Are You Burnt Out?

On being somewhere between depressed and thriving.

Apr 25, 2021

Happy hour starts with an Ashwagandha grummie. Feeling a little adventurous on a Friday night, I chase it with an immune-boosting CBD gummy. An hour later, I’m drinking one of several sleep formula powders I alternate between during the week. This soothing ginger-flavoured one has magnesium and potassium for muscle relaxation and hydration, l-theanine and GABA for anxiety, and melatonin to signal my brain it’s time for bed. But it’s not enough, so I eat a Good Day melatonin chocolate, they always do the trick.

Maxed out on ingestibles, I go topical. I spritz my pillow with Saje’s Unwind spray and apply their Stress Release formula under my nose and on my temples. The Highline Wellness CBD roll-on goes on my sore neck and wrist, because, you know, they’re sore from all the time I spend on my computer and phone. Then it’s this Night Serum on my face—I draw light circles around my eyes, trying to mimic the pattern I vaguely remember from that one facial I had years ago. Lush’s Dream Cream goes on my hands. I turn on a Headspace Sleepcast, put on this cooling weighted sleep mask and turn out the light.

Remember when you used to go out and there would be that blurry-eyed moment the morning after where you’d recall the dizzying tally of drinks you consumed? I had that moment yesterday. But instead of booze, it was relaxation supplements. Rather than drinking a glass of wine to unwind or taking my prescribed sleeping meds, I’ve become the epitome of the dissociation generation; turning to natural solutions for my escape. In my moment of reckoning yesterday I realized, this wasn’t just a Friday night after a stressful week, this is now my daily routine.

“After I come home from work, make dinner and clean up, I’m so tired I just want to veg and watch T.V., then I have to go to bed to get up for work and do it all again the next day, is this going to be the rest of my life?” my friend who works at a long-term care facility asks me. On one of our recent walks around the neighbourhood, we come to the conclusion—we’re burnt out.

We’re not the only ones. In company and household surveys, people say they feel more stressed and depressed than they were a year ago. “A year of uncertainty, of being whipsawed between anxiety and depression, of seeing expert predictions wither away and goal posts shift, has left many people feeling that they are existing in a kind of fog, the world shaded in gray,” says Margaret Wehrenberg, author of Pandemic Anxiety: Fear, Stress, and Loss in Traumatic Times.

For those who have the time and means, self-care seems like a promising solution: talk to your therapist, meditate, go for a walk, drink more water. But I’ve exhausted the relaxation tools in my arsenal (clearly), and the self-medicating doesn’t seem to be enough. Perhaps because burnout is “not just something that you can take a nap and fix,” as Tara Jefferson—founder of The Self Care Suite, a wellness community for women of colour—says, “burnout is an accumulation of stress that has no place to go. It’s past exhaustion.”

For those who’ve lost their jobs, or loved ones, or taken on a new balancing act of caregiving and/or parenting while working from home, being “past exhaustion” makes sense. But how could I possibly complain? Sure I got laid off a year ago and had my plans to move back to NYC uprooted. But in the grand scheme of things, I’m fine. I’ve kept working, I haven’t gotten sick, no one has died. In a former life, when I was caregiving for my mom on top of working a full-time office job, I knew that feeling of treading water; of always feeling on the brink of drowning, barely hanging on. But I have no one depending on me now, so why does it still feel like I’m running on a treadmill that won’t stop?

I’m not depressed to the point of feeling suicidal, but I’m perpetually mentally exhausted and unmotivated. Describing this in-between space as “burnout” only makes me feel worse; I feel guilty suggesting what I’m feeling is comparable to the burnout experienced by essential workers. I recently found validation, as I often do, in language. Having the right words to describe what I’m feeling can make all the difference. Turns out I’m “languishing.”

“In psychology, we think about mental health on a spectrum from depression to flourishing. Flourishing is the peak of well-being: You have a strong sense of meaning, mastery and mattering to others. Depression is the valley of ill-being: You feel despondent, drained and worthless. Languishing is the neglected middle child of mental health. It’s the absence of well-being. You’re not functioning at full capacity,” writes Adam Grant.

Symptoms of languishing, according to Grant, include feeling disappointed by your short afternoon walk and engaging in revenge bedtime procrastination (both articles I recommended in past newsletters!), the latter he describes as less the “retaliation against a loss of control,” and more, “an act of quiet defiance against languishing; a search for bliss in a bleak day, connection in a lonely week, or purpose in a perpetual pandemic.” The next time someone asks you, “how are you?” Grant recommends responding with, “I’m languishing,” to counter our culture’s toxic positivity.

Languishing might be an apt description for my current late-stage pandemic emotional state, but when I think back, I can’t recall a time when there wasn’t this constant drum in the back of my head telling me I need to work harder, produce more, be better, be happier. The widespread reckoning with pandemic burnout (among millennials who feel they don’t actually have legitimate reasons to feel burnt out) has me digging deeper—what explains this feeling? And is there a way to make it go away besides self-medicating with gummies and tinctures every night?

Next week, I come to a conclusion and propose some solutions.

Best,

Anna

Published 📝

Forbes - 26 Asian-Owned Beauty Brands To Add To Your Top Shelf

You don’t have to look far to notice the pervasive influence of Asian cultures on Western beauty norms these days. Gua sha, eyebrow threading, the cat-eye look, minimalist J-beauty skincare routines—it’s everywhere. And so it’s important that we support brands who are paying homage to these cultures respectfully (and not just because of the surge in racist hate towards Asians).

I was inspired to learn that so many of these beauty brand founders are taking representation and inclusivity seriously: hiring diverse models, removing “poreless” from their branding, supporting Black beauty entrepreneurs. I also loved hearing their own experiences of not feeling seen and bold calls for action.

“I have vivid memories of the powder never matching my skin tone — it was always lighter. I was always told fair skin was beautiful. I don’t blame [my mom] — I know it’s culturally infused in her, but these memories are part of why it’s so important to me that Live Tinted helps evolve beauty standards. My hope is that colorism ends with my generation.” - Deepica Mutyala, Founder of Live Tinted.

“As an Asian minority who lived in Australia and Canada, I understand what it feels like to believe I’m not good enough because I’m Asian. Growing up in societies where being white is worshipped, bleaching the skin or whitening products are still a thing that is advertised by beauty companies. This is very prevalent in many parts of Asia. Not only is it bad for the skin to use these toxic chemicals, but it’s not a healthy belief for young women growing up today.” - Joy Yap, Founder of Wyld (Canadian company!).

“I think many people are shocked that the founder behind Tower 28 — this beachy, LA beauty brand — is Asian; that’s something I’ve dealt with frequently over the years. Growing up in California, I was always drawn to beach culture, but never saw myself represented in any of the product offerings or marketing around it. This world was overwhelmingly blonde, white, and tan.” - Amy Liu, Founder of Tower 28.

Also how cute is Meow Meow Tweet’s packaging (designed by co-founder Jeff Kurosaki).

Reading 📖

This is the most powerful story on grief and racism I’ve read in a long time.

“A dissociation trifecta — distance, fragility, and denial — ensures that the residual cruelties of White choices are barred from White view. The result is a fortress of dispassion through which empathy is hard pressed to permeate, let alone justice. Situational grief is momentary. Systemic grief is not.” - Breai Mason-Campbell.

For more on languishing.

“We still live in a world that normalizes physical health challenges but stigmatizes mental health challenges. ‘Not depressed’ doesn’t mean you’re not struggling. ‘Not burned out’ doesn’t mean you’re fired up. By acknowledging that so many of us are languishing, we can start giving voice to quiet despair and lighting a path out of the void.” - Adam Grant.

If “languishing” is 2021’s dominant emotion, YOLOing is the year’s defining work force trend among people in their late 20s/early 30s—the pandemic has destroyed their faith in the traditional white-collar career path.

“Especially for younger people who have been told to work hard, pay off your loans and someday you’ll get to enjoy your life, a lot of them are questioning that equation. What if they want to be happy right now?” - Christina Wallace.

Yep, I’m definitely in my flop era (the non-celebrity equivalent of Mariah Carey post-Glitter release or Cher mid-70s).

The fact that I think I have an “era” probably means I’m giving off too much Main Character energy.

Will you be Team Yes or Team Couch after the pandemic?

Maybe you don’t need to keep up all the maintenance that goes into performing your middle class status.

“To maintain middle class status is to be constantly treading water, to be proving and reproving middle class social and financial capital. The pandemic has made the status quo alien. It has presented ‘just the way things are’ — from the way we work to enduring fantasies of racial equality — on a platter for interrogation.” - Anne Helen Peterson.

I want this simple life.

Cute ideas for travelling back in time.

Watching 📺

If you know me you know, tonight is one of my favourite nights of the year. But with theatres closed, I wasn’t able to see all the contenders this past winter—the cherry on top of a let-down of a year. While my Hollywood-obsessed neighbours south of the border have been raving about how online releases made the nominees more accessible, the lack of streaming services up here in Canada has left me stranded in the cold. So alas, I cannot give my predictions for this year because I have seen so few of this year’s movies 😤 .

That being said, I’m still excited to watch. This year’s show is expected to receive all-time low ratings, but the roster of nominees is one of the most diverse and worthy in history, and the Academy, in an attempt to get us to watch, are promising a one-of-a-kind show.

Oscar-winning filmmaker Steven Soderbergh has been hired to produce the ceremony, which he promises will feel like a movie in and of itself. The “cast” of said movie will be the presenters, the broadcast will be broken into chapters and apparently masks will play “a very important role.” Intrigued? Me too.

Regardless of what happens, I’m just so excited that Chloe Zhao is the first female woman of colour to be nominated for Best Director. Plus, Riz Ahmed and Steven Yeun’s nominations for Best Actor mark the first time two Asian men have been up for that award.

Here’s the best Oscars content I consumed this week:

This “should win, will win” rundown.

On this year’s “inspirational and aspirational” dress code.

The Oscars might be more diverse this year, but the pandemic has forever changed movies.

“What is a movie now? It’s something we tweet, text and clean during, something we watch in installments whether it lasts 104 minutes or 4 hours.” - Wesley Morris.

Steven Yeun’s accent in Minari is perfect, but the film left out some key parts of the Asian American immigrant experience.

If you’re an awards show buff like me, take this quiz.

Listening 🎧

This episode of Call Your Girlfriend helped me diagnose my “burnout.”

If you’re like me and feel unqualified to say you’re burnt out, having quantifiable causes might give you the validation you’re seeking. Apparently these are the five main causes:
1. Unreasonable time pressure.
2. Lack of communication and support from a manager.
3. Lack of role clarity.
4. Unmanageable workload.
5. Unfair treatment.

“There’s this narrative that comes in: I’m lucky to have a job at all, I’ve got it better than others, people on my team have young kids, they’re managing to show up, why shouldn’t I be able to write?” - Ann Friedman.

But diminishing your burnout by comparing yourself to others ignores its structural causes.

“All of capitalism is upheld by the fake belief that everyone can always do more.” - Aminatou Sow.

Best,