Before all this (the writing I mean) I had a ‘proper’ career. It was a career that I loved for a while, deeply, passionately, until I didn’t anymore. It was a career that I lost myself in when it became the only thing that mattered to me, and was all I thought about from morning till night, then dreamt about while asleep.
It was like the worst boyfriend I’d ever had (and I could win prizes for bad boyfriends) as it very definitely didn’t love me as much as loved it. In fact, it didn’t love me at all. When I eventually left it, the only thing I felt was an overwhelming sense of relief and freedom. My life began again, and I became a writer.
So far, so fairytale. Except of course ‘wherever you go, there you are.’ I am discovering, much to my annoyance, that I have still brought myself into my new career. I continue to find it almost impossible to recognise my limits, to create healthy boundaries, and to STOP WORKING when I’m overtired.
Take this weekend for example. I’ve just arrived home from a week of touring The List of Suspicious Things in Yorkshire, during which I’ve done events, bookshop visits, signings, podcasts, and driven hundreds of miles. I am knackered. But I feel guilty about not replying to emails/multiple proof requests/social media messages/writing my second novel. In fact I feel more than guilty, I feel lazy.
Hard work is a point of pride in my family. I can remember my dad being disappointed in me for going to university in my teens to study English and Politics. He couldn’t see the point. As a man who had worked from the age of fourteen he saw reading and learning as self-indulgent (selfish even). It was the same with my mum, who still worries about my employment status, especially now that I don’t have a regular salary coming in. It is ingrained in me, like the words stamped into a stick of rock, that hard graft means you are a good and worthy person.
The unhealthiness of this was brought home to me during a tearful phone call with a friend earlier this week. We were discussing the days ahead and I was saying how tired I felt when she said ‘I don’t want you to be ravaged by what you do for a living anymore,’ and the words stopped me in my tracks. I immediately started to cry (thank you
for being my early warning system in human form. I love you). Rachel had seen me become the shell of a person at the end of my old career. Had held my hand through finding my way back to myself.Neither of us want the same thing to happen again, and yet here I am worrying about taking one or two days ‘off’ to get my balance back, sleep, be silent, in fact to just ‘be’ not ‘do.’ I know I will be more creative, more productive, a nicer person if I just allow myself some down time, but I am struggling to do so.
I recognise that work, for me, is probably my last great addiction. Unlike drugs, alcohol and food, it’s the one I’ve managed to get away with for the longest, as it presents as though it’s a positive thing. But like any addiction, what starts out as an answer ends up becoming the problem.
This time though, I want to do things differently. I don’t want to hit rock bottom. I LOVE my new career. It brings me more joy and connection than I ever thought possible, and I feel more myself at 54 years old than I ever have before. I work with brilliant people who understand when I need to rest/recharge. I don’t want to ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me with old habits and behaviours that are no longer necessary.
So with that in mind I am going to take this weekend off. Even though it is uncomfortable for me. I have already cancelled my social plans (I am so sorry to the lovely people I was going to see) and my emails and messages will all wait until Monday. Or even Tuesday. Or even longer. The sky will not fall in if I don’t reply within 48 hours. I am simply not that important. I will also keep this short, hoping that you lovely readers will understand (!) and I will see you all next week, when I am rested, recharged, and a much nicer person.
All of the above, and a little story from a fellow 54-year-old recovering workaholic. It was when I went on a yoga retreat about 15 years ago that I realised I needed multiple days to switch off my work brain and body. I think it was day 4 when it dawned on me that I had actually relaxed and was not thinking about work. It felt like coming out the other side of withdrawal, lol, which it actually quite literally was. I withdrew from my day-to-day life, went through the few days of difficulty and came out the other side not healed, but much more able to deal with everything. I’m still “on the wagon” 15 years later and taking care of myself had become a non-negotiable priority:).
Take care, Jennie! Treat yourself as you would a dear friend or small child who needs cuddles. Tuck yourself in bed, choose soothing activities, and take the time you need. You will return to your work with more joy and efficiency when you're rested. Burnout isn't worth it, ever.