On taking a rest

In March, my doctor advised that I needed to take some time out to recover from “mental exhaustion”. I had described to him a strange and unsettling set of things happening to me. I could not concentrate on tasks that were normally completely straightforward. Discussions of any complexity had become impenetrable. My energy was drained rapidly and without warning, often within the course of a single meeting or task. My legs felt heavy. A headache accompanied me everywhere I went. My back ached where I had had shingles a couple of years earlier.

At the end of one meeting a smart colleague asked me a direct question about what I thought. I made a stuttering digression because I honestly couldn’t muster any thoughts. I felt ridiculous.

This was all so disorientating. I am used to being busy, sometimes extremely so. I like to work hard and do things well. I know what it is to be tired and to need a break. But this felt different. It was not like the battery was empty and needed recharging. It was like I needed a whole new battery because it could no longer hold any charge. Or like some component in the system had snapped and the whole thing needed to be taken apart and reassembled. I wasn’t a complete write-off yet, but something in there really was broken.

With some hesitation, I called the doctors’ surgery. I did not know what I wanted to ask for. I spoke to one doctor who listened with cursory interest, and offered me two weeks off. It felt like a feeble solution for a feeble problem. It made me wonder if I should just toughen up and forget it. I called a friend who had been through something similar to talk it through. She was deeply generous in sharing her own experience and listening to mine. Having someone to listen in that way was one of the most restorative things of all. The tough thing is to act, she said. It’s a journey, and not all doctors take it seriously. Start where you can.

I came to know of another, more senior doctor, who specialised in this kind of thing. So I called again and asked for him. He listened attentively, he told me I was entirely right to call, and he immediately advised taking some extended time off. It’s real, he said, it will not improve by itself, and if you keep going it will all get worse. You should have blood tests as well. You have to act decisively.

So I did. There is magic in a doctor’s validation.

When I announced my leave of absence to colleagues, they were universally supportive, almost overwhelmingly so. Some said, “I’m so not surprised”. Others, “I had no idea, but I’m sorry”. A few offered dubious diagnoses of their own. But not a single person made me feel guilty, or self-indulgent, or lightweight. These were worries I held only in my own mind — despite knowing rationally how much I had respected others who had taken a similar step. On the contrary, numerous people even offered compliments for taking action, far beyond what I felt I deserved.

And so it was that I took some months off. A unique-mundane-refreshing-creative-frustrating-illuminating-strange-peaceful-energising-muted few months off.

And what did I learn? I claim no universal enlightenment or expertise. What was true in my experience may well be different for others. But there were things I did learn. Some useful things about myself, which I now need to remember. That mind and body are integrally connected in ways that are strange but real. That people can be very kind, and kindness overwhelms judgement. That there are very different kinds of tiredness. That a doctor’s attentiveness and support is itself very healing. That we are neither indispensable nor invulnerable. That the employer giving space in these times is really important. But that it is lovely to hear from friends, including those who are colleagues. That sometimes a rupture is needed, something radical. That the routine of work-work-work with an occasional couple of weeks off is not the way we have to live. That wholeness is a priority. That 60-80% is as much part of the journey as 20-40%. That we can have different energy for different things. That ennui can be a seed of recovery and creativity.

I particularly appreciated one nugget I received at the very beginning of my time off: that often mental exhaustion or burnout arises when there is a prolonged mismatch between what we feel responsible for, and what we find ourselves able to impact. It is not about overworking, a suggestion which always felt to me like an oversimplification, but about the stress of operating in that disjuncture. It is a stress that can, I think, exist or be exacerbated by several factors, including the nature of our work, systems we operate in, personal temperament. But that sense of agency is crucial.

I share this simply to tell my story, and perhaps it will be helpful to someone. The journey to recover sustainably was not a quick or linear one. It was an unglamorous process, not easy to identify or report progress. There was no final eureka moment. But gradually I came to find that I had my soul back. And for that gift I owe gratitude to many people: to my doctor for taking charge, to my employers for doing all the right things, to those who have given counsel or advice, to my circle of family and friends. Thank you. I am greatly strengthened because of you.