Grief and Burnout

I currently have the privilege of barn swallows nesting in my apartment building. They are a beautiful, endangered species of bird that have become very dear to me since nesting in our building repeatedly over the past three years. 

This Monday, one of their babies died though. 

Or at least, that’s what I thought had happened when the strata council announced that we ought to avoid the back stairwell for the time being because one of the birds had died. 

I was fairly distraught, grieving the loss of the baby bird that I had been monitoring for over a month. But I was still able to go about my day fairly normally. Later that evening though, one of my neighbours suggested it might be one of the parent swallows that had died. After that conversation, I was riddled with what could only be described as angst.

But why the stronger visceral response to this news update?

I learned from a therapist about five years ago that when we very deeply feel sorrow for the plight of another being, it can be because it represents something about our past that was difficult or traumatic for us. 

In the example she was referring to, I had witnessed a young, underweight black bear foraging by the side of the highway on the way to visit a friend in Ucluelet. I had been excited to see a bear, though somewhat concerned about its weight and air of desperation. When I told my friend I’d seen it, she mentioned its mother had been killed by a car earlier that summer and that it had been fending for itself ever since, and would probably die over the winter…

The rest of my trip was spent catatonic! I was unable to get over it for weeks, even. I didn’t understand why at the time, but I learned that the bear’s situation reminded me of something I had been through and so I was empathising with it to the point of experiencing its position, as though I was the bear myself.

In the case of the swallow, it’s similar. The connection between both is the notion of a helpless baby animal losing its mother when it still needs her. 

I lost my mum to triple-negative breast cancer when I was 27. 

You could argue that a 27-year-old doesn’t “need” their mother anymore, but I did. I had been programmed to feel dependent on her and so I was, at that time. When she died, I wasn’t sure how to move forward. She had been my rock, and now I had to be that for myself.

My world did fall apart temporarily, but not perceivably until a year after her death. For that year, I powered through my grief.

I buried myself in my work. 

I didn’t even take a leave of absence. I worked and worked, partied and partied, just carried on with life. 

Until about a year later, when all of a sudden I just couldn’t do anything anymore. I stopped being able to digest food. I recall my hair being brittle and unhealthy. I lost 18% of my body weight in just 3 weeks and could barely stand. I hadn’t been able to actually do any work for months, despite keeping up appearances. Really all I'd been doing was fretting at my desk all day long like that was somehow an acceptable substitute for working.

That was my rock bottom. 

I literally worked myself to burnout, the worst burnout imaginable, because I didn’t make space for my grief. 

Every year since, my brain tries to do the same thing: ignore the fact it’s nearly the anniversary of her death, and 2 weeks later, her birthday. July is a difficult month now. Because even if my brain succeeds at ignoring these big days, which it does over and over…

…my body always remembers.

It always catches up with me, somatically.

This year has been no exception.

I’ve been so busy working a part-time job, while launching my online coaching business, and taking a course in online marketing, amongst some other really fun and exciting new things this summer. I’ve made space for celebrating her life because I learned after about year three of wallowing in grief around these days that when I celebrate her, it is always much better than when I don’t.

But despite that, I found myself two weeks after her birthday, riddled with grief again after being triggered by the death of my barn swallow neighbour.

It was like my power plug had been pulled and I was wading through thick sludge.

It's because I didn’t slow down and make space for my grief, again.

Grief never actually goes away. It gets quieter and more manageable, but it’s always there to some extent. It’s not like one day I just won’t care that my mum is gone, a part of me will always yearn for and miss her. She was my best friend for a really long time.

It’s important to make space for grief when it needs to come up. Whatever that may look like. It doesn’t have to be tears, sorrow, or anger. It can be gratitude, celebration, or just rest. Or anything else that makes sense for you.

But my point is: burying your grief can lead to burnout. 

Emotional burnout mostly, but it can show up in many ways and trickle into other areas of life and cause other types of burnout as well. 

That’s what happened to me eight years ago.

That’s also what marked the beginning of my healing journey. I’ve been picking up the pieces ever since my rock bottom and building a foundation of tools and resources to dip into whenever I need them.

Now, when these times come around (which they do, every year), I feel better resourced. It may still creep up on me and I may still try to mentally ignore it. No one is perfect. I get it right some years, not others. That’s ok. This year, I didn’t get it quite right, but I can reflect on previous years and see that I have still made progress nonetheless. And my recovery, the bounce back, was a lot quicker this year thanks to my ability to read the signs and act on them accordingly.

And that’s all we can ask for really. You can’t rush this stuff.

Now it’s time to slow down and make some more space for the grief though.

It took a beautiful barn swallow passing away for me to be reminded of that this year.

The universe always has a way of showing you what you need to see most.

If you have lost someone and find yourself burying your grief by working and keeping busy, consider making time to sit with your grief regularly. 

Yes, it’s bloody hard. It might even require the guidance of a grief counsellor. Or at the very least, some journalling, or the shoulder or ear of a trusted friend or loved one.

But I guarantee you that it’s better in the long run than burying it, because then it might manifest as other ailments, including physical illness and burnout, down the line (like it did for me). You might end up with all of that to deal with on top of  the grief itself.

You deserve time and space to heal, always.

You are the most important thing in your life.

Take care xo