So I Got Burned Out
A Personal Account of Work-Induced Mental Illness
Before it all happened in earnest, I remember talking to one of my good mates about his dad having a nervous breakdown when he was a young bloke. Nervous breakdown, huh? There was a term that I hadn't heard in a while. I remember thinking, "Is that still a thing? Do people still have those?"
Like many of my mental state's emotions over those years, I dismissed it. I was drowning, slowly, and I could not see or process it. So my catch-cry was, "Just keep going, just a little bit further, and you'll be able to…"
The Thousand Cuts
For at least two years, every day, I would awaken with a feeling of doom. I felt like an electronic device with an old battery. I'd start the day on between ten and twenty per cent charge. I was shuffling my way into the office early, usually in the dark, like a zombie. Sometimes I wouldn't even realise I was awake until I was on the road and halfway to work. Scary!
Every day I would drag myself home from ten or eleven hours away from my family and fall asleep on the couch — nothing left in the tank. I felt hollow and drained on every level.
My poor partner and kids became used to seeing this distant, weary, grumpy older man every day. The lethargy would persist right up until I went to bed. Then, just for fun, I'd struggle to sleep.
My immune system was shot. So if one of the kids would get sick, I'd get it, whatever it was, and it would hang around for weeks.
There was tension in all of my relationships: Home, work and friendships. Undoubtedly due to the irritability, altered perception and forgetfulness, which was beginning to get the better of me.
I was scared of what I was becoming but had no idea what to do.
A father is supposed to keep a roof over your head and put food in your bellies. He's supposed to make sure you want for nothing, right? There are mortgages, bills and kids activities to pay for. I couldn't stop. I was determined not to give up. Even though I wanted to let it all go, I fought on.
But I wanted it to… I needed it to… Stop, just for a while…
Depressurisation
So I spoke to my partner, my employers and my team. Surprisingly enough, all were super supportive. They all gave me some time out and space to work through things. Work helped me with workplace counselling and was happy to give me time to sort myself out.
With that underway, I took a break.
A couple of weeks off, and I’ll be fine, right? Right?
After a month back at work, it became painfully apparent that I was not fine. I would forget everything. My brain was foggy, and I couldn't concentrate. I would find myself getting angry at people for nothing. They'd just be sitting there in an interview or a meeting, and I'd want to hurt them or yell at them.
I was in a constant state of anxiety, gearing up for the next invisible crisis. Every moment would be a continual build-up of angst. Then there was the depression, the feeling that nothing was ever going to get better.
I drank to take the edge off my existential crisis like many people. I was a loving, vibrant, creative being trapped in a bleak prison of lethargy and anger. Why was I any different or better than anyone else? Everyone has to work. Everyone goes through this, don't they?
To make sense of what was happening, I did some Googling. Was this what burnout feels like? Was this a nervous breakdown? I was sceptical, but… This seemed to be precisely what I was dealing with.
As it turns out, depending on what you read, some 50–70% of people experience burnout in their jobs. It was good to know that I wasn't alone. Something needed to change, but there was still the question of what to do about it.
I went to counsellors who helped with talk therapy. I went to doctors who suggested medication. This chipped away at the problem, but it was like putting a band-aid on a severed digit. I was still bleeding…
Where am I?
The only actual treatment I could find in my research was time off and healthy habits. That sounded great, except I felt I couldn't afford to take time off. I certainly had no energy for healthy habits. So I numbed myself with alcohol telling myself I just had to push through, and I kept my crutch from everyone, unsuccessfully.
Then one day, my brilliant partner said something that changed everything. I'll bet it's not what you are thinking, and I am damn sure many people who've been through this don't know this is even possible.
She said, “Doesn’t our income protection insurance cover this sort of thing?”.
A light turned on, and I contacted our insurance broker and guess what? This is precisely the sort of thing income protection is structured for! I made immediate arrangements to get help and take the time I needed.
Sounds like an ad for an insurance company, right? It's a pity an insurer is not paying me a fortune to write this.
The Long Road
Now, here I am, six months in on the road to recovery. A road I didn't even know existed. Mental health was never something I considered would be the thing that would take me down. Sure I had depression and angst when I was younger, didn't everyone?
Mental health was a thing other people had to worry about, not me. I was a low-level superhero who could take on anything, beat all odds, overcome any obstacle… Until I stumbled.
While the psychological effects are difficult to work through, no one tells you about the physiological recovery that needs to happen. I've learned from my regular appointments with medical and psychological professionals that there is this thing called "Neurogenic Fatigue" that can occur when you experience something like this.
That means that the cognitive and executive functions of the brain can wear you out super quickly. Even when you are doing things you enjoy, it's like your brain is no longer wired the way it was. It takes extra energy to make some connections, and that tires you out like nothing I've ever felt before.
These connections happen to be required for the role I had performed for thirteen years as a branch manager for a construction labour-hire company. I went from running one of the biggest employers in my town, with over a hundred staff and hundreds of clients, to being capable of only the most basic work tasks for more than a few minutes at a time.
At the beginning of this recovery journey, my cognitive energy reserves would be depleted after around twenty minutes of having a conversation with someone. Writing, which is my passion, would do the same. Scheduling, setting goals, writing lists, the same.
Weirdly, if I play guitar or sing, it uses different parts of the brain. While it still can wear me out, it doesn't take anywhere near as long. At least I still have music to keep me on the straight and narrow.
I thought three months off would resolve the issue, and I'd leap back into the fray. Then I told myself just another three months, and I should be back to at least 80%. Now I'm sitting at the end of that six months, and all indications are that it will take at least another six to get to that mythical 80% of regular function.
We Made it
If you got this far through my tale, I am appreciative. It's good to get it out. I'm not going to preach to you, oh reader, or tell you how to live your life. I have only a basic idea of how to live my own.
I hope that if you've read this far, something has resonated with you, and it might help. Maybe you'll identify something early enough not to crash as I did. This whole experience has been a nasty surprise. Based on what I have learned, I guess I thought I was somehow unique.
A big takeaway has been yet another surprise. Being somewhat of a left-leaning anarchist, I never thought I'd say: buying income and mortgage protection insurance was one of the best things I could have done for my wellbeing and my family.
Wherever you are, if you find yourself on a similar journey, know that you are not alone. Drop me a message, and I'll be happy to talk with you about your experiences or anything you want to get off your chest.
Lastly, If you are like me and hesitant about seeking professional help, you'd likely benefit from it, even if it's just talking to someone once a month.
Thanks for reading. If you appreciated this, give me a clap/comment/follow, and I promise to read and follow you if you are a writer.
