Running on empty
We all know the feeling: You’ve been charging around at full speed, juggling work, driving kids to jobs and activities, eating in the car, running errands, managing schedules, checking on your parents, trimming sleep to get stuff done. Yet there’s always one more load of laundry to do…one more call to return…one more thing to do.
I am generally a capable person. I try to meet all the various demands on my time, which are largely there by my choice: family, work, school. But last weekend, I hit a wall. I got home, sat down on the couch, and truly wondered how the fuck I was going to get up again. I was mentally exhausted.
In J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, Bilbo Baggins describes his aging and the burden on carrying the evil One Ring to the wizard Gandalf like this: “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” That line has always resonated with me–the idea that our energy, our essential capacity to function, is finite. I certainly felt that I had reached my bleary-eyed, baggy-sweatshirted end.
I should specify that my exhaustion was mental…this was not the muscular or bone-weary collapse after a long day doing yard work. It was the motionless, glassy-eyed slump of a woman who could no longer string her thoughts together coherently. This is not the first time I’ve experienced this, nor do I think it will be the last. And…of course…I did get up off the couch. Because life goes on. Reports must be completed, children taxied, dishwashers loaded. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Ignoring the warning signs of fatigue
As women in midlife, with multiple expectations on us at all times, we often ignore or put off the warning signs from our bodies to make sure that “stuff gets done”. I am somewhat concerned by the amount of Advil that I consume in the course of a year to just “keep going”. Bags under the eyes getting too dark? Concealer, stat! 3 p.m. slump? Large double-double! Slow blinks at the wheel? Crank up the tunes!
And when I finally climbed upstairs, washed up and crawled under my blankets, I waited for sleep to steal over me and wash away the fog of exhaustion. But no…not so fast. I lay in bed for nearly an hour, shifting positions, noting the advancing clock, listening to the sounds of the house and running through every single thing I had done that day. Did I handle that conversation well? Should I have phrased that email differently? Was I the worst mother in the Western Hemisphere, or just in North America? When was the last time I changed our towels?
By 11 p.m., I hadn’t solved anything, but I was finally able to fall asleep and ruminate over my choices in the form of stressful dreams–because I know how to use my time efficiently! And when my alarm went off at 6 a.m., I leapt into the day and hit snooze, because why the fuck is the best sleep always when I need to get up?? Still, there was coffee to brew, children to harangue and herd onto buses, and another commute ahead.
Are you pushing through exhaustion?
In university, like many students, I read F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby for the first time. I found it moderately interesting until the final paragraph, when Fitzgerald slapped me upside the head with one of the most perfectly crafted sentences I’ve ever read: “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
During days/weeks when mental exhaustion holds me in its grip, this line often comes to me, as I grimly put one foot in front of the other and push against the current of work, home and self-doubt.
On many days, it seems as though I am borne back, that the combination of gritted teeth, anti-depressants and emergency chocolate just won’t be enough to get me closer to Gatsby’s green light.
But there’s another part of Gatsby’s ending, and its message keeps me moving on the days when I feel like screaming, crying or worse, when I feel grey and flat:
“...Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning—”
As I drive to work on these mornings, short on sleep, girding myself for the day ahead, something will happen. I’ll round a corner to a vista of horse paddocks, with early morning mist settled in the valleys and laced into the evergreens. Or later that day, as I scroll through texts from my daughter, I’ll discover a years-old message she left in her contact information: “I love you, mummy!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️”
In those moments, I remember that happiness is not a destination. It’s a sporadic state of mind that can only exist with the comparators of sadness, malaise and pain. The best that I can do –thank you, cognitive behavioural therapy–is crank the gain to 11 when I notice things that make me happy, and dial it back when things turn to shit. I may be 47, but people have commented that I have slightly overblown, childlike reactions to things like dogs, an awesome guitar riff or a really good crème brûlée. You know why? Because life is pain, motherfuckers, and if you don’t notice the hell out of the good stuff, the current will take you.
No, this isn’t my nihilist manifesto.
It’s a reminder that as women, we are incredibly resilient. If we can grow and then expel living beings from our own bodies–MULTIPLE TIMES–we have a depth of strength and power that we need to embrace and set free. Women are socialized to accept burdens silently and bear pain without complaining. Well if that’s the deal, then we better be allowed to enjoy the FUCK out of the good things in life.
So notice the good stuff and turn it up to 11. Wear the red lipstick that you’re not sure about. Hug generously. Give someone a genuine compliment. When someone compliments you, don’t downplay it–believe them! Wave in the driver who wants to merge. Put whipped cream on top. And crank the fucking tunes in your car and SING.
Severe exhaustion is real, and prolonged stress can cause real mental and physical damage. If you are experiencing feelings of anxiety or depression, seek help from a physician, mental health professional or social worker. If you are experiencing suicide-related thoughts, help is available 24/7 at Talk Suicide Canada (1-833-456-4566). Indigenous people can also access services at 1-855-242-3310 (toll-free) in English, French, Cree, Ojibway and Inuktitut. You are not alone.