It’s 2:30 pm and I’m…fine?: My Burnout Story (part 3)
Writer’s note: this post makes a LOT more sense if you read the first and second posts, found here and here.
I wish I could tell you that getting a new job fixed everything. That I logged onto my shiny new laptop, tossed my previous workplace’s trauma in the trash, dusted off my hands, and never looked back.
But I didn’t.
Yes, the new job was delightful. I was surrounded by kind, humane, supportive people who wanted to see me succeed. But burnout doesn’t vanish just because you leave a bad job. It lingers in your body and comes out in the weirdest and most unexpected ways. I was in a safe place now, but my brain and nervous system had not gotten the memo.
I remember my new manager telling me he did not want me to have too much on my plate. Instead of relief, I did what any consummate professional does: I PANICKED. I argued to do more, more, more. Surely I could run the company and fix every issue in two days flat! I just needed to not sleep! That is what burnout tricked me into believing: I only mattered if I was absolutely drowning in work. The habits that once kept me afloat in a toxic system were the same ones pulling me under in a healthy one. I remain grateful to the team I worked with for gently nudging me away from doing every possible job. :)
A toxic workplace feeds you lies. Work harder and things will get better. Crying means you are weak. If everyone else looks fine, you must be the problem. I had swallowed those lies whole. In the new role, they kept creeping in. If someone offered to lighten my load, I felt guilty. If a project slowed down, I was certain it was my fault. The environment had changed, but the lies stuck. Unlearning them was slow, messy work. It meant catching myself in the moment, reminding myself it was not true, and then practicing compassion for being imperfect at healing.
Anger had been the fuel that got me out. Recovery required something softer: patience.
Patience is not my default setting. Not by a long shot. I like things fast and now and, if possible, done yesterday. Unfortunately, you cannot speed run your way out of it. I tried. Sometimes, I am still trying. I still do a lot of eye rolling and sighing in my therapist’s office over the concept of patience, actually.
The bad job broke me down. Anger pushed me out. Recovery was the slow and messy part. It was where I had to learn how to stop living like I was still in crisis.
Here is what I know now: recovery is not quick, and it is not pretty, but it is possible. You are not broken. You are healing.
And that is enough.