Hello friends and readers,
May marks two years since I started my job working in ministry with young people and young families. I remember in those early months looking around at some of the other people who had been in ministry for many years, and I just thought they looked tired. Depleted. Without spark. They were lovely people who cared a great deal about things that also mattered to me, but I found it difficult to make a good connection because something was just…missing. I was probably a bit smug, in my own head, thinking that I was doing the right things to not end up burnt out and compassion fatigued.
Joke’s on me.
At the start of winter, I found myself regularly quite tired but could recover my energy enough to keep going by eating more, taking vitamins, or going for a walk. Since January, however, I’ve found myself feeling more anxious about showing up to the spaces I facilitate, struggling with brain fog daily, and dreading picking up my kids at the start of my time with them. This is then followed by shame for feeling burdened by the things I most value in my life and trapped by responsibility. And the cycle repeats.
As a young human, I learned that it was safer to be perfect, meet every expectation put on me, and never be a burden to those caring for me. Essentially, I learned that it wasn’t safe to have real, human needs. So now, when I try to take an afternoon off, lay down because I’m tired, or take longer to work on a project or idea than I expected, I am filled with a sense of threat, like something bad is going to happen.
I’m ruining my kids for eating McDonald’s every Thursday because I’m too tired to make dinner.
I took an afternoon off work because I couldn’t think through the brain fog, and I’ll be fired for not doing enough.
I won’t grow or heal if I don’t spend every spare moment reading, writing, creating, journaling, listening to a podcast, moving my body, and, and, and.
Life feels pretty good when my capacity matches the expectations that are placed on me, both by myself and the people and communities within my responsibility. When, however, I do not have the capacity to meets those expectations and I must disappoint others in order to protect myself, I am discovering that I can’t tolerate the discrepancy. I will do anything to make myself believe that my needs are not real or valid and that I can work my way out of exhaustion with the right mindset and strategies.
It’s really difficult to feel irritated, overwhelmed, and anxious—sometimes even despair—and I find that my mind spirals through everything that is or could be wrong with me, desperate to find a solution that will fix me. But what if nothing is inherently “wrong” with me? What if the only proof that I should be tired is the fact that I AM tired? What if the only permission I need to rest is the fact that I FEEL like I need rest? What if I don’t have to JUSTIFY being a limited human with valid needs?
WHAT IF nothing bad will happen if I stop giving so I can replenish?
There is a part of me that innately knows I must take care of myself if I want to show up fully and authentically as the person I know I am, but old fears keep me trapped in patterns that are no longer serving me. Now, I have created so much safety in my environment that these old patterns are coming to the surface, providing an opportunity to do something different.
Healing is not just about knowing the right things, it’s about having new experiences that show your brain and body that things are safe now because you’ve got your back. Some of this work happens in relationship with safe and supportive people, and some of it happens because you keep showing up for yourself even when others won’t or can’t.
Here’s what this has looked like for me in the last couple weeks:
Noticing when I’m in the spiral and turning to it with curiousity. All of the “What if” questions I asked above are ways that offer an off-ramp from the endless spiral. It’s a strategy I learned from a dating coach, but I find that using “What if…” and “It may be possible…” are gentle ways to offer my brain a different truth. Because there was a time when I needed to believe my spiral thoughts were true, it’s not helpful to tell myself they aren’t.
Speaking the truth to trusted others. This is the hardest thing for me to do because my wounds tell me that no one is there to help me or even care that I’m hurting. I’ve spoken to several people lately who have shown that I can trust them with the things that burden me. And for the first time in my life, I was met with such love and tenderness that my shame and fear dissolved. Even when I didn’t get a response I was looking for, I was able to turn inward and ask myself what I needed instead.
Shifting to another activity. When I’ve done about two hours on a task, or at the first sign of brain fog or anxiety, I will switch to something that engages my “default mode network”—go for a walk, sit and look at green things, lay on the floor, do a puzzle, fold laundry. Anything that isn’t scrolling or watching a show.
Working recovery time into my schedule. Instead of waiting for exhaustion, I am now adding GUILT FREE recovery time after the programs that I run and meetings, and during full days with my kids. There is a cost to investing in other people, building community, and raising children, so currently recovery is about half the time of the program or activity, but that may change as I rebuild my capacity.
Taking things out of my schedule. There are things that are non-negotiable: I need to raise my children, I need to have a job so I can support myself, and I need relationships that nourish me. But there are things that I can take off my plate, even if I’m afraid it’ll upset someone. I dropped a pub night that I attended weekly for almost two years, I said no to participating in a work retreat last minute, and I even paused the programs I run for the church during May. All of it felt very—no, EXTREMELY difficult, but it’s slowly rebuilding my trust in myself to have my own back. And guess what? Nothing bad happened.
Learning to properly estimate myself. Self criticism is quite possibly one of the things that drains me the most. I can look back at all the amazing things I’ve done over the past few years and still tell myself it’s not good enough. It’s so quiet and sneaky, because it’s not blatant—it’s just focused on all the ways I could’ve done better and all the things I haven’t done yet. But maybe it’s possible that my groups, my voice, my creativity matters. Maybe it’s possible that my children are wonderful humans that I’m raising well. Maybe it’s possible that the people who are in my life right now are proud of who I am.
Learning to meet our needs is an oscillation—from the doing to the stillness; from asking for support from others to learning how to stay with our own discomfort; from saying yes when you’re in a season of expansion to saying no when you’re in a season of tending. There is no right or wrong way to approach this work, and sometimes we will go too far in one direction, but it all provides information for the journey.
What if your needs matter?
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