The dreaded basics

Burnout recovery is a longer and more boring road than we'd like it to be, but trudge-trudge-trudging along is the only way

You might think that because I’m not “working” right now I sit around and eat bon bons in my lingerie. That’s kind of what I pictured not working would be like, when I was working.

How do I actually spend my days? I maintain two volunteer positions, go to doctors, write this Substack, self-publicize my first book, and spend a lot of time painting rooms in our farmhouse that have needed a fresh coat since we moved in years ago…and when I slow down too much (perhaps due to cold and sloppy weather, as this past weekend) I start crying for no precise reason. It’s not much of a party.

I’ve had more supposed white space for the past six months than ever before. It seems like I should have plenty of time to hang out with friends, relax, refresh my ukulele skills, and take up weird new hobbies. It seems like I should finally get bored.

On the contrary, I’ve managed to keep myself way too busy. It’s been interesting, if troubling, to learn that staying too busy is a personality trait, rather than something I can blame on any particular job or circumstance.

A lot of my hustle and bustle lately is shockingly mundane. One day in late December, when I felt stressed that I’d only accomplished about half of my to-do list, I tried to recap what I’d done for the previous 48 hour. Here’s what I noted:

• I slept for 8-9 hours each night and lay in bed snuggling my man for another hour

• I walked 13k steps per day, which at my pace took a good couple of hours

• I did yoga each day, which cost me another hour

• I sat down to dinner with Chris, where we talked for almost two hours

• I ran a couple of errands in town, which took a good deal of time because I can’t drive and went on foot

• I did two loads of laundry and folded them

• I answered correspondence for about an hour a day

• I took a two-hour bath one night

• I volunteered for a crisis text line two hours each morning

• I spent the entire rest of my time cooking!!!

That’s right. The bulk of my unsexy days “off” are spent simmering lentils, baking muesli, roasting butternut squash for quinoa salad, and sautéing shrimp for stir fry. On the night before I did this little inventory, I’d served up an Indian Fiesta for dinner of dal, palak paneer (with homemade paneer), roast potatoes, and turmeric rice. The next day, I whipped up some gluten-free naan to eat with lefties. Then Chris wanted crackers, so I made my favorite rustic seed ones (thanks for another perfect recipe, Bojon Gourmet!) When I craved dessert, I threw together some browned butter and maple sugar snickerdoodles with dark chocolate chunks, made friendly to my gluten sensitivity with a mixture of oat and einkorn flours.

I sat there tallying up the things I’d prepped and cooked in only 48 hours time, astonished. So that’s where all my white space goes. It’s apparently very time consuming to nourish my body with healthy, home-cooked food.

By contrast, right before my seizure diagnosis and first severe burnout, I didn’t have time to cook my own food more than once or twice a week. I was constantly texting with clients or one of my thirty team members while grabbing to-go meals at cafes en route to the metro, or while stuffing my face during the three minutes I sat perched on a break-room stool between clients. I was on a steady croissant-a-day diet at my favorite coffee shop on the Hill, and I’d eat that croissant while writing research papers for my master’s program in Organization Development. Feeding myself was literally the last priority, something to be multitasked around everything else. I distinctly remember the few times I got the Dutch oven out and made Moroccan stew or roasted a Sunday chicken—because those occasions were a big deal. I certainly wasn’t watching gluten yet, or worrying about added sugar. If I was tired, I drank more coffee. Sometimes, I didn’t eat dinner until 10 p.m. after a long shift, and I washed most of those late-night meals down with a Manhattan cocktail.

I know from traveling a lot last month how dependent my brain and body have become on my new, more mindful routine. When that routine gets shaken by travel, and I eat at restaurants two meals a day for five days straight, I start gaining weight and feel my heart failure flare up as breath gets harder to manufacture when walking around. I actually brought my homemade, sugar-free muesli packed with magnesium-rich seeds on every trip last month. I joke that I’m addicted to it…but maybe I’m not joking. My brain feels different when I skip the muesli—especially when I replace it with a sugary gluten-free banana bread from a Wilmington, NC coffee shop.

My routine might, fairly, be called rigid. Just ask Chris what happens if dinner is delayed past 6 p.m. Once you’ve experienced the impact to my body and mind, it isn’t something you want to see again. We really just don’t let that happen anymore.

I spend a lot on food, especially produce and local, humanely-raised meat. I still spend nowhere near what I did on the restaurants of Northern Virgina and D.C. leading up to burnout. The real cost of taking good care of myself isn’t money, it’s time. It’s so, so expensive in terms of time to think about what to eat, procure healthy ingredients, cook them in the kitchen, and then sit down at an actual dinner table with a metal knife and fork to savor the products of my labor with someone I love.

Traveling last month was fun in many ways. I’m also relieved to return to my boring routine because it’s proven to me time and time again that I am not a low-maintenance machine. None of us are. As Cait Donovan explained in a recent FRIED Podcast episode, there’s no quick fix for burnout. The same goes for other system-wide health problems and chronic illnesses. You have to actually do the work, day in and day out, of putting your health first. Again and again, you have to choose health over all the other competing priorities. There are so many tiny decisions that go into that, and everyone’s successful routine will look a little bit different. I guarantee that it will be time-consuming and unsexy-sounding when you find your equivalent of my muesli addiction and daily 4-mile walks on the Greenway.

I’m at the point in my recovery where I’m starting to accept my limitations and rigidity. I’ll never again be someone who can throw back a few glasses of wine and still be smiling. I’ll never again be someone who can perform on lack of sleep. I’ll never again be someone who can eat out for a week and retain full cognitive function. If I push myself too hard or try to go to bed too late, I’ll start shaking and stumbling. My body keeps me on a rather tight leash. But I’m committed to doing whatever my body needs instead of judging it for needing those things.

Now and then, I fall off the bandwagon before I notice what’s happening. I don’t drink enough water for a couple days, I stay up late on social media, or I eat too many cookies. It immediately becomes harder to hear my body’s protests—until they get louder, and I get a migraine or am otherwise stopped in my tracks. For a while after each slip-up, I feel like shit. There’s actually a great tool, if you’re temporarily too jacked up to do a proper body scan. It’s called “Your Feel Like Shit” and it will handhold you to whatever you need to start feeling better, right now.

It’s January, and I didn’t add a resolution to my already-full plate. I did commission my annual word-of-the-year necklace. This year, my word is “soften.” This idea was inspired by a friend who asked me where I can soften. I’ve thought about that a lot lately. I don’t think I’d be wise to soften my rigid, boring, health-bearing routine. Old Lauren would often eschew the basics in preference for exciting, lofty goals. Now, I soften towards myself for needing what I need.

The basics may be dreadfully dull, but they are necessary. Time and again, I find that they really are enough to make me feel better.

Word-of-the-year necklace for 2024

Happy New Year, readers! Best of luck finding and walking your own boring, time-consuming path towards better health. I wish for you in 2024 a deeper joy than anything quick fixes, caffeine jolts, and sugar highs can provide.