Client Spotlight: Anna's Burnout Story

Hi. I'm Anna, and I've been asked to tell you my story of burnout. And even though Anna isn't my real name, and no, the woman in that photo isn't really me and that noble mutt isn't really my dog, the rest of the story is kinda unfortunately true.

Why am I doing this, exaclty? Exposing myself to the potential cruelty of internet wraiths? Well, I guess there's strength in anonymity. And also, I was asked by Tabari to lend my perspective to the subject of burnout, from which I am currently suffering (I don't use that word lightly, but I've been fighting off a flu and have the immunity of a child fresh from their first day of kindergarten, so that's my just my vibe these days), and I was strangely honoured that someone would think that I would have anything worth telling the world.

So in a way, I was sweet-talked into it. But since we're here, why don't I keep going? Maybe you'll relate. Maybe you'll read this post down to the ball of its foot and be suddenly struck with the realisation that burnout isn't what you're feeling at all, but something else entirely. (FYI, I've been asked to mention here that there's a burnout assessment you can take in case you aren't sure.)

How Did I Get Here?

In less than a year, I had gone from being in debt and penniless to being able to afford the down payment on a house and the funds to renovate it. Thanks to the house’s state of disrepair and the region’s slow rate of development, the house cost less than a Tesla.

It was my first house. And I was proud.

But I didn’t realise that in buying a house that needed to be gutted and put back together with brand-new organs, nothing was done for me. This meant that every last decision, down to the colour of grout to use on the bathroom floor, was mine to make. Making decisions, even the most mundane, wasn’t (and still isn’t) a strong skillset of mine. In the honeymoon phase of this big life accomplishment, I willfully ignored what was staring at me in the face, which was that I had no idea what I was doing.

The road to burnout is littered and scattered with bits of broken alarm bells. 

The house, and all the time, effort, money, patience, creativity, arithmetic, and faith required to rebuild it, was only the kindling. The real fuel—the one that really burned—was my job. 

I don't think there's any tact in shit-talking my current place of employment. Despite how much of my job is at the centre of my burnout, I shudder to think where I would be right now without it. It’s hard to hate it when you’re so grateful for what it has given you.

Let’s just say that my relationship with my job is…complicated. 

So, how did I get here? Maybe it was the job, the house, or both, or neither. Sprinkle in a bit of pre-existing trauma, anxiety, and depression, add a year or two for good measure, and what you have left is a person who feels trapped by their choices, who doesn't see any easy way off the speeding train, who would rather keep going rather than force themselves to slow down because at least they're afforded the relief that tunnel vision can offer.

What Exactly Does Burnout Feel Like?

It's not depression and it's not anxiety and it's not clinical exhaustion. But it feels so much like all three. And as far as I'm told, all those things play their part. But I would argue that there's an added symptom, one that wears and wears and wears, and that is guilt.

To rest and take it easy is to admit that you can't do it, that you're not good enough, that what you're building is unsustainable. And that feels awful. To admit defeat is to grapple with the uncomfortable truth that there will be others that you will have to disappoint. It may be a boss and it may be your child and it may be your partner. To rest and take it easy means for me, admitting that maybe I haven't really figured my shit out; that actually, I have fucked up again.

We don't dare admit to anyone, let alone ourselves, that we can't cope with the responsibility on our plates. After all, other people are working full-time jobs while taking care of their children and pets and waistlines and mental health just fine. If we can't keep up, that's our own fault.

It Hits You From All Sides

Last year I was sick more often than I had been since I was a kid. I was bedridden with COVID for weeks, had an asthma attack for the first time in decades, went through various shades of flu and cold, and even started the new year with bronchitis. My hair stopped growing. And then, it started falling out. I developed digestive issues, and nothing save for white, nutritionless crap was safe to eat. My stress became written in the way I experienced (or didn't experience) my period, which led to a full-blown depressive episode about the possibility of being perimenopausal as a childless woman in her mid-thirties.

And just when I couldn't feel any worse, I started having flashbacks of my past that stress or exhaustion had somehow jostled free from a hidden cache deep in my gut, and at the risk of sounding even more maudlin, I just simply started hating myself for everything I had ever done or said or felt.

Even then, I had no idea I was burnt out. And reader, if you're like me and you have a history of depression or anxiety, it's very hard to know the difference. They both feel the same.

I must have instinctively understood that I needed a “break” because I found myself at a three-week yoga teacher training retreat in an absolutely beautiful part of the country in a picturesque old venue with a pool, hundred-year-old trees, and delicious healthy food.

I was convinced (and still am in a way) that that experience changed my entire life, that it had grabbed hold of the root of me and shook my problems clean off. But when I returned home and resumed my old life, it was if nothing had changed. I tried to incorporate my practices into my daily routine but found that it was practically impossible to do so. And soon, it all started to fall by the wayside. 

The only thing that changed was the realization that 1) yes, my job was definitely a problem, and 2) that I could not quit it. I had bills to pay, and I couldn't find another job that paid as much money because it didn't exist. This was the job. Its paycheque had freed me in so many ways.

I would berate myself for complaining (even in the privacy of my own mind), for not appreciating what I had, and at the same time, for ignoring my problems until the eleventh hour when it was probably already too late to fix things that didn't have to be problems in the first place; for spending all this time trapped in the cycle of my own thoughts even when others around me needed support; when there were other people in the world who were going through worse shit with more aplomb. I berated myself for everything because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to do anything right.

Burnout feels like stress that's been left to calcify around its own release valve. It’s not knowing how to relax even if you get a spare minute. And it’s definitely not something that can be cured with a single bubble bath or trip to the spa. In fact, all attempts to relax using these methods kind of left me more anxious, like, oh great, another thing I’m supposed to be doing but can’t do properly. 

Burnout recovery coaching was not first on my list, mainly because I already knew I wasn’t doing something properly and I didn’t need someone to spell it out for me, or try and fix the situation—that would mean delays, derailment, a change of course that I really didn’t have the time to consider. A catch-22, if you will. Yes, burnout also feels a little masochistic, a little self-fulfilling.

Working With a Burnout Recovery Coach Is Not Like Seeing a Therapist

What made me finally opt for coaching instead of therapy? They say that therapy looks back and coaching looks ahead. I’m sure that therapy would have helped me at the time, but I was keen to fix my problem, and what I felt I needed more than anything, was a plan.  

That’s how I got started with Tabari. 

As someone who has sat across both coach and therapist, my opinion is that coaching demands more from you than therapy. True, you’re not walking out of your coaching sessions raw and emptied out of your guts like a good, old-fashioned therapy session, but with coaching, you’re being asked to change your behaviour…as homework.

In coaching, a line is clearly drawn in the sand between what we can talk about and what’s best left to a trained therapist. But that’s not to say that talking about my emotions is silenced with a stern finger. This is, after all, a holistic program, which means that emotions are part of the package. 

For example, my anxiety and depression often come up during coaching. How could it not, really? What does Tabari do when I start talking about that? He listens. He holds space. He lets me get it out—whatever I have to say. He then reminds me of the game plan (honestly, the sports coach analogy works for everything) and brings me back on track. He’s not ignoring it; he’s simply reminding me that if I want to feel better, I have a job to do. 

There’s not a lot of time to dwell on the past or lament my current situation, which is probably a good thing. Getting lost in my own self-pity isn’t part of my coaching program. It’s not a tough love type of thing, if that’s what you’re thinking. But does a sports coach let his/her players waste practice by crying and complaining about the game they just lost? Doubtful. They probably spend five minutes talking about how they could have played differently and spend the rest of practice running drills and working on strategy.

That’s the difference between a therapist and a coach.

Do I Think Coaching Is For Everyone?

To be perfectly honest, I never really thought about coaching as an option before my experience with Tabari, but I can’t picture going through another difficult period without one. I’m really appreciating it so far. I love working with someone whose job it is to help me be the best version of myself. 

Unless what you actually need is therapy, I definitely think that coaching is an excellent way to approach burnout recovery in a whole new way. 

Despite how challenging it is, I’m so glad I decided to try this new approach. Since starting with Tabari, I’ve become more aware of my behaviours. I’ve started putting up more boundaries around work. I’m still working on integrating fun and play and creativity into my life again. 

One of the things that means the most to me is that I have someone to talk to who doesn’t judge me for being scatterbrained and forgetful one week, and extremely emotional the next. 

My coach is helping me focus on my goal—not just to recover from burnout but to figure out what I want my life to look like beyond that. And I’m finally starting to get excited about that.