The truth about burnout is that it’s somehow both gradual and sudden. It’s like watching the snowflakes start out your window, and waking up to ten foot drifts. It’s gradual, until it’s not.
Or at least mine has been.
When I was a second year teacher, I had a rough year. I remember feeling like I’d lost my touch; like my first year, which was actually kind of great, was a fluke.
I met with the teacher who had held the position before me. Julie, an amazing teacher, woman, mentor, and friend, had retired but still lived in the community my first couple of years there, much to my benefit. She never hesitated to offer advice, or remind me that I’m still learning in many ways. She told me we all have years where it’s hard, where you feel like you’re misstepping.
At first, burnout hit like a bad year. The difference between a bad year and burnout? It doesn’t stop, there isn’t hope for the next year, there isn’t a feeling of peace when the last bell rings on the last day of school.
It’s heavy.
I’ve reached real burnout. It’s been a slower build than I give it credit for, but it’s easy to miss the signs when you’re lowkey a perfectionist with high expectations of yourself and you’re in a demanding field.
And education is a demanding field.
I’ll take the accountability of some of my choices: I struggle to compartmentalize, so work comes home with me more than it doesn’t. I am absolute shit at self-care. I put myself last 98% of the time.
I should have taken maternity leave, instead of forcing myself to never leave school mode the summers my babies were born.
I should have taken some time off after postpartum depression, and healed completely from that.
I should have done a lot of things differently, but that’s hindsight speaking.
In every moment since I started my teaching career, teaching has been a huge aspect in how I identified myself. I didn’t know how to not put the district, the job, before the other priorities in my life. Teacher first, mom second. Teacher first, human second.
Maybe it’s the way I was brought up: Hard-working, good Midwestern people. My parents have worked multiple jobs as long as I can remember, even today running a ranch with my brother and still working day jobs. Maybe that’s why I felt that when I chose a profession, no, a career, that I was going to make damn sure I was worthy of that position. Worthy of them choosing me, entrusting me with these students and their futures.
The year after Roarke was born, I spent a lot of time searching “Teacher Burnout” and “How Do I Know If I’m Burned Out” on Pinterest and Google.
A lot of time.
I read articles, blogs, searching for the answer I already knew. I was burnt out.
That was five years ago.
In the past five years, I had moments of hope, moments where I felt like I was doing something right again. I had moments where I knew what I was doing mattered, that I was doing something that was impacting the world in a positive way.
I had moments where I listened to my counselor (Again, hindsight is 20/20, and, R, if you read this, I’m so happy you haven’t smacked me, yet. xo.) and took care of myself, it felt like I could breathe, that I had a chance to keep my head above water, and somehow not only make it out of the year, but also be ready to dive into the next year.
I’m out of those moments, and out of wick. I’m to a level of burnout that has a certain saint asking if I need a leave of absence. I have had far more tears about and at school than I have had laughs in the last twelve months.
I recognize that currently, I’m at a trifecta of burnout factors. One, I’ve been doing this for eleven years, and as previously stated, have worked my ass off in all the roles teachers play. And I mean all of them: Teacher, coach, mentor, counselor, parent, friend. And, not to brag or anything, but I’ve done that really well for the majority of my career. Which brings me to two, the expectations that are put on teachers, and the current political climate, proposed bills, executive orders, and the like that are going to drastically affect the American education system. It’s an exhausting and thankless place to be. And, three, I’m still trying to figure out how I fit into the school I’m at. The fact that I’ve been on the downhill slide to burnout since I’ve been here has me feeling like I never really have found my feet or place.
So, yeah. I’m burnt the heck out.
Two weeks ago I cried every morning getting ready for the day. I hit snooze so many times that, one day, I woke up 45 minutes after my initial alarm, meaning I was up about the same time I’m normally done getting ready. Luckily for me, I’m paranoid like that and–another side effect of burnout–I care much less about my appearance lately.
Not to say I’m gross or sloppy or whatever, I’m just saying if I can do a bun, crewneck, and pair of jeans I’m going to.
My indifference toward my appearance is just one thing I’ve noticed and struggled with this year.
My work life balance is actually pretty even right now.
I mean….zero and zero is even right? I do the best I can every day, but not every day is a good day. And, honestly, good days lately have a smaller ray of hope to them.
I struggle to get out of my depressive episodes, for lack of a better phrasing, more than I did in the past. I also was so low that Nate and I missed two days of work…because he didn’t want to leave me alone.
I can’t blame that on education. It’s not simply burnout that has me there. It’s just one of the many ways that my brain has been trying to hurt me lately, but the compound of burnout and depression and anxiety and motherhood. Oh my god, motherhood.
It’s too much.
Back before I realized how bad my burnout was getting, I thought it was only affecting me; only visible to me. But it’s not that simple, it never is when you’re a mom.
My kids have been hugely affected by my burnout. In the wise words of Gramma Carrie, our kids tend to react to our emotions. Yeah, but I’ve allowed it to be worsened by the lack of structure and the amount of pizza rolls that our life has consisted of the past two years.
As my burnout has reached this peak, I can’t help but see the signs that it was coming.
Everything had slowly come to shambles around me, but I couldn’t see it happening.
I quit keeping up on housework, as burnout has worsened, so has the condition of my house. My boys have not had the best of me the past two years. I feel like I’ve let screen time be too much in our house, as I zoned out to pretend that my life didn’t feel like I was being caged in. My lows happened more often, and with more severity. I let go of little things and big things: working out, friendships, writing, and self-care. I quit journaling, and let myself lapse into the depression.
I’m coming to realize, it doesn’t have to be this way. I don’t have to feel this way.
When I look back and see the path to the place where I’m at with my career, I see all the things I should have done, and I continue to see that I didn’t choose to put myself first. I see the places where I could have maybe staved off the emotional identity crisis of the last year; to save my family from having to deal with the burnout side effects, and maybe alleviate some of guilt that gnaws at me.
I think I finally realize it doesn’t matter what else I am, it has to be me first. Self first, then mom. Self first, then teacher. Self first, then whatever comes next. As long as self comes first, I think I’ll be moving in the direction of reigniting.
