The last week in February, just as we felt the early promise of spring, my symptoms began.
I could not concentrate. I would sleep a solid 9 hours only to wake up drained, dragging myself out of bed. Sitting in front of my laptop in my living room, where my makeshift desk had been since the earliest days of the pandemic, I’d force myself to care about my job (my lovely job in marketing, which I normally adore). By 2 pm, I’d need a nap.
I was apathetic, fatigued, unproductive, ineffective, and most of all – so very tired.
My doctor recommended bloodwork, and I chose the full gamut – paying an extra $35 to test my vitamin D levels (a coworker had shared that his extreme fatigue was due to dangerously low vitamin D, and I was convinced I was the same). Everything came back normal – I was in excellent physical health.
I was quite familiar with burnout, an “occupational phenomenon” the World Health Organization recognizes as feelings of depletion, exhaustion, and reduced professional efficacy, because I had been here before.
Years ago, after months of working 100-hour weeks launching my own not-for-profit, I faced financial ruin, sleepless nights, and unimaginable stress, and soon, I could not get off the couch. This went on for months until somehow it fixed itself.
And while ‘reduced professional efficacy’ described exactly what was happening, I understood burnout to be related to stress. But I wasn’t stressed. My workplace was extremely understanding, my coworkers wonderful, and my workload never anything but manageable. In short, I’d never been less stressed.
Could it be pandemic-related? As an extrovert, I missed everything about my old life. Dropping my children at school and chatting with the parents.
Stopping for a coffee before heading off to work, where I caught up with my coworkers, interacting throughout the day on everything work and life-related. After nearly a year at home, I was dismayed, and my city was heading into a third wave with vaccines few and far between. Soon my kids were back at home online learning and everything felt worse than ever.
A bit of research told me it was most definitely Covid-19 burnout (yep, it’s a thing). Burnout is tough, as it is easy to get and extremely hard to fix. Experts recommend reducing stress, setting clear work/life boundaries, changing up our scenery, and getting out. All great ideas – but fully emersed in the third wave of a pandemic – next to impossible.
For my part, I moved my workstation to a different location (out in the insulated shed in our backyard – which is a temporary situation at best, but it increased my commute from 4 seconds to a whopping 25 seconds, and most importantly, helped separate my work and my life).
The spring weather meant that I could get outside more, and I began trying to have more face-to-face video calls. While there is no silver bullet, I celebrate the days where I do not need a nap and applaud myself for the little victories like getting a work task finished.
Setting firm boundaries was key for me, as while I spoke to people less, I sought information sources more. I turned to my social feeds and news articles to connect with the world, which brought so much negativity.
Minimizing my time on these outlets was helpful. I also began volunteering with an organization that promotes Zoom calls and joined a book club that begins in May.
Overall, bit by bit, I’m improving.
Perhaps the biggest takeaway for me, and others, is that things are not normal, and we cannot expect ourselves to cope as though it were.
Some of us are experiencing extreme hardships (getting the virus, loved ones dying from it, front-line workers exposing themselves every day), and those of us lucky enough to work from home and minimize our physical risk are suffering mentally.
To use a well-worn covid cliché: we are all in this together, facing the same storm. We may have different tools, but we are facing it nonetheless. We need to be patient and show ourselves a little kindness.
