What happens when you finally give in to burnout? 💌

Notes on a season of hibernation.

The change in seasons landed here suddenly, overnight. Just like last year there was a 12 degree drop from one day to the next, and everyone was suddenly able to gulp down the fresh air, after months of gasping through a wall of heat so thick you could almost see it as the dust writhed, punch-drunk, through the dry haze. The contrast was stark because unlike the UK, there are no mixed messages when it comes to the Spanish summer. Three long months, guaranteed.

I know. I’m sorry. 

Most people leave this city when the heat starts to swelter, but I took the space in my diary as an opportunity to stay and match its rhythm. Drifting slowly while I indulged in creative evening ideas, Saturday beach time and slow Sunday strolls. A dazed pre-hibernation hibernation of sorts. 

Just as I’d hoped, and as I’ve written about before, from the moment I arrived last year, this place has encouraged me to slow down. To consider what or who it is I’m always trying to keep up with, and to just breathe - whatever the temperature of the air may be. 

But slowing down doesn’t come easily when you’ve been in motion - geographically or otherwise - for the majority of your life.

I’ve known for a very long time that I couldn’t really keep up with the pace I set myself somewhere back when. My body, or more specifically my chronic illness, had been letting me know years before I left London, and even though I’d adapted - out of a bad relationship, out of the traditional 9-5, out of things we’re told keep us safe and steady but in my case were doing the exact opposite - my brain was still moving too fast, and my body was always scrambling to catch up. I couldn’t keep on keeping on any longer, nor did I want to. 

It’s ironic because along with a handful of the more universally experienced of life’s challenges, this chronic illness that categorically needs me to do less has continually demanded that I do so much more. It’s also made me hyper independent in doing so, carrying more because of it. And the consequence of that is that it’s made me even more vulnerable when it occasionally and momentarily does, unsurprisingly, all fall down. Stepping away has only compounded that because now I’m a beginner at almost everything, and I’m on my own with almost everything.

I realised in Spring that I was still moving too fast, doing too much. Wherever you go, there you are and all that. I don’t think I’m anything special in that regard - I think most of us are, to be frank, fooking knackered - in different ways, for different reasons. Money stresses, raising families, living in a world that runs at a pace we’re not designed for, keeping up with the Joneses, keeping up with the Kardashians, keeping up with Instagram, cost of living, war, division, greed, hatred, 5/2, 18:6, morning routines and bedtime stories… 

I didn’t want to call it burnout when it felt like it was just life, and beyond that, an incredible life.

But when, despite moving to this country of siestas and mañanas, I was experiencing the depletion and apathy that characterises burnout once more… I finally gave in, all too aware that I was in danger of getting swallowed up completely. At the end of April I started to consciously take my foot off the gas, timed alongside an incredible change in my diabetes management that meant reducing my heightened state of awareness was less dangerous (by my admittedly warped perception) and more feasible.

What I discovered is that giving in to burnout in a bid to recover from burnout is MUCH harder than experiencing the feelings of burnout in the first place. Because you can keep pushing, keep running on fumes - not efficiently or effectively or with much serenity, mind. But I know that you can, because I generally always have. Because my type 1 diabetes aka the very thing that needs me to slow down the most is the thing that’s meant I’ve always had to keep going, no matter what. 

And so when I did finally stop (a bit), I discovered I am indeed bloody TIRED. Exhausted, actually. Not ‘I could do with a good night’s sleep’ tired, but ‘I can’t get myself into the shower’ tired. An ache in my blood and in my bones that meant once I finally lay down, I couldn’t get myself back up. At least now it’s an appropriate temperature to stay under the blanket, along with the rest of the northern hemisphere. Maybe it’s just being 37. Maybe it’s 28 years of chronic illness, maybe it’s flying solo for so long, maybe it was just the higher temperatures taking away my ability to do much of anything, but I’ve never needed sleep more in my whole life. Tis the season to be decompressing, apparently, and I think this season might be a long one. 

I haven’t shut myself away from the world. We’re designed to be in community, and I hate how depleted it makes me when I feel alone out here. So I did enough this summer, being careful to allow space to savour the enoughness. And although it’s a work in progress, I am trying my hardest to keep it that way. I show up for meetings, I meet my deadlines, and I’ll be there when I say I’ll be there. But I’m still needing more sleep than I can fathom, and I’m still surprised at how little I sometimes have to give. I’m still underestimating how much time this traditionally very outgoing woman needs to recover from socialising for just a few hours. I tried to speed up again recently, temporarily but a touch foolishly in hindsight, and I got swiftly and dramatically sidelined by an infection. So I will continue to take my sweet time, in the way that the Spanish do so well. I don’t run for buses that are pulling away. I book the train that leaves at a reasonable hour. I sip my coffee seated. I eat my food without a screen. I’ve watched an entire new series, properly, instead of repeating old favourites in the background while I simultaneously tap away at the laptop. I know I’m lucky to be able to do so, but I’ve been building my life this way for a long time, perhaps without quite realising why. 

This is why: I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been, outwardly healthy by anyone’s standards, but for 28 years my body’s default state has undeniably been one of decline. Thankfully progressing methods of treatment to counteract that have been applied with progressing degrees of success, but at some point that’s inevitably going to take its toll and catch up with me.

I’ve been pushing that point for a very, very long time. 

And the real magic is that in slowing down, I seem to be going further. As utterly terrifying as it is to turn work down as someone who is self-employed, it’s allowed the type of work I’ve been seeking for a while to make its way in. Saying no means I can show up fully when I do say yes. My energy goes into physical exercise instead of running mental marathons, and hot damn there are days when can I run. There are days when I can’t and don’t, but I’m amazed at the distances my lungs, legs and feet can carry me when it’s on my terms, for the right reasons. 

What I know more than anything is that my body, as it breathes in the cooler, fresher Autumn air a whole lot deeper than ever before… is finally, FINALLY, heaving a huge sigh of relief.