Tend the Flame to Last

This is my 200th story on Vocal. It was going to be a nonet, until I realised it was my 200th story on Vocal. "Well then, " I thought, out of nowhere, "clearly I shall write instead about burnout".

This thought, of course, triggered a small period of naval gazing. Why did I have this thought? Did I have this idea up my sleeve and never even felt it there? Was it, in fact, a reflection of my own state of being?

I have, of late, been again largely absent from Vocal. I've popped on here and there, read a couple of stories, responded to a comment, and somehow found myself elsewhere again, mindlessly looking at gardens on Instagram or arranging a deck of virtual cards on my phone. I have been largely absent from much, if I am honest with myself. I mean, I have showed up where I am meant to show up, and I have performed my work tasks and my mummy tasks and my household tasks and my extra tasks, but I have played an awful lot of solitaire as well.

I have also, of late, been pretty tired. Well, that's just normal adult life, right? Life keeps adding the straw that breaks the camels back, and the camel keeps moving anyway. With a concave spine, saggy humps, and a pace likely to necessitate travelling on after dark, yes, but still moving.

I am, as I am sure is transparent to everyone, the camel.

Stress is not always a bad thing. Us humans (I apologise if I am making assumptions here, but I think most of us do identify as human) like to feel purposeful. We are satisfaction seekers, on the whole. If we ask ourselves what makes us happy, we might say "ah, sipping a cocktail on a tropical beach" or "snuggling into my sofa to watch a great movie", but can we imagine ourselves doing nothing but that? No, these are often the moments of contrast, the joy in them is like the pleasure of resting tired legs after a day of hiking. We know that life without endeavour of some sort can lead to a listless low mood, and we know that the first line of treatment when flat on our backs in a depression that has left us unmotivated, disinterested, and fatigued, is to do more, even if we don't feel like it. Specifically, more that gives us pleasure, and more that gives us satisfaction, even if that's as little as ten minutes of washing up and a page of colouring. But take all the demands away, and we flounder. Give us the correct measure of demand, and we thrive.

But the correct measure is hard to come by. For a start, its variable. You're optimum dose might be 500su (stress units. I have just invented them. What do you think?) and mine might be 650su. Today. Tomorrow, after I have slept poorly and stubbed my toe before breakfast, mine might be 275su, and yours, riding high on a sunrise yoga session and a perfect bowel movement, might be 780su. Unfortunately, the rest of the world doesnt really give a fuck about any of that. You are the only person with any control of your dosing, and lord knows that control is somewhat partial. What's more, most of us are kind of crap at recognising when we need to make adjustments until overdose symptoms kick in.

Overdose symptoms might include feelings of hyperactivity, anxiety, anger. Racing thoughts, headache, stomach upset. Tense shoulders, gripped jaws, panic. A sense of overwhelm. A physical, cognitive and emotional jangling that lets us know its all a bit much. We become hyper-aroused. A degree of arousal is great for getting the job done, but too much, for too long, that gets problematic.

Now, if you have been imagining this as an upward tilting stress line, like an escalator of arousal, from low, through the comfort zone, into the whizzing zone and onwards into the "this feels really rather unpleasant" zone, I have to tell you there is good news and bad news.

No escalator goes on for ever.

Unless you take an exit on the way up (and there are exits, good exits, please don't keep staring at that catastrophic one), this ride is going to take you down.

The speed of the descent varies, but its effect is the same. You fizzle out. That flame you were burning on the way up? Gutters, glows and is gone. Where stress has us hyper-aroused, in burnout, we hit the deck. After all, what better antidote to hyperarousal can there be that cutting us off entirely. Care too much? Stop caring. Too many people needing things from us? Don't engage with people. To many tasks to do? Don't do any of them. Burnout is characterised by withdrawal. Withdrawal from responsibilities, tasks, other people. Procrastination, tardiness, disinterest - it looks remarkably like the kind of laissez-faire attitude that stress escalator passed through near the beginning of its trajectory. And it is. We have plunged ourselves into a protective hypo-arousal. The trouble is, as we have already considered, under arousal has its own drawbacks. Our sense of accomplishment, of satisfaction, or pride in ourselves diminishes, and our sense of failure, of self doubt, of helplessness, increases. And, without beating around the bush, the more rubbish we feel about ourselves, the less we feel able to face, and the more rubbish we feel about ourselves. This is not the relief of a cocktail on a tropical beach. This is drawing the curtains and turning the lights off in the middle of the morning and then wondering if we actually deserve to open them again.

Well, I'm here to tell you you do. In the last few weeks, my curtains have been pulled half way (metaphorically. Though 30 degree heat in the UK is not pretty and yesterday they were literally pulled half way to try to keep some heat out. We built our houses for a wishy washy climate, they only function in a seven degree temperature range). I keep trudging on but my heart is not in it. I do the things I have to do, and I do them without passion. I have experienced everything as a demand, and I have dismissed any that do not require my attention. Opening vocal to 18 notifications, 34 notifications, 49 notifications, meant that rather than read a couple of stories, I fled the building and hid under a deck of numbingly sortable virtual cards, or similar. I do wish my daughter had not had me download "Melon Maker" on my phone. I have dropped personal emails, and I have let things I wanted to do pass undone. But I have paid my bills, and I have laundered my underpants. My curtains, as I say, are fortunately only partially drawn.

The issue here is this. In feeling the demand, I have also fled from the things that bring me those two stalwart friends, pleasure and satisfaction. Not writing is the tip of the iceberg. I have not made plans (something that is about to bite me in the behind as we are about to go on holiday with not a clue of what to do there), I have not tended my garden, I have not exercised my body much. I have not done my best at peripheral work tasks, I have not endeavoured to spend quality time with my loved ones, I have not ticked things off the perennial to do list and I have not, to be perfectly frank with you, showered since Wednesday.

However, it is time for me to open the curtains again. This week, I have a week off work, with my family, and as much as I have failed to make plans for our trip, I have plans for myself. Firstly, I deserve my kindness. To be imperfect is not to be worthless, and when I notice those thoughts, I need to treat them with the scepticism I would apply to anyone who came along and told me that the transport networks of the world could grind to a halt due to a software update. Ok, maybe not that. Still. scepticism.

Secondly, I need to get off my arse. Most of us KNOW what helps when we are stuck. Whether that's time in nature or a chat with your sister, most of us have strategies and while I cannot pretend that a commune with your sister or a tree will solve the world's problems, you might be in a better state to make some progress with them once you have tended to yourself a bit. Me, I plan a bit of communing. With nature and family both. And I plan to move, in the nature. Going on holiday helps with that, of course, hopefully in 48 hours time I will be swimming in the sea without freezing my tits off, but even so, a walk in the woods would suffice just as well.

Thirdly, I need to treat myself well. I need to actually go to bed. Why do we even procrastinate about resting? Absurd creatures, we are. I need to give myself opportunities to get adequate sleep and adequate nutrition. Did you know that you cannot sustain a body on salted cashews? Fortunately, because my partner is the cook in the house, I do not have conclusive evidence either way on this, but I strongly suspect you cannot.

Finally, I need to reengage. I need to notice myself reaching for numbing, and I need to ask myself, in that moment, whether numbing is what will help. Usually, the answer will be yes. Yes, right now, numbing will very much help! So I need to zoom out. Will it help ten minutes down the road? Will this moment of numbing help this afternoon, or tomorrow. Or will future Hannah be better served by present Hannah choosing first to engage with what is making her uncomfortable and choosing secondly how to approach it. That might necessitate stepping away, a few breaths, a moment of grounding, so that I can lower arousal before I come back to the problem with a clear mind, able to make an considered choice, but rarely will that be served by avoidance of discomfort. Stressors often get bigger when left to fester, like bacterial petri dishes, or the unread notification count on Vocal. And I need to reengage not just with the stressors I have no control over, but with the ones which at other times are sources of pleasure. Crucially, the ones that bring me pleasure.

So this is the action plan. Don't get pulled about by stories I tell myself about my own inadequacy, no one likes a bully and I'd be aghast if I didn't stand up for someone else getting the kind of bashing I'm currently subjecting myself to (on an interesting side note, notice how I have just disparaged myself for both being a bully and for not standing up to my bully? Fuck that, I'm leaving it here as a fantastic example of how hard this can be, but here is the re-write. Weigh the parts of stories I am holding onto about myself, and appraise whether there are parts that serve me better. Champion those parts). Look after my body. Get of my arse. Get into it, including the fun bits. Don't be afraid to notice if that's hard and take a moment to exit the escalator and decide from there how to tackle the beast ahead. Sometimes, that might involve saying no to things. Sometimes it might involve patience, and not getting everything done immediately.

And that's it. Burnout mastered? Hell no! Burnout under better management? I hope so.

Right. I am off to pack a bag and not avoid that any more, and water my garden, and then be with my family, and maybe write a nonet or two, but only if it suits me. Story number 200 - tend the flame to last.