I can feel myself burning out
I can feel burnout approaching.
It’s autumn, and as the days grow colder and the nights longer, my health always declines. During the last year or so of teaching, I found my body fighting against itself roughly every six weeks. I would be in intense pain; every limb aching as if I had run a marathon, being outside in the cold would be physically painful, and I felt exhausted and unable to think, plan, or do anything. At the time, I didn’t know what it was; I thought it was something physical, related to the many surgeries and complications I had experienced over the previous five years, which I believed had finally been resolved. Then anxiety took hold. I was physically unable to go to work. The anxiety was more debilitating than the pain. It was this that ultimately led me to leave teaching.
Now I understand more about what was happening to me. It was autistic burnout. My whole self couldn’t keep living in the noisy, unpredictable, unkind, neurotypical world. I couldn’t maintain the mask any longer.
It’s happened before, of course. When I was 19, I went through several months, possibly a year, of unexplained pain. During that period, I was mainly examined by gynaecological doctors who tested me for STDs, cysts, and endometriosis. These tests included scans and surgical procedures. All results were all clear. I also saw a gastroenterologist who said, “You don’t look like someone who is in daily pain.” I didn’t sleep well because of the pain, and I was constantly tired both physically and mentally. I spent most of my time in my room, trying to complete crosswords and other word puzzles that I wasn’t very good at, feeling guilty because I knew this was not the life I had planned or what was expected of me, but at the same time, unable to change it.
This period followed a very busy phase in my life. Throughout school, I always aimed to be the best I could at whatever I did. I had already established my social role as the helper, the listener, the fixer, and as auntie to my small group of friends. In school, I masked my anxieties by being compliant, fitting in, and hiding behind the roles of ‘good girl’, ‘musician’, and ‘dependable’. I literally blended into the background. Recently, I met my history teacher again after 25 years. She is now the head teacher at my daughter’s school. She was one of my favourite teachers — not because she was fun, but because she was consistent. She still is. You know where you stand with her; she is firm and fair. I enjoyed being in her lessons because of this. I also loved history — learning about the past, the facts, events, and stories. I received my best GCSE grade, an A, in history. She didn’t remember me though, she taught me for three years in total, I believe – definitely two, but she didn’t remember me. In her class, I worked hard, as I did in most others, to be the best I could. It was easier once I had chosen my options because I was doing more subjects I liked. That was the role I had carved for myself, but it was forgettable.
Due to the difficulties my daughter is facing, I have had more meetings with her now, as her head teacher. I’m not even sure if she still remembers me. I want to tell her that when I was at school, my anxieties looked like this – like the child who excels and puts everything into conformity. However, my daughter is unable to do that, and her anxieties resemble defiance. But I haven’t said anything as it wouldn’t benefit my daughter to do so. So I have kept it unsaid. It has become another unspoken thought tumbling around in my mind.
Anyway, I did okay at GCSE; my grades were among the best in my school, but quite average when viewed nationally or even locally. I started A levels at sixth form, and things began to get really difficult for me. I had already become distracted by my relationship. I would choose to be with him instead of studying. I became lazy and felt less motivated. I wasn’t able to choose the subjects I wanted, so I settled for others. The learning was hard. In secondary school, maths had always been enjoyable for me, but now I was finding the new concepts hard to grasp. I needed the concreteness of applied maths to help me understand pure maths. The abstract nature of pure maths meant I was falling behind.
After a year of studying three A levels at sixth form, I failed maths. I then went to the local college and enrolled in maths and art. As I was still in sixth form, I was studying four A levels, in addition to music and English. The timetables worked well, but they required travel between three different sites for each lesson. I did this for a year. It was exhausting, but I felt as if I was achieving something because I was so busy. I made no friends at college and lost proper contact with friends at sixth form due to the travel between sites. I now realise that rushing off after lectures was also a crutch for me, an excuse not to make friends.
It was genuinely a very lonely time. I increasingly depended on my boyfriend for social contact, but our relationship was unstable. My mum said we were like an English summer, three sunny days followed by a thunderstorm. She wasn’t wrong. I tried to leave him many times, but he would beg me to stay, and my low self-esteem and loneliness kept us together. In addition to working part-time in a shop in the West End and everything else, I started to burn out.
I had counselling during this period, it was a strange experience which I will discuss further another day. It did not help me. I’m not entirely sure what it was that stopped the pain and finally made me decide to change things. My relationship ended, prompting me to examine myself and some of my choices more closely. Eventually, I was ready to return to work. I worked part-time at the local supermarket. Gradually, I built up my self-esteem and got my life back on track. Soon, I added two more part- time jobs to my schedule.
This was the first burnout.
And when I think about the times I have left jobs, etc., it has often been in November when the weather is colder and the nights are longer. Those are the times I feel less able to cope. I would like to know if I have seasonal affective disorder (SAD).
Before, over the past 16 years, I’ve had physical health issues to blame.Now I am out of full-time work for the first time since my teens. This allows me to manage my health needs better. I still feel guilt and exhaustion. I still let people down and have to cancel plans. I still question whether I can actually do this. But it’s definitely easier having a husband to support me.
This blog post has taken me weeks to complete. I’m finally emerging from the burnout. This week has been the first in quite some time that I haven’t felt completely mentally, physically, and emotionally drained by 6pm each day.
Thanks for reading.
#burnout #Autism #Autisticburnout #mentalhealth #chronicpain
#chronicillness #SAD
