Opinion – What Would Queenie Do?

What is burnout?

The WHO defines burn-out syndrome specifically in a work context with the following three characteristics:

feeling depleted or exhausted
mentally distancing, or feeling negative and cynical about your work
reduced professional efficacy.

In my case I learned about burnout while going through it. My experience of burnout was influenced by factors like gender, my profession and relatively young age, cushioned by class and my support circle.

I want to help women prevent and recover from the signs of burnout – we’re at a higher risk across professions. I can only speak to my experience as a creative and knowledge worker – a relatively privileged place to speak from.

Why do people burnout?

Speaking through my own lens: I’m 24. I worked full-time in product marketing and run a print & digital design practice on the side. In my pre-COVID free time? I DJ’d. I produced music commercially and for myself. I devoted my time to mentoring junior colleagues out of hours and helped friends with anything from their personal sites to semi-commercial ventures.

Here’s the problem: I can guarantee at least one person is reading this thinking “Coool. Juggle it all hun. American Dream”. That’s the attitude that left me emotionally depleted, cynical about my day job and unable to produce anything creatively in my passion projects.

Here’s how I went from faux cool “sorry I’m just too busy!!!” texts to having regularly scheduled 15-minute sob sessions at work:

I missed every opportunity to take holidays. I rolled over two years’ worth simply because I was too young and inexperienced to realize I didn’t need to be on every single new, exciting project at work to be successful

I monetized every single one of my hobbies. Having a side hustle is great. But creative work is ultimately work: it’s demanding and challenging. When I wasn’t at my 9-5, I was producing websites or making music. As a result, when I tried to enjoy making music or illustrating – I couldn’t. It felt reductive when I wasn’t being paid for it. This toxic attitude left me unable to undertake the exploratory ‘unproductive’ experimental work that is so crucial to creativity. I lost the ability to use my creative work as solace because I added the unnecessary pressure of making things “commercially viable” in an already competitive landscape.

I didn’t advocate for myself. I set unreasonable expectations in a bid to challenge myself. If I could produce a project in a day, I’d try to do it in half a day next time. I accepted more freelance projects than any reasonable one-woman setup could handle. If I could manage 4 people, I’d try to be responsible for 6. If I could go from working til 7PM to working a set til 2AM, I’d do it again. But my fuel tank ran empty eventually.

In short – you burnout when you regularly push yourself beyond a sustainable level of effort or stress.

When you do not balance rest, postpone fun and take on more than you can manage, you become depleted. When we read our maximum capacity for work as an inherent weakness, and try to bulldoze past it, we end up overloading ourselves. Incidentally, we also become completely unpleasant to be around.

When we read our maximum capacity as an inherent weakness, and try to bulldoze past it, we end up overloading ourselves.

How do you prevent burnout?

Balance. While working in a toxic culture or environment wasn’t a great starting point, I could’ve changed my approach.

I should have:

Taken regular breaks, even in the form of single days off
Taken at least one extended holiday a year
Fully switched off from work at some point in the day
Been mindful in accepting a sustainable workload
Been careful about monetizing my passions
Acted my age!

That last point is interesting. By this, I mean I should’ve realized that our twenties are when we can afford to spend time figuring out what we enjoy. By pressuring myself to “Be PuT tOgEtHeR” by the arbitrary deadline of 25, I set up a destructive environment where nothing felt fun unless it was advancing me in some capitalist, quantifiable way.

Finally…realise if you’re a young woman in rooms full of men, you’re expending a great deal of energy fighting to be taken seriously whilst not being ‘too assertive’. This is draining. Find allies. Delegate and share this burden.

Well, thanks but I’m already burnt out. How do you recover?

Recovery is harder than not being burnt out in the first place. While what you actually do is going to vary, you’ll need to introduce balance and restful activities into your life.

If you’re a fan of extremes…

I quit my job and factored in two weeks of free time before starting another. I spent these two weeks accepting zero freelance projects, making absolutely no music and producing nothing of value. I went to a lot of museums, slept and actually spoke to my cat instead of treating him as furniture. I had my husband cook me fresh, delicious meals and spent time with him. I drank my tea while it was still f*cking hot. In short, I healed by quitting cold turkey. I took this newly-gained habit of slowing down into my next job, so I was able to avoid full-blown burnout next time.

If you’re mellower…

Introduce boundaries and acceptance into what you do. At risk of sounding fluffy – really do one restful, peaceful thing a day. Gradually accept the idea of time off as a necessity instead of an option. Learn when to stop working against yourself. Give yourself control. If it feels like you’re forcing yourself to do something, question the necessity of the task instead of yourself. If you’re balancing heavy personal circumstances with a demanding job, prioritise your energy. Take back your hobbies. You don’t need to start an Etsy for your embroidery – you can just enjoy it.

The luxury of burnout

I know, oxymoron. But it’s easy to read points of view like mine and think they’re the only lived experience of burnout.

Being able to identify and plan recovery from burnout is a luxury in itself. Simply by being in the UK, having internet access, three meals to eat a day and a roof over our heads: we have an immense degree of control in determining how our narratives go. It isn’t quite as simple with factors like poverty or immigration status at play. Being able to think about a work-life balance is a luxury.

Being able to think about a work-life balance is a luxury.

Some professions demand a high degree of emotional labour and place us at higher risk of burnout: healthcare and service work included. The language and tools available to us in combatting burnout are a luxury. We should respect this.

If you’re a healthcare worker, we’re working on a piece specific to you soon.

– xoxo aimen 👽

As a woman in your twenties, it’s likely you’ve been asked when you want to have kids. It might be something you’re thinking about, exploring or even trying to do. It might also be something you really don’t want to do.

When I got married, I noticed people asked me one thing a little too often: “So, when are you having kids?” I’d been asked this before, but never so persistently. As it turns out, there’s a whole lot of reasons this question is at best: stupid, and at worst: really damaging to ask.

It’s asking when, never if

In my experience, the question is always “When are you having kids?”. Not ‘if’. When.

This assumes the person you’re asking wants kids. Bit presumptuous. In the year of our lord 2020, motherhood is still seen as aspirational and expected for most women. This loaded question makes it harder for me to go “Actually – I don’t want kids”.

While we should’ve moved past an institutionalized desire to reduce women to walking wombs, this hasn’t happened yet, so it’s still unsettling to society when women simply don’t want children. Our reasons don’t matter because they’re not really listened to.

9/10 times I’ve told people I don’t want kids, it’s a dice roll between the following responses. Seriously.

Is it because you’re overweight / have PCOS / have endometriosis / your husband’s infertile?
Is it because your husband doesn’t want kids?
You’ll change your mind. It’s different when its yours! Just wait and see
Don’t you feel bad for your husband / parents / next door neighbor / Mark Zuckerberg who’s entire social network is now based on moms posting photos of their kids, and mom memes?

While I would love to talk about this with a trusted friend, or even a respectful stranger – the overly casual “When you make babies?” doesn’t lend itself to warm, friendly discourse on such a personal topic.

So: you shouldn’t ask when, because you’re throwing a bunch of societal expectations at someone who may well not want to stick to them.

What I always want to see on one of these pee sticks

It’s personal and invasive

Picture this. You’re at a family barbecue. You just grabbed some juicy wings fresh off the grill. There’s sunshine and good music. And then, your great aunt walks over with “Hey so, when are you getting your front butt waxed?”

Hopefully, you’re thinking “Woah, that’s really personal and invasive, Auntie! My butt waxing routine is totally not your business! Let me eat these wings in peace, damn!”

While butt waxing stands out as an invasive, rude and downright inappropriate topic for family conversation, the same scenario with the question “So, when are you having kids” really doesn’t. I’ve been in that scenario at least fifteen times. I’ve always had to justify a really personal decision that ultimately is for my partner and I to make. And really, it’s mostly mine. How. Uncomfortable!

While the butt waxing stands out as an invasive, rude and downright inappropriate topic for family conversation, the question “So, when are you having kids” really doesn’t.

It doesn’t affect anyone whether you decide to reproduce or not (barring your partner and other children, if they exist). The ferocious determination aunties pour into this question might make you feel like their entire happiness depends on your vagina – but it really, truly doesn’t.

The extent to which this question is so normalised (and usually well-intentioned) really belies how much of a personal decision it is to have children. I feel as uncomfortable discussing my reasons for not having children with my extended family, as I would discussing a butt-waxing routine.

It’s insensitive, and potentially triggering

I have PCOS and endometriosis. With 1 in 5 women diagnosed with PCOS in the UK, it’s really not so uncommon. Both conditions affect your fertility. Here’s the thing: I’m grateful for this because its nice to know I’m less likely to fall pregnant accidentally.

But if you’re someone in your twenties struggling to conceive – this question really rubs it in. While working in fertility telemedicine, I was lucky to speak to women from all walks of life, struggling to conceive. A huge trigger for lots of them: being asked when they’re having kids, or whether the “plumbing is faulty”.

Especially around Christmas, I’d see a spike in demand for mental health services, as women were asked invasive questions at the dinner table about why their bodies were failing them. Our service received several questions on how to cope with this triggering time, where it seemed like everyone and their mother was quite literally asking women when they’d produce children.

So. Imagine experiencing the grief of miscarriage, or sinking thousands of pounds into IVF while trying to conceive. Dealing with this incredibly, lonely and private issue. And while trying to eat your sprouts in peace, being asked why you haven’t yet accomplished what you’re so desperately trying to.

Don’t be insensitive. As with all things, you don’t know what someone is experiencing. So, don’t ask when they’re having kids because for all you know – they’re trying really hard to. With 1 in 7 couples struggling to conceive in the UK, you’re likely to really hurt someone’s feelings when they’re already low.

It’s not just infertility that could make this triggering. Reasons like being a trans woman, being gay and struggling to adopt, having too low an income, having a disability…there’s a laundry list of why this question can be so hurtful.

Normalise our power to choose what we do with our bodies

If you’re feeling bad because you’ve asked your friends when they’re having kids – don’t. Feeling bad is besides the point, just don’t do it again.

However, knowing my own group of loving friends where nothing is off limits – TALK ABOUT IT. Really, ask your friends if they’re okay to talk about wanting children. Accept it (really, accept it) when people don’t want kids, but let them talk openly about their reasons if they want to. Talk to other women about the expectation that if women want children and a career, they’d better grow 8 extra limbs and train themselves to sleep an hour a night because “men simply aren’t the primary carer”. When we talk respectfully, and really listen, good things happen.

And that’s a wrap. I hope you can kindly call out great aunt Beverly next Thanksgiving when she whips out the ol’ “When are you spawning?” over the turkey.

– xoxo, butter girl 🥞