"Burning" Out & Breathing In
I listened to a news story this morning that hit home. It was about people who work in environmental cause advocacy who become crippled by grief and hopelessness. Feeling like the thing they are fighting so hard for, sacrificing so much for - will never survive. I was happy to hear from the news story that nonprofits like Greenpeace and the Sierra Club are starting to make changes in their organizational culture to discourage staff from overwork and over-commitment as a badge of honor.
*Lowering my eyes, and guiltily kicking at the dirt*
Because this is so hard. It’s hard not to give your everything. When you love something so much (bees) and feel that your work can make a difference, and you can do even more if you just get this one thing done, and then this one more thing, and then this one more thing… productivity becomes an addiction and everything else falls away.
I had one day off in the month and a half before I left to go to Tanzania, and was pulling 12-17 hour days with no breaks.
This is a familiar scenario – and one I get myself into almost every year.
In 2016, my team could see that I was falling apart, and they weren’t sure if I would be able to come back from the physical and emotional hole that I had dug myself from overwork. I was in complete denial, and insisted I was fine. They wanted me to take a vacation, which I didn’t want to do – so we compromised on a “sabbatical.” A few weeks at the end of the year where I would to go into retreat – focus on self-care and deepen my relationship with my work that didn’t involve long days of meetings, field work, or endless admin.
For the last few years I’ve been able to make my post-bee season sabbatical work well. I disappear and I develop better habits. I think about the person I want to be. I sleep, I cook, I write, I meditate; I binge podcasts; I take online conservation courses. Last year I started daily trail running and yoga routines. I settle. I think. I re-think. I re-emerge rested, hopeful, and with a healthier relationship with my work.
I have now re-emerged from my annual time away, and have been thinking – how is it possible that year after year I ground myself and emerge in such a good place, and more often than not by the following autumn I am again… completely addicted to my work and completely dismissive of anything that doesn’t involve maximum productivity for every minute I’m awake. I feel that every moment and decision not committed to making the world a better, and more habitable place is time wasted. I hold myself to the highest standard and judge and shuck off anyone who doesn’t want to be on my bandwagon.
Eesh.
While flipping through pictures a week ago, it hit me. I remain mostly healthy and balanced (joyfully making time for outside play, yoga and dharma practice, my human community, and cooking, etc.) until about June/July. It’s a semi-gradual buildup of work hours and a letting go of personal time as the bee season progresses – and then, the fires start. And I’ve just realized this is when I fly into panic mode.
In these last few years Southern Oregon regularly has some of the worst air quality in the world, due to the ring of fires that burn near and far. The combination of climate change (drought, extreme heat, etc.) and decades of fire suppression create the perfect, deadly storm year after year. Doctors have known for quite some time that pollution from the combusting forests cause lung, liver, and kidney damage, but new research is showing that these minute toxins physically travel straight into our bloodstream, hearts, and brains, as well; causing inflammation and diseases like Alzheimer’s.
On a more acute level, burning forests cause our limbic systems to ignite. For weeks upon weeks cortisol (the fight or flight hormone) drips into our systems, telling us to get the hell outta Dodge. And many people do. The last few years friends and colleagues leave in waves concurrent with fire season; re-homing themselves in the East or the Midwest, choosing flooding or freezing over fire. But I stay, and my rational brain goes to war with my limbic system. I tell myself it’s fine, the fires aren’t close enough to pack a go-bag (but after the Almeda fire, that’s a hard sell to myself). I complain endlessly about another summer without backpacking, running in the mountains, fishing, and SUPing. I strap on an N-95, or on really bad days - a respirator, and get to it. But I subconsciously live in a state of total panic. The world is on fire, the bees are not OK, and I have to fix it. With my brain chemistry in a spiral, I just work, because that’s what I feel I have to do. I become stubborn, take it personally, carry it on my shoulders.
Most everyone I know goes into dear-in-headlights mode and starts spinning fantasies about moving. But then we ask each other, where? There is nowhere climate change isn’t effecting. My grand end-of-the-world plan was to move back to our cabin in Alaska, but this summer when extreme heat cooked the British Columbian and Southeast Alaskan shellfish in in their shells, I realized that plan was doomed.
Now I sit here cool and rested, after breathing some ridiculously fresh air this fall. A few Tanzania and post-Tanzania work/travel plans exploded, thanks to Covid and some peopling issues. I ended up in an impromptu sabbatical in a chalet on a farm in Switzerland! I took so may deep breaths on my yoga mat and on the trails. Then it was over to Britain where I got to meet up with a friend from the International Bee Research Association in London, spend a day at Kew, then head up, up, up to the greatest place on earth – the Highlands and Islands of Scotland. I was joined by my fella for more fresh breaths on trails, and of course, whisky!
I feel healthy, clear, and somewhat rested.
Looking forward to 2022, I ask myself – how do I sustain the joy, hope, and curiosity I cultivate during my fall sabbatical into my work and my personal life throughout the year? How do I avoid my brain down-spiraling into panic-stricken drill sergeant mode? The news story featured an organization called, “The Resilient Activist,” started by a mother who lost her son to suicide when his environmental grief became too heavy to bare. She encourages activists to seek community, therapy, and practice yoga and meditation, “to kind of shift you out of that constant fight or flight mode so that now you're in a place, when your breath is soft and your body's relaxed, you have all different ways of thinking. You have all these other options for what can happen and what you can do.”
My sixth grade health teacher’s mantra was, “Awareness is the Key,” which has always stuck with me.
Now that I feel I have nailed the issue of the extremely detrimental effects of smoke on not just my physical, but my mental health – I’m committing to give myself temporary respite whenever I can. If I don’t have to physically be present for field work, I’m going to search the map for a “green” PPM level, and work remotely in BGO’s mobile unit. I’m also committing (out loud) that I am going to stick to my yoga and meditation routine to attempt to balance out the stress hormones. There is nothing better to process cortisol than moving, so if I can’t run - kitchen dance parties will have to happen (Hal’s kids will be stoked). And also I’ll just generally give myself permission to rest. Thank you all for you patience with me while I disappear off the map for a few weeks and don’t respond to hundreds and hundreds of emails and DMs. I’m realizing that this sabbatical practice has literally become a lifesaver for me.
And I’m curious to know what other activists, farmers, and beekeepers do to keep on keeping on?
I can’t wait to be with you all again to share stories of my work and adventures – and hear how you’ve been doing. I am pining to get back to live conferences and workshops. Luckily I have a few on the docket next year. Emerging from the pandemic, I hope ag conferences will begin to offer mental health and resilience sessions. I know I’ll be folding this topic into my presentations from now on.
If you’d like to see a few pictures of my time abroad - I’ll be posting them on Instagram and Facebook.