This is a freebie excerpt from my book!
chapter 1 – my burnout story
Planning and organization were my lifeblood. Organized closets, neatly stacked books, meticulously filled planners, ordered thoughts—these were my domain. As an overachiever, efficiency and effectiveness defined me. I could accomplish in an afternoon what others might take a full day to complete. The sound of a pencil marking off a checklist was pure satisfaction. The satisfying snick or scrape of my pencil on paper called to me. It pulled me out of bed, motivated me when I was tired, and drove me forward. The thrill I felt as I checked off tasks in my notebook was electrifying.
Until several years ago. What had motivated me my whole life came crashing down around me and no longer worked.
I felt suffocated and depleted.
I hit burnout.
I’d heard it described as a candle burning from both ends, but that seems slow and slightly romantic. Burnout was pure exhaustion—a constant ache in my bones, an invisible pressure to do more, and an overwhelming lack of energy to even complete the basics. Burnout was like being trapped in quicksand, with every effort to move forward only dragging me deeper into fatigue. The pressure pushed in on me from all sides.
My week was overfilled, I had no downtime. I moved from one demanding activity to the next hanging on with coffee and sheer willpower.
I often found myself internally shaming myself for feeling worn down or unhappy. “This is the life you want… This is just how things are and I have to step up… Everyone else is fine with their busy schedules, what is wrong with me that I’m not?” I spoke to myself in ugly ways that I would never say out loud to others. I had built a wall around my real emotions, and I was stuck inside a very lonely place.
I woke in the mornings with an ache in my body that lingered the entire day. I felt exhausted even though I had good nights of sleep. Every time the alarm went off it was a battle to get myself up and ready for the day. I was angry I could not climb back in bed and stay there. I went into the kitchen and crabbed at my kids. I was sarcastic and grumpy until my second cup of coffee (and then I was moody).[1]
I felt deep fatigue as I went about my day teaching, cleaning, driving my children around, and meeting the constant needs of others. My mouth would smile but my eyes did not. My jaw ached from clenching my teeth as I pushed through social events and the tasks expected of me.
My stomach was sensitive no matter what I ate. I felt bloated, and was gaining weight. I had no energy to exercise. Even a fast-paced walk in my neighborhood felt impossible.
My household clutter was causing me stress. I needed to deal with my lazy habits. My relationship with my stuff had come to a breaking point. It was weighing me down. I didn’t realize that clutter holds emotional power and the weight of unmade decisions. I just knew that it felt like an elephant was sitting on my shoulders when I rummaged through my pantry, got dressed, or searched for the kids’ overdue library books.
When I got a notification on my phone, I immediately cringed. Somebody wanted something or needed something. They wanted resources I didn’t have to give. The feeling of a tight rubber band pulled at my neck and shoulders. Relationships that had been enjoyable were now draining and difficult.
Resentment was building in my gut, and I felt tense and angry all the time. I found myself clenching my fists and taking shallow breaths. I refused to let people who cared about me know how deep in the hole I had gotten. They had no idea I was silently suffering and angry at the world.
I was in my van a lot. Freeway traffic became a normal part of our day. This was especially draining for me as an introvert and a homebody. I was participating in 5 different homeschool classes and co-ops outside of our regular morning school schedule. The afternoons and evenings were spent driving the kids to dance classes, archery club, church events, and piano lessons. We lived far enough away that I would get stuck in a parking lot wasting time while the kids were at a scheduled activity.
Dinners were rushed with processed foods, or we maxed out our food budget on fast food junk. Attempting to keep my younger kids busy while we waited meant spending money or creative energy.
When we got home in the evenings, I wrestled the little kids through their evening routines and into bed. I did my best to tuck them in with love and nighttime prayers, but I was usually running on fumes. By the time I got downstairs, I just needed to sit and be alone. My husband needed the same after his demanding day and so we often stayed up past midnight watching Netflix together like zombies. We both just needed some quiet. Then I would fall asleep on the couch, wake up with a crick in my neck, and drag myself to the bedroom to brush my teeth and get in bed.
This unhealthy, sad spiral repeated itself over and over until I felt stuck. I thought, “I guess this is just adult life. This must be why everyone around me is miserable too”.
I was worn out and just doing the basics. I did not have the energy for big transitions but something needed to change. I was approaching my life, my parenting, my teaching, and my relationships with nothing in my tank. I was deeply exhausted. I was fighting an invisible need for perfection and striving for impossible goals.
After a difficult conversation, I realized I was experiencing burnout. I was past my limits in my relationships, my jobs, and struggling to make space for my own needs.
Understanding the truth of my situation began my difficult journey of recovery.
my emotions and relationships –
I went to counseling to work through some emotional issues. I needed an in-person expert who could speak directly to my brokenness and help me move forward. My counselor did just that and she was amazing. It was painful and hard but necessary.
In counseling, I worked through childhood family dynamics, suppressed pain, and journaling homework assignments. Then I began to make slight changes everywhere. Those weekly meetings became accountability for me to make different choices.
my job –
I had been homeschooling for over 8 years and my oldest was about to enter high school. Around February of that year, I felt the repetition begin to frustrate and overwhelm me. My calendar was overflowing. I was overcommitted. I needed to create some margin and boundaries.
I knew that I needed to adjust my teaching schedule and make some changes so I could stay in it for the long haul. I began the difficult work of paring back, disappointing other people, and focusing on what truly mattered in their education.
my house –
A few years earlier, we had moved into a bigger house. I realized that just because there is space for something does not mean I need to keep it. It is such a blessing to have room for things, but it can also be a double-edged sword. I get overwhelmed when every surface is full, every bookshelf crammed, and every closet is spilling out with stuff.
Realizing that I needed to take action, I found declutter gurus on YouTube and began the work. By July, I had slowly (at a snail’s pace) gone through half of the rooms in my house decluttering one area at a time. The progress felt like plodding forward but it made an impact. My home was slowly feeling comfortable again.
my identity –
I heard the songs during church worship that told me I was a “child of God”, I am “loved by Him”, and that “God wants to rescue me”. I robotically sang them out loud along with those around me, but in my heart, they felt like empty words. At that time, I fully believed that I was accepted for what I had accomplished and what I was able to do. My worth was tied to my task lists, goals, and my busy schedule.
I had done so much work in major areas of my life, but something was still missing. I still felt stuck. I felt that no matter what changes I made things would never change. The rest of my adult life would be an endless loop of exhaustion.
And then I went to London…
To Be Continued…
Footnotes:
[1] I am not proud of how difficult I was to be around.
