What was my burnout like
I want to tell you a little story about what happened to me after I had my second burnout crisis, but first I have to explain what happened to me.
It was a Friday and I had scheduled my dog to get a bath at a local pet shop. I was up bright and early, left my dog at the pet shop, and went back home to start working. A few hours later (she is a big and furry dog) they called me to say she was ready for pick up and off I went. As I was getting my card to pay for the services, I suddenly couldn't feel my fingers in my purse. I acted as if nothing was happening, paid (with the other hand), got my dog, and left. Walking back home, I started feeling my hand getting numb, then my wrist, and started to panic.
As I got home my whole right arm was numb and as I went on to tell my roommate what was happening, I realized my speech was not normal. I couldn't formulate big and complex sentences, so I decided to call my dad, who is a doctor. When I managed to explain to him what was going on, he told me to drop everything I was doing and immediately head to the hospital, because those were all symptoms of a stroke.
As I got to the hospital, I could barely explain what was going on, and what meds I was taking (I was on anti-depressants at that time). Another mistake I realized I made was not taking anyone with me, not even my roommate, who wanted to come. I wasn't expecting it to be anything serious but those were the worst hours of 2022 for me. I was admitted to do a CT scan and by this point, I wasn't able to read, write or talk. I could understand everything that was being said to me, but I couldn't respond in any way. My CT scan was made and nothing was wrong with me, physically. The nurse helping me said I was ok, was having a severe panic attack, was severely stressed, and asked if I wanted a hug. I simply started sobbing in her arms. The worst was over, right? Wrong...
The hospital shift changed, along with all the nurses and doctors I had seen up until that point, and the new crew was not aware of my condition. I was already able to go home and rest but I physically couldn't say that to anyone. The only things I was able to say were sorry, my name, and my birthday. How would the crew know I had been discharged?
From then until well into the night, I went from one doctor to another, spent HOURS in waiting rooms not knowing what was going on, and started feeling extremely sick from all the anxiety I was experiencing. I threw up in one of the corridors because I hadn't eaten anything the whole day and was put in a reclining chair in a room full of actually sick people. A nurse came and put an IV in my arm along with some other medicine and to this day I don't what it was. I was so tired, weak, worried, and anxious that I blacked out in that chair.
When I woke up a few hours later, I had this urge in me to simply get out and go back home. I still couldn't speak very well, but I felt I was coming back to my senses. When another nurse came to take the IV off my arm, I thanked her and immediately headed to the exit. My phone had been dead for a few hours so my first priority was charging it enough to let my family know I was alive. I manage to babble my way to a charging cord with the help of a security guard and as soon as I could, I called my dad again. I told him what had happened while sobbing and he told me he was on his way to see me. I, then, called my boyfriend, who was also on his way, and found out my roommate was in the hospital looking for me.
As I was living about six hours away by car from my family and boyfriend (he had moved because of work), the immediate support I was able to have was my roommate. She was the one who found me at the hospital and took me back home. When I got home, later that night, I passed out one more time. She made me dinner, which I barely ate, and just laid there in my bed waiting for my family to arrive.
My dad arrived close to midnight. As I got up to greet him, it was as if nothing ever happened. I was completely normal. My body forced me to take a break. I, then, realized one more thing: the more I thought about all the work I was missing and all the people I was letting down, the longer I stayed in a state of numbness (metaphorically this time). I remember looking at my phone at 2% battery, with the IV in my arm, as I got a message from one of my coworkers and soon after, passed out.
My mentality did me dirty
For the previous years before that, I learned that I should not turn work off. It's not that the people around me were saying that, with some exceptions, but they were doing it. I saw examples of people I thought were successful, were performing well and I wanted to be among them, not knowing I already was.
I started taking pride in saying how much I was working, even if I wasn't able to produce anything. I was in work mode 24/7 and filled to the brim with the guilt of not doing more and learning more, producing more, and studying more. That had been slowly consuming me. As I said before, this was not my first crisis. I had one before (not that severe) that was quickly dismissed by someone I looked up to (until then) as they didn't see my workload as being "that stressful". And you know what? My workload, per se, was not anymore, because I was not delivering. I was incapable of doing even the bare minimum because of all demands, internal and external, I had been under for so long.
The time I needed to study and understand new responsibilities was not being respected, as my coworkers and I were always demanded to do more. Some of them could handle that, I couldn't. My work environment had become toxic and I just couldn't cope with all that. I started wishing every single week for something to happen in order for me not to work and the guilt came washing over. I started underdelivering because I didn't have the mental energy to perform my daily tasks anymore.
I, then, brought all this trauma to the new company I went to. The new company was not toxic at all, but I was addicted to this toxic behavior I had learned. I needed time to take it all in but didn't give it to myself, because I was worried about money and living alone so far from my support system. I had to make it on my own. I was offered a great opportunity by one of my now mentors and I couldn't disappoint him. So went in with the same mentality that dragged me down, only to be dragged down once more.
After this episode and later on, being laid off, I found myself in a state of grieving. My relationship with my job had been slowly dying and it took a severe crisis like that for me to realize it. I had no idea what to do next, nor did I have to energy to figure it out. I needed help and didn't know how to ask for it. I didn't want to start working again anytime soon just to be on the same path of losing myself again.
What the hell was I going to do?
It was clear to me I was going back to being as close as I could to my support system. That was mainly my family, my boyfriend, and my close friends back in my hometown. I told my roommate I was leaving, gave her enough time to figure her things out, waited for her to find another apartment, and left. I wanted to live with my boyfriend again, as we had before he moved for work (to my hometown, we basically switched lives hehe). His work demanded moving again, and that brought us to this brand-new, adorable little two-story grey house we decided to call home, in a small town, close enough to my family.
The second step was deciding what I wanted to do for a living because I sure wasn't going to depend on my him forever. That's when I started researching my alternatives. There will be a blog post coming about all I've tried, but here is a little list for you to have a look at the in meanwhile.
As I was short on money, as discussed here, here, and, here, I unfortunately had to stop going to therapy. Instead, I started this blog as a creative outlet for me to share my experiences and connect with more people that have been through the same things I have.
I started telling my story in my offline life as a way to connect with like-minded people, as I am trying to be more aware of my networking skills and find opportunities that bring more meaning to my life, taking each day in as they come.
I am still healing from all this. Writing about brought up the fears, the guilt, and the confusion present in everything I went through but I firmly believe in sharing my story. I believe it will help me:
make sense of what happened
better understand my feelings, thoughts, and patterns
connect and empathize with people
create a community
My healing journey is far from being done, but if this is how it was supposed to start, then I'm (now) ok with that.
Comments