Forty Days

Although it feels like light years, it has just been a year ago since I marched into my boss's office and told him I couldn't do that job any longer. I handed him a copy of this cover of Family Practice Management, the journal of the American Academy of Family Physicians. The mostly black and white cover shows the remains of a forest after a fire, only charred twigs of trees sticking up through lingering smoke and clouds.  In the foreground is a single daisy, sticking its blossom up through the ashes.

This journal cover was designed to accompany one of two cover articles the Dr. John-Henry Pfifferling and I coauthored in the late 1990s about burn-out and compassion fatigue, a concern that we encountered with physicians we met in our work together at the Center for Professional Well-being. In the cover article, John-Henry and I said that it took six months to recover from long-term burnout. We knew, and more importantly I knew, that there were no short-cuts.  I desperately needed that six months to recover.

I assured my boss that I would put in the five months that I expected it would take to complete open projects and leave my clients in a good place, but I just couldn't do it any more.  I explained that this picture reflected how I felt after giving too much for too long.  I needed time to nurture the little ray of color left in my life.

Yet, even though I knew it would take six months, when the end of my extended notice arrived, I immediately took another job. I gave myself many reasons why I was ready to go to a different job. They were all lies that I told myself because it was a good opportunity.  I knew I needed the time to heal. A few months later when I finally admitted that I needed the time, it was an admission of something I'd known all along: I needed to heal.

In some recent posts, I've bragged that I'd knocked a lot off of my "to-do list," lamented that I hadn't discovered my new purpose, and complained that I had a hard time hitting the ground running like I used to.  These are all signs that I haven't been adequately healing from my burn-out.  As I crawled into bed last night after yesterday's post, the image of this journal cover occurred to me. About the same time, I recalled that today would be Ash Wednesday, which marks the beginning of the 40-day Lenten season, a time of intense spiritual reflection and fasting leading up to Easter.

Although the 40-day Lenten season coincides with the 40 days that Jesus spent praying and fasting just before his crucifixion, that number is probably not happenstance.  Since almost the beginning of time, 40 has been a spiritual number which symbolizes "time needed to totally recharge, renew the body; change to a higher perception."* Moses was on Mt. Sinai for 40 days before returning with the Ten Commandments, and he led the Israelites for 40 years before he acknowledged that they had the understanding of God that they needed. Rain fell on the earth for 40 days and nights, creating the flood from which Noah saved the animals in his ark.  It occurred to me that the seven weeks of vacation that I had accrued and was going to use to "cover" my recovery was just a hair over the 40 days.

Since I had really given myself less than a week to recover from burnout before charging into a new class and book and cupboard cleaning, I think I need a restart, and what better time than this designated period of Lenten reflection?  I didn't worry about when I woke up this morning. I went to church. I spent the afternoon reading a book I wanted to read and plan to go back to it when I finish here. I didn't even turn my computer on until almost 10 tonight, and that was to write this blogpost.  (I did make one quick email check on my iPhone on the way to church this morning, and then I closed the mail app.)  I turned the news on this morning, and just as quickly turned it off. I spent time in the kitchen, trying a new recipe.

I don't know what this 40 days will bring.  I think that is the point. I am going to make every effort to stay out of my head, avoiding all but the very essentials of anything that smacks of planning and productivity. My 40 days will not be the six months that I know I need to heal from burn-out, but, with God's help, at the end of the 40 days, I will know what I need to do next.  I think that is all I need to do. Be as present as I can be and allow myself to be led.  Ah, that quintessential spiritual lesson...again!









*Bethards, Betty, The Dream Book--Symbols for Self-Understanding, Element, 1983, 1995, P. 140.

Burned out, compassion fatigue, or ???

As I've worked my way through the stack of half-read books on my nightstand, Give and Take by Adam Grant has recaptured my attention.  When I lost interest in the book, Grant had been sharing stories of individuals that were givers, takers, and matchers--those who attempt to giving and taking. Grant's research indicates that those who are givers are more successful over time. Made sense to me. Yawn! I generally tire quickly of books that share too much data, and that is exactly what occurred with Give and Take.

When I went back to the book to see if I would abandon it or dig deeper, the last half of the book called to me.  Yesterday I read more.  "The Art of Motivation Maintenance" was compelling. Grant described that, while givers tended to be more successful over the long run, some givers burn out while others, like Energizer Bunnies, seem to find an inner reservoir that keeps them going.

In the late 1990s a colleague and I wrote two cover articles for Family Practice Medicine, a journal for physicians who practice family medicine.  One was on burnout.  I loved the cover artwork of a charred landscape, devoid of life except for a single daisy in bloom in the foreground.  The image so spoke to the feeling people suffering from burnout often have of feeling almost dead and struggling to keep what remains alive. The other piece focused on compassion fatigue, a related condition suffered in the giving professions. I've read and thought about these topics a lot and had some success coaching those who struggle with them.

Grant's more recent research on these topics was new to me. Grant describes "Otherish Givers" and "Selfless Givers."  While it might be intuitive that Selfless Givers would be less likely to burn out, it is actually just the opposite.  The Otherish Givers are ones that, when exhausted by giving, give more. When they are exhausted though, they give somewhere else, and they give to a program that results in a personal reward or pleasure.  In other words their alternative giving recharges them. It's been too many years for me to remember my clients circumstances exactly, but I do believe that the ones I recall were the Selfless Givers, who didn't recharge.

All of this is timely personally.  Over the last few months, I've really been feeling burned out with long hours and client groups which demand more and more of me, leaving nothing for the things that bring me joy. Well, duh!  Grant would say that this is just the time I need to find some joyful giving to recharge me.

The funny thing is that in just this week, I've flirted with five different volunteer opportunities, and each time I passed on them because I thought I needed to be better at protecting my boundaries and saving time for myself.

As counter-intuitive as it seems to me, this recharge by giving makes total sense. Rather than just picking whatever opportunity presents itself, I want to be thoughtful. In each case that Grant described in "The Art of Motivation Maintenance," the alternative giving activities that burned out givers chose were to programs about which they had personal passion.  It seems to me that the personal passion they had is what allowed the alternative giving to be so rewarding to them.

As I write this, I have pondered, when was the last time I felt energized by something I was doing. In the instant that I had the question, I knew the answer.  For over a year, I wrote this blog almost every day, and I had a small (50-60) following, scattered around the world. Although I was often challenged to fit the writing into my schedule, when I did so, I found the time deeply rewarding.  I can only assume that what I wrote must have had some value to my readers as well, since they kept coming back.

When the work has been more demanding, one of the corners that I've rounded has been writing for this blog, and I am pretty certain that doing so is the very thing that could have been recharging me. Not only am I giving value to a small group of people, but I am using a natural talent to do so. That recharges me and brings significant joy into my life.  Finally, I learn so much about myself and what my intentions in life could/should be by working through these ideas with my readers.

The answer to the question inferred in this title, "Burned out, compassion fatigue, or ???" for me must be "Write!"