote work with little or no preparation, or deemed an essential worker and asked to continue business-as-usual in highly unusual circumstances – we’re perhaps only now really starting to feel the repercussions. 

When the pandemic first hit, says Torsten Voigt, a sociologist at RWTH Aachen University in Germany who has researched burnout, everyone was so busy trying to adjust and keep things moving that we didn’t have time to worry about longer-term consequences. But more than a year on, and with lockdowns starting to lift in some regions, this initial expenditure of energy may be catching up with us. “Now, when we take a deep breath, some will realise that they potentially have given too much at that point and that they need a break,” he says.

But while it may be little comfort to those suffering, there could be an upside to our current burnout reckoning. It presents an opportunity to reconsider our relationship with work – not just on an individual level, but on a societal one.

Because while burnout may be gaining greater recognition, it’s not applied equally. We tend to think of burnout as affecting doctors, teachers, office workers. “I'm not sure if, say, a hairdresser or a car mechanic would say they are burned out,” Voigt says. It’s not that people in these roles don’t experience burnout, he says – but discussions of burnout often seem to be centred on occupations associated with a certain educational or socioeconomic level. You don’t often hear of cleaners, or supermarket workers, or people balancing three jobs as being “burned out”, even though most of us would say their work is objectively harder. “They basically don't even have the luxury to talk about burnout,” Voigt says.

The world in which burnout as a concept was initially conceived likely looked quite different to the one we live and work in today. The gig economy, zero-hours contracts, automation, even smartphones, have transformed the way many of us work. Our understanding of burnout – and how to address it – may need to evolve too.

BURNOUT IS AN intuitive term that’s both easy and difficult to define. On the one hand, it’s a clear metaphor that describes how a lot of people feel when they lose energy and motivation at work. But it is not a medical diagnosis, and lacks the kind of tightly-defined symptom list you might expect for a physical or mental health condition. The World Health Organisation includes burnout in its International Classification of Diseases (ICD) only as an “occupational phenomenon”, and defines it as “a syndrome conceptualized as resulting from chronic workplace stress that has not been successfully managed.” Some researchers question whether burnout is even a distinct phenomenon, or if it might overlap with depression.

Originally, burnout was researched and discussed largely in the context of healthcare workers. The origin of the idea is usually credited to Herbert Freudenberger, an American psychologist who used the term to describe what he saw among employees in the “free clinic” he worked at, which offered medical services to underserved communities, such as people with substance abuse issues. In 1974, Freudenberger wrote about “staff burn-out”, describing physical symptoms including fatigue, frequent headaches and not being able to shake off a cold, as well as behavioural signs such as crying or angering easily, paranoia and drug abuse.

Burnout: Modern Affliction or Human Condition?

Burnout 

 

As a diagnosis, it’s too vague to be helpful—but its rise tells us a lot about the way we work.

 

 

Photo by Aiony Haust on Unsplash

By Jill Lepore

 

Burnout is generally said to date to 1973; at least, that’s around when it got its name. By the nineteen-eighties, everyone was burned out. In 1990, when the Princeton scholar Robert Fagles published a new English translation of the Iliad, he had Achilles tell Agamemnon that he doesn’t want people to think he’s “a worthless, burnt-out coward.” This expression, needless to say, was not in Homer’s original Greek. Still, the notion that people who fought in the Trojan War, in the twelfth or thirteenth century B.C., suffered from burnout is a good indication of the disorder’s claim to universality: people who write about burnout tend to argue that it exists everywhere and has existed forever, even if, somehow, it’s always getting worse. One Swiss psychotherapist, in a history of burnout published in 2013 that begins with the usual invocation of immediate emergency—“Burnout is increasingly serious and of widespread concern”—insists that he found it in the Old Testament. Moses was burned out, in Numbers 11:14, when he complained to God, “I am not able to bear all this people alone, because it is too heavy for me.” And so was Elijah, in 1 Kings 19, when he “went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper tree: and he requested for himself that he might die; and said, It is enough.”

To be burned out is to be used up, like a battery so depleted that it can’t be recharged. In people, unlike batteries, it is said to produce the defining symptoms of “burnout syndrome”: exhaustion, cynicism, and loss of efficacy. Around the world, three out of five workers say they’re burned out. A 2020 U.S. study put that figure at three in four. A recent book claims that burnout afflicts an entire generation. In “Can’t Even: How Millennials Became the Burnout Generation,” the former BuzzFeed News reporter Anne Helen Petersen figures herself as a “pile of embers.” The earth itself suffers from burnout. “Burned out people are going to continue burning up the planet,” Arianna Huffington warned this spring. Burnout is widely reported to have grown worse during the pandemic, according to splashy stories that have appeared on television and radio, up and down the Internet, and in most major newspapers and magazines, including Forbes, the Guardian, Nature, and the New Scientist. The New York Times solicited testimonials from readers. “I used to be able to send perfect emails in a minute or less,” one wrote. “Now it takes me days just to get the motivation to think of a response.” When an assignment to write this essay appeared in my in-box, I thought, Oh, God, I can’t do that, I’ve got nothing left, and then I told myself to buck up. The burnout literature will tell you that this, too—the guilt, the self-scolding—is a feature of burnout. If you think you’re burned out, you’re burned out, and if you don’t think you’re burned out you’re burned out. Everyone sits under the shade of that juniper tree, weeping, and whispering, “Enough.”

But what, exactly, is burnout? The World Health Organization recognized burnout syndrome in 2019, in the eleventh revision of the International Classification of Diseases, but only as an occupational phenomenon, not as a medical condition. In Sweden, you can go on sick leave for burnout. That’s probably harder to do in the United States because burnout is not recognized as a mental disorder by the DSM-5, published in 2013, and though there’s a chance it could one day be added, many psychologists object, citing the idea’s vagueness. A number of studies suggest that burnout can’t be distinguished from depression, which doesn’t make it less horrible but does make it, as a clinical term, imprecise, redundant, and unnecessary.

To question burnout isn’t to deny the scale of suffering, or the many ravages of the pandemic: despair, bitterness, fatigue, boredom, loneliness, alienation, and grief—especially grief. To question burnout is to wonder what meaning so baggy an idea can possibly hold, and whether it can really help anyone shoulder hardship. Burnout is a metaphor disguised as a diagnosis. It suffers from two confusions: the particular with the general, and the clinical with the vernacular. If burnout is universal and eternal, it’s meaningless. If everyone is burned out, and always has been, burnout is just . . . the hell of life. But if burnout is a problem of fairly recent vintage—if it began when it was named, in the early nineteen-seventies—then it raises a historical question. What started it?

Herbert J. Freudenberger, the man who named burnout, was born in Frankfurt in 1926. By the time he was twelve, Nazis had torched the synagogue to which his family belonged. Using his father’s passport, Freudenberger fled Germany. Eventually, he made his way to New York; for a while, in his teens, he lived on the streets. He went to Brooklyn College, then trained as a psychoanalyst and completed a doctorate in psychology at N.Y.U. In the late nineteen-sixties, he became fascinated by the “free clinic” movement. The first free clinic in the country was founded in Haight-Ashbury, in 1967. “ ‘Free’ to the free clinic movement represents a philosophical concept rather than an economic term,” one of its founders wrote, and the community-based clinics served “alienated populations in the United States including hippies, commune dwellers, drug abusers, third world minorities, and other ‘outsiders’ who have been rejected by the more dominant culture.” Free clinics were free of judgment, and, for patients, free of the risk of legal action. Mostly staffed by volunteers, the clinics specialized in drug-abuse treatment, drug crisis intervention, and what they called “detoxification.” At the time, people in Haight-Ashbury talked about being “burnt out” by drug addiction: exhausted, emptied out, used up, with nothing left but despair and desperation. Freudenberger visited the Haight-Ashbury clinic in 1967 and 1968. In 1970, he started a free clinic at St. Marks Place, in New York. It was open in the evening from six to ten. Freudenberger worked all day in his own practice, as a therapist, for ten to twelve hours, and then went to the clinic, where he worked until midnight. “You start your second job when most people go home,” he wrote in 1973, “and you put a great deal of yourself in the work. . . . You feel a total sense of commitment . . . until you finally find yourself, as I did, in a state of exhaustion.”

Burnout, as the Brazilian psychologist Flávio Fontes has pointed out, began as a self-diagnosis, with Freudenberger borrowing the metaphor that drug users invented to describe their suffering to describe his own. In 1974, Freudenberger edited a special issue of the Journal of Social Issues dedicated to the free-clinic movement, and contributed an essay on “staff burn-out” (which, as Fontes noted, contains three footnotes, all to essays written by Freudenberger). Freudenberger describes something like the burnout that drug users experienced in his experience of treating them:

Having experienced this feeling state of burn-out myself, I began to ask myself a number of questions about it. First of all, what is burn-out? What are its signs, what type of personalities are more prone than others to its onslaught? Why is it such a common phenomenon among free clinic folk?

The first staff burnout victim, he explained, was often the clinic’s charismatic leader, who, like some drug addicts, was quick to anger, cried easily, and grew suspicious, then paranoid. “The burning out person may now believe that since he has been through it all, in the clinic,” Freudenberger wrote, “he can take chances that others can’t.” The person exhibits risk-taking that “sometimes borders on the lunatic.” He, too, uses drugs. “He may resort to an excessive use of tranquilizers and barbiturates. Or get into pot and hash quite heavily. He does this with the ‘self con’ that he needs the rest and is doing it to relax himself.”

The street term spread. To be a burnout in the nineteen-seventies, as anyone who went to high school in those years remembers, was to be the kind of kid who skipped class to smoke pot behind the parking lot. Meanwhile, Freudenberger extended the notion of “staff burnout” to staffs of all sorts. His papers, at the University of Akron, include a folder each on burnout among attorneys, child-care workers, dentists, librarians, medical professionals, ministers, middle-class women, nurses, parents, pharmacists, police and the military, secretaries, social workers, athletes, teachers, veterinarians. Everywhere he looked, Freudenberger found burnouts. “It’s better to burn out than to fade away,” Neil Young sang, in 1978, at a time when Freudenberger was popularizing the idea in interviews and preparing the first of his co-written self-help books. In “Burn-out: The High Cost of High Achievement,” in 1980, he extended the metaphor to the entire United States. “WHY, AS A NATION, DO WE SEEM, BOTH COLLECTIVELY AND INDIVIDUALLY, TO BE IN THE THROES OF A FAST-SPREADING PHENOMENON—BURN-OUT?”

Somehow, suddenly, burning out wasn’t any longer what happened to you when you had nothing, bent low, on skid row; it was what happened to you when you wanted everything. This made it an American problem, a yuppie problem, a badge of success. The press lapped up this story, filling the pages of newspapers and magazines with each new category of burned-out workers (“It used to be that just about every time we heard or read the word ‘burnout’ it was preceded by ‘teacher,’ ” read a 1981 story that warned about “homemakers burnout”), anecdotes (“Pat rolls over, hits the sleep button on her alarm clock and ignores the fact that it’s morning. . . . Pat is suffering from ‘burnout’ ”), lists of symptoms (“the farther down the list you go, the closer you are to burnout!”), rules (“Stop nurturing”), and quizzes:

Are you suffering from burnout? . . . Looking back over the past six months of your life at the office, at home and in social situations. . . .
1. Do you seem to be working harder and accomplishing less?
2. Do you tire more easily?
3. Do you often get the blues without apparent reason?
4. Do you forget appointments, deadlines, personal possessions?
5. Have you become increasingly irritable?
6. Have you grown more disappointed in the people around you?
7. Do you see close friends and family members less frequently?
8. Do you suffer physical symptoms like pains, headaches and lingering colds?
9. Do you find it hard to laugh when the joke is on you?
10. Do you have little to say to others?
11. Does sex seem more trouble than it’s worth?

You could mark questions with “X”s, cut out the quiz, and stick it on the fridge, or on the wall of your “Dilbert”-era cubicle. See? See? This says I need a break, goddammit.

“If one of your ears was inside out, would you want someone to tell you?”

Cartoon by Elisabeth McNair

Sure, there were skeptics. “The new IN thing is ‘burnout,’ ” a Times-Picayune columnist wrote. “And if you don’t come down with it, possibly you’re a bum.” Even Freudenberger said he was burned out on burnout. Still, in 1985 he published a new book, “Women’s Burnout: How to Spot It, How to Reverse It, and How to Prevent It.” In the era of anti-feminist backlash chronicled by Susan Faludi, the press loved quoting Freudenberger saying things like “You can’t have it all.”

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Freudenberger died in 1999 at the age of seventy-three. His obituary in the Times noted, “He worked 14 or 15 hours a day, six days a week, until three weeks before his death.” He had run himself ragged.

very age has its signature afflictions,” the Korean-born, Berlin-based philosopher Byung-Chul Han writes in “The Burnout Society,” first published in German in 2010. Burnout, for Han, is depression and exhaustion, “the sickness of a society that suffers from excessive positivity,” an “achievement society,” a yes-we-can world in which nothing is impossible, a world that requires people to strive to the point of self-destruction. “It reflects a humanity waging war on itself.”

Lost in the misty history of burnout is a truth about the patients treated at free clinics in the early seventies: many of them were Vietnam War veterans, addicted to heroin. The Haight-Ashbury clinic managed to stay open partly because it treated so many veterans that it received funding from the federal government. Those veterans were burned out on heroin. But they also suffered from what, for decades, had been called “combat fatigue” or “battle fatigue.” In 1980, when Freudenberger first reached a popular audience with his claims about “burnout syndrome,” the battle fatigue of Vietnam veterans was recognized by the DSM-III as post-traumatic stress disorder. Meanwhile, some groups, particularly feminists and other advocates for battered women and sexually abused children, were extending this understanding to people who had never seen combat.

Burnout, like P.T.S.D., moved from military to civilian life, as if everyone were, suddenly, suffering from battle fatigue. Since the late nineteen-seventies, the empirical study of burnout has been led by Christina Maslach, a social psychologist at the University of California, Berkeley. In 1981, she developed the field’s principal diagnostic tool, the Maslach Burnout Inventory, and the following year published “Burnout: The Cost of Caring,” which brought her research to a popular readership. “Burnout is a syndrome of emotional exhaustion, depersonalization, and reduced personal accomplishment that can occur among individuals who do ‘people work’ of some kind,” Maslach wrote then. She emphasized burnout in the “helping professions”: teaching, nursing, and social work—professions dominated by women who are almost always very poorly paid (people who, extending the military metaphor, are lately classed as frontline workers, alongside police, firefighters, and E.M.T.s). Taking care of vulnerable people and witnessing their anguish exacts an enormous toll and produces its own suffering. Naming that pain was meant to be a step toward alleviating it. But it hasn’t worked out that way, because the conditions of doing care work—the emotional drain, the hours, the thanklessness—have not gotten better.

Burnout continued to climb the occupational ladder. “Burnout cuts across executive and managerial levels,” Harvard Business Review reported in 1981, in an article that told the tale of a knackered executive: “Not only did the long hours and the unremitting pressure of walking a tightrope among conflicting interests exhaust him; they also made it impossible for him to get at the control problems that needed attention. . . . In short, he had ‘burned out.’ ” Burnout kept spreading. “College Presidents, Coaches, Working Mothers Say They’re Exhausted,” according to a Newsweek cover in 1995. With the emergence of the Web, people started talking about “digital burnout.” “Is the Internet Killing Us?” Elle asked in 2014, in an article on “how to deal with burnout.” (“Don’t answer/write emails in the middle of the night. . . . Watch your breath come in and out of your nostrils or your stomach contracting and expanding as you breathe.”) “Work hard and go home” is the motto at Slack, a company whose product, launched in 2014, made it even harder to stop working. Slack burns you out. Social media burns you out. Gig work burns you out. In “Can’t Even,” a book that started out as a viral BuzzFeed piece, Petersen argues, “Increasingly—and increasingly among millennials—burnout isn’t just a temporary affliction. It’s our contemporary condition.” And it’s a condition of the pandemic.

In March, Maslach and a colleague published a careful article in Harvard Business Review, in which they warned against using burnout as an umbrella term and expressed regret that its measurement has been put to uses for which it was never intended. “We never designed the MBI as a tool to diagnose an individual health problem,” they explained; instead, assessing burnout was meant to encourage employers to “establish healthier workplaces.”

The louder the talk about burnout, it appears, the greater the number of people who say they’re burned out: harried, depleted, and disconsolate. What can explain the astonishing rise and spread of this affliction? Declining church membership comes to mind. In 1985, seventy-one per cent of Americans belonged to a house of worship, which is about what that percentage had been since the nineteen-forties; in 2020, only forty-seven per cent of Americans belonged to an institution of faith. Many of the recommended ways to address burnout—wellness, mindfulness, and meditation (“Take time each day, even five minutes, to sit still,” Elle advised)—are secularized versions of prayer, Sabbath-keeping, and worship. If burnout has been around since the Trojan War, prayer, worship, and the Sabbath are what humans invented to alleviate it. But this explanation goes only so far, not least because the emergence of the prosperity gospel made American Christianity a religion of achievement. Much the same appears to apply to other faiths. A Web site called productivemuslim.com offers advice on “How to Counter Workplace Burnout” (“There is barakah in earning a halal income”). Also, actually praying, honoring the Sabbath, and attending worship services don’t seem to prevent people who are religious from burning out, since religious Web sites and magazines, too, are full of warnings about burnout, including for the clergy. (“The life of a church leader involves a high level of contact with other people. Often when the church leader is suffering high stress or burnout he or she will withdraw from relationships and fear public appearances.”)

You can suffer from marriage burnout and parent burnout and pandemic burnout partly because, although burnout is supposed to be mainly about working too much, people now talk about all sorts of things that aren’t work as if they were: you have to work on your marriage, work in your garden, work out, work harder on raising your kids, work on your relationship with God. (“Are You at Risk for Christian Burnout?” one Web site asks. You’ll know you are if you’re driving yourself too hard to become “an excellent Christian.”) Even getting a massage is “bodywork.”

Burnout may be our contemporary condition, but it has very particular historical origins. In the nineteen-seventies, when Freudenberger first started looking for burnout across occupations, real wages stagnated and union membership declined. Manufacturing jobs disappeared; service jobs grew. Some of these trends have lately begun to reverse, but all the talk about burnout, beginning in the past few decades, did nothing to solve these problems; instead, it turned responsibility for enormous economic and social upheaval and changes in the labor market back onto the individual worker. Petersen argues that this burden falls especially heavily on millennials, and she offers support for this claim, but a lesson of the history of burnout is that every generation of Americans who have come of age since the nineteen-seventies have made the same claim, and they were right, too, because overwork keeps getting worse. It’s this giant mess that Joe Biden is trying to fix. In earlier eras, when companies demanded long hours for low wages, workers engaged in collective bargaining and got better contracts. Starting in the nineteen-eighties, when companies demanded long hours for low wages, workers put newspaper clippings on the doors of their fridges, burnout checklists. Do you suffer from burnout? Here’s how to tell!

Burnout is a combat metaphor. In the conditions of late capitalism, from the Reagan era forward, work, for many people, has come to feel like a battlefield, and daily life, including politics and life online, like yet more slaughter. People across all walks of life—rich and poor, young and old, caretakers and the cared for, the faithful and the faithless—really are worn down, wiped out, threadbare, on edge, battered, and battle-scarred. Lockdowns, too, are features of war, as if each one of us, amid not only the pandemic but also acts of terrorism and mass shootings and armed insurrections, were now engaged in a Hobbesian battle for existence, civil life having become a war zone. May there one day come again more peaceful metaphors for anguish, bone-aching weariness, bitter regret, and haunting loss. “You will tear your heart out, desperate, raging,” Achilles warned Agamemnon. Meanwhile, a wellness site tells me that there are “11 ways to alleviate burnout and the ‘Pandemic Wall.’ ” First, “Make a list of coping strategies.” Yeah, no. ♦

Published in the print edition of the May 24, 2021, issue, with the headline “It’s Just Too Much.”

Jill Lepore, a staff writer at The New Yorker, is a professor of history at Harvard and the author of fourteen books, including “If Then: How the Simulmatics Corporation Invented the Future.” She is also the host of the podcast “The Last Archive.”

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Burnout Is Now Our Default State

Burnout 

 

 Photo by Hanna Postova on Unsplash

A therapist’s advice for curing it when the usual strategies no longer apply

 What do you call it when, after months of feeling pandemic-related burnout, you burn out from the burnout itself? Burn down? Burn away? Burn in?

Burnout is an ambiguous catchall term originally coined to describe the stress-induced exhaustion of people in the helping professions: the mental and physical depletion, distancing from others, and lower productivity they experienced when things got to be too much. In this moment, drained by the stress of living in a pandemic and staring down an uncertain year ahead, everything feels like too much all the time. Burnout isn’t a departure from the default state anymore. It is the default state.

So, how do we recover from burnout-related burnout?

Usually, when people suffer from burnout, they’re advised to develop a better work-life balance, or make more time for self-care practices, or consider if a big life change would benefit them. But in our current world, these suggestions sound like fantasies. How can you find balance or set boundaries when your kids are home all day and your office is your bedroom? When you can’t ask friends or family to jeopardize their own health to come help you?

Those are questions I’ve been hearing a lot lately as a therapist. Here are the answers I give my clients.

Focus on strengthening a few relationships

It may feel like a hundred years have passed, but it was only a few short months ago that we threw a reinvigorated energy into our relationships, scheduling endless Zoom calls and wondering why we’d never made more of an effort to stay in touch with one another. When the backlash hit — as it inevitably did for each of us — it hit hard: Suddenly, a jam-packed calendar of video calls was more exhausting than rejuvenating. We withdrew and settled into a routine with much less contact.

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It’s easy to ask someone else for permission. A therapist explains how to grant it to yourself.

forge.medium.com

The trouble with distancing yourself, though, is that it’s only a short-term solution to stress, a quick calm at the expense of long-term mental health. Humans are social creatures, and we need each other to survive and thrive. We also have only so much energy when we’re in survival mode. And often, those two facts are in direct conflict with each other.

Rather than vacillating between extreme socializing and hermit life, try finding the middle ground: meaningful connections with a few choice folks.

Focus on one or two relationships that could use some energy and attention this year. This is different from scheduling calls with your entire family or staying active in your group texts. It’s about building stronger one-to-one relationships where you can turn off the superficial chitchat and talk about more than Covid-19 stats or how hot it is. You need a few people with whom you can discuss your real challenges, joys, and questions about the future.

To create those spaces for yourself, here are some questions you can ask:

• What are one or two relationships I’d like to see grow over the next year?
• How can I make space to share what’s really going on with me?
• How can I stay connected when I’m tempted to withdraw?

Making one or two relationships less superficial and more substantial will help you build a stronger sense of self. The more you know who you are and what you want, and the more you share that with others, the less hopeless you’ll feel in stressful times.

Purpose

Finding a sense of purpose is a common strategy for recovering from burnout — we tend to be less stressed when we’re helping others, solving interesting problems, or otherwise engaging the part of our brain that is curious rather than anxious.

But in a pandemic, finding a new purpose can be tricky. A significant life change feels like an inaccessible luxury to most of us. People are worried about losing the job they do have. They can’t think about grad school when they’re trying to homeschool their kids. They’re not fantasizing about an Eat, Pray, Love trip — they’re wondering how to make it all the way to Grandma’s house without having to use a public bathroom.

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forge.medium.com

How do you find purpose when you’re just trying to make it through the week? You redefine the scope of “purpose.”

When you assume that finding purpose is only about changing the world, you lose sight of the fulfillment that can come from changing your world: discovering that you love a different genre of fiction, or that you can write really funny emails to a friend who’s lonely, or that you feel better when you put on real pants or pick up groceries for an elderly neighbor.

Finding purpose is about being driven by your values, not your anxiety. And when you look for the small pockets of purpose in a day, your energy level tends to rise.

Big changes may bring immediate relief to burnout, but they don’t really make you a calmer person, or a better person, in the long run. They don’t change how you treat yourself or how much creativity you bring to a hard problem. We have to stop searching for 2019 burnout cures in a 2020 world. Ask yourself what’s worth doing today, and you’ll have enough energy to ask yourself the same question tomorrow.

Written by

Kathleen Smith

Kathleen Smith is a therapist and author of the book Everything Isn’t Terrible: Conquer Your Insecurities, Interrupt Your Anxiety, and Finally Calm Down.

Why You're Tired All the Time

Constant Tiredness 

 

Fatigue, writes our columnist, comes in two very different flavors, and fixing each requires a completely different approach

Brad Stulberg

Brad Stulberg

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Nov 5, 2020

 

One of my coaching clients, who I’ll call Jenny, is a 39-year-old entrepreneur. Lately, she’s been struggling with fatigue, nothing too severe but a general sense of exhaustion, or, in her words, “not feeling as sharp and energetic as I’d like.” The first solution that comes to mind is simple: rest. But what if she tries resting and still feels sluggish?

Jenny’s situation is not uncommon. It illustrates what I’ve come to think of as the difference between two types of fatigue:

1. When your mind-body system is truly tired, or what I’ll call real fatigue.
2. When your mind-body system is tricking you into feeling tired because you’re in a rut, or what I’ll call fake fatigue. 

It’s important to differentiate between these two sensations, because the response each requires couldn’t be more different. The former calls for shutting things down and resting. The latter calls for nudging yourself in the direction of action, not taking the sensation of exhaustion too seriously but, rather, working your way out.

When it comes to physical fatigue, it may be easier of the two to discern. This is because feedback tends to be more objective—your muscles become sore, your heart rate increases, or the speed at which you run (or the weight you lift) declines. For more generalized and predominantly psychological fatigue, however, such clear metrics are lacking. This means that you’ve got to feel your way into the right response.

Generally speaking, the cost of pushing through real fatigue is greater than the cost of acquiescing to fake fatigue. Going too hard for too long, and pushing over the edge, can result in burnout, which research shows can take many months—and in severe cases, years—to reverse. The safest bet, then, is to treat the onset of exhaustion as if it were real fatigue. Take a day off, or a few. Sleep a little extra. Disconnect from digital devices. If you can, spend time in nature. Reexamine your regular routine, and if something seems haywire, make adjustments. If you do all this and yet still feel malaise, then it’s worth seeing what happens if you firmly nudge yourself into action.

An extreme example of “fake” fatigue is the exhaustion that accompanies depression. Your brain is doing everything it can to trick you into staying in bed all day, when the best thing to break out of the cycle would be to get up and go, or what psychologists call “behavioral activation,” which is a gold-standard treatment for depression. This isn’t to say the sensations of lethargy, dullness, and torpor are not real—they are, and they can be quite paralzying. But those sensations, as far as we know, are not organic, not caused by a lack of sleep, an expenditure of physiological resources, or something wrong in the body, for example. If they were, taking action would make the situation worse. But, as research shows, with depression, taking action—particularly when supported by therapy—tends to make the situation better.

This kind of fake fatigue happens on a smaller scale all the time. For instance, about eight months ago, I kept putting off starting my next big writing project. I felt tired! So I rested. And rested some more. After about three weeks of this, with the help of my own coach, I decided to force myself to just get started. Three days later, I was in a great writing groove that lasted for over a month. More rest would have only deepened the rut. I needed to work my way out of it. 

There is one more layer of nuance here, and it’s an important one. Sometimes breaking the cycle of fatigue requires combining both of the above strategies. You may be experiencing real fatigue and thus need rest. But after a week of rest, your mind-body system may be recovered yet still latched onto the inertia of doing nothing. At this point, the strategy shifts. In sports, this is why so many tapers end with a few short, intense efforts. Studies show that these efforts wake the body up and snap it back into action.

Your best bet is to think of managing exhaustion as an ongoing practice. Over time, if you pay close attention to how you feel, what you do in response, and what you get out of it, you’ll become better at differentiating between real and fake fatigue. The first step is learning that not all sensations of fatigue mean the same thing. For those accustomed to always pushing through exhaustion, perhaps you need a bit more rest. For those accustomed to always resting, perhaps you’d benefit from more of a just get-going, “mood follows action” mentality. Think of these approaches as two tools in the kit. There’s a time and place for each.

Brad Stulberg (@Bstulberg) is a performance coach and writes Outside’s Do It Better column. He is also bestselling author of the books The Passion Paradox and Peak Performance. Subscribe to his newsletter here. 

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How burnout makes us less creative

Our obsession with productivity -- to-do lists, life hacks, morning routines -- is making us less productive, says digital anthropologist Rahaf Harfoush. She explains why we need to redesign our workday around creativity -- not just efficiency.

 About the speaker Rahaf Harfoush · Digital anthropologist Rahaf Harfoush is a strategist, digital anthropologist and author who focuses on the intersections of emerging technology, innovation and digital culture. 

Burnout is one of those conditions that can creep up on us slowly and without much awareness.. Lack of sleep, worry and the constant need to be doing take their toll eventually.

How To Work Hard Without Burning Out

Avoid Burnout


by Darius Furoux

Do you ever feel that the demands of your job are too much? If so, that’s not a surprise. Modern-day life demands much of us as human beings.

That has been the case for decades. And often, those high demands result in burnout. Researchers have studied the phenomenon of burnout from the 70s. The results? It’s not good.

Research shows that high levels of burnout is associated with the following issues:

• Anxiety.
• Depression.
• Sleep disturbance.
• Memory impairment.
• Neck pain.

And there’s more. Burnout increases the risk of cardiovascular diseases.
And there’s even more. But I think you get the point.

Study finds link between burnout and weight gain

Study finds link between burnout and weight gain

 Feeling overworked contributes to a variety of unhealthy behaviors.

 4-Jun-2019 10:50 AM EDT
University of Georgia
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  Credit: UGA
  Heather Padilla

Newswise — A new study from the University of Georgia has found that feeling overworked contributes to a variety of unhealthy behaviors that can cause weight gain
.
Results from the study published in the Journal of Health Psychology point to the role work stress can play in our ability to adopt the necessary strategies to maintain a healthy weight.
“We have so many things coming at us every day, and we only have so much energy,” said lead author Heather Padilla, faculty member and researcher in the Workplace Health Group at UGA’s College of Public Health.

“When our energy gets used up, we don’t have the energy to make ideal decisions about what we eat.
”
When work gets in the way of wellness
Despite the growing presence of workplace-based wellness and weight management programs, over two-thirds of working adults are overweight or obese.

Most worksite programs focus on things like nutrition education, access to healthy foods or access to a gym.
Job demands are rarely, if ever, incorporated into weight loss interventions
.
Padilla and her colleagues began to wonder if work stresses might be depleting the mental and physical energy employees needed make changes to their diets or fit in a workout.
So, she decided to look at how workload and burnout impact a person’s nutrition and physical activity choices.

Lacking the energy to make healthy choices
The researchers recruited 1,000 men and women working in full-time jobs to answer questions about their workloads and exhaustion or burnout. They were also asked to report their eating and exercise habits.
The results of their analysis showed that employees with heavier workloads were more likely to emotionally eat, eat without stopping, and reach for fattier foods, and those who were burned out tended to do the same and exercise less.

“Anecdotally, the findings aren’t shocking,” said Padilla, but she said they do point to a greater need to understand how job demands affect issues like obesity.

“We spend so many of our waking hours at work,” she said. “These findings require us to think about how our work affects our health behaviors and self-care.”

Co-authors include Mark Wilson, Robert Vandenberg, Marsha Davis and Malissa Clark.
Read the full journal article here.

How To Recover From Activism Burnout

When you're feeling burned out as an activist, what's the best way to bounce back? TED Senior Fellow Yana Buhrer Tavanier explores the power of "playtivism" -- the incorporation of play and creativity into movements for social change. See how this versatile approach can spark new ideas, propel action and melt fear. This talk was presented at an official TED conference, and was featured by our editors on the home page. About the speaker Yana Buhrer Tavanier · Creative activist, social entrepreneur TED Senior Fellow Yana Buhrer Tavanier explores human rights innovation at the intersection of activism, art, tech and science -- and their potential to instigate change.