Surrender does not mean defeat
Despite all the travel and the things, it’s been a testing few months. I’m starting to see light at the end of the tunnel.
Burnout. Empathy fatigue. Compassion fatigue. The overlapping defects of self- and other disconnection, and frankly, loathing, has been an affliction for months now.
Recognising the multiple causes that may have led me on to this path is one thing. Quitting psychology is another. It’s a work in progress.
I had disaster comms gigs left over that I was committed to. I delivered the last of these earlier this week. That was momentous. I mustered the strength to throw off massive weighted blanket of obligation.
The finish line was here.
But it’s not the end.
The next day, I finally had the counselling session I had been trying to arrange for months.
I talked about my joylessness, my lack of motivation. All the things that I tell people about when I talk about languishing. I know this intellectually, but it’s another thing to process it yourself.
Especially when you are the teacher.
When you know rationally but are struggling to rein in your intellectual side while remaining vulnerable enough to experience the emotions and let them pass rather than loathe, chastise and berate yourself for having them - that’s another dimension of struggle.
And the mistake I was making was to throw myself into this suppression wrestle of emotions.
I needed the space to surrender
I talked about my experience of irritability. I wondered out loud about depression. I expressed how I was left feeling resentful, regretful, unseen and unrecognised after these past few years since the pandemic began. And how the load had built and built, until I went past where I could cope. The secondary impacts of what I saw was my failure were becoming unbearable.
I could see it coming. When Delta hit, I said I would carry on a while hen stop. When Omicron came I felt obliged to continue.
A mistake. But an entirely human one.
Yet I feel like a petulant child, an ungrateful teenager for complaining about my lot in this tough modern world that we live in.
It was a tough talk. I did most of it. The words gushed out of me, along with the tears. But it was a helpful conversation.
So, now I am on the path to recognise what I have done. Myself.
To live a life where I schedule joy.
To engage in playfulness.
To rediscover and reawaken the parts of me that have been left fallow for too long.
And to write. To create again.
It’s been hard to recognise what needs to be said. To say it out loud.
It still is.
Silence was easier. But in the end, it made it harder.
So, here I am in my mission to find the joy in moments. To put myself in the way of joy where I think I might find it in everyday life.
Like going out shortly with the kids so they can ride their bikes.
Time to go experience the little things again.
Thanks for writing this Sarb. I can relate to it. I think it takes a particular brand of bravery to acknowledge when our efforts aren't having the desired results. I came across the Serentiy Prayer many moons ago and have always struggled most with the third task, the wisdom to know the difference.
☔️🌈Thank you for writing with vulnerability and strength Sarb. I hope most of all, it is good for you to write ✍️. I’m selfishly grateful that you shared it today though hope no sense of obligation to repeat. I’m practising catching more glimmers in each day and having little happy dances of joy when I do!