Burn Out

24 February 2019

"This past week I was involved in a training session on PFA - Psychological First Aid. One of the key topics we discussed was on resilience, or as I like to call it, "Bounce Backiness." As a whole, people are resilient. The vast majority of us have the capacity to overcome some pretty disastrous and traumatic situations. Though it's completely normal to experience a period of trauma and distress following a traumatic event, with the right resources we seem to be able to pull ourselves together and experience a resolution of symptoms around the 12 week mark. By this time we've had a chance to process our thoughts, feelings, emotions, the trauma itself, and come back to our "normal" self, stronger than before. This is resilience - our ability to bounce back when things get you down (no matter how big or how small).

Aid workers are known for their resilience. They live in some pretty rough conditions - war-torn countries, places without running water, electricity, poor/no access to fruits and vegetables, villages only accessible by planes that come 'round once a week, or places where security concerns are high and your freedom of movement is severely restricted (often being unable to leave your compound). Yet despite all this, they carry on because they know they are working to reduce suffering and bring life-saving care to those who need it, and often times, rely on it.

But this work is not easy. It's not galmourous. And it's never-ending. Which can become a problem.

1 July 2019

(The above was written 5 months ago...

Below is a continuation of the same post, which was interrupted at the time by a bit of "life circumstances".)

Burn out seems to be so common amongst humanitarian workers that it's often wondered if "burnout" should be considered part of the job description. We talk about it loads before arriving in-country. We have entire briefing sessions on managing stress and preventing burnout not only in our pre-departure briefing, but in our interviews and pre-hire training sessions. We talk about how we currently manage stress, brainstorm ideas on various methods of stress management while in our home countries, and then how we can adapt that to a situation where we may be confined to our compounds in a high security situation, unable to go outside, with limited (or no) access to the internet, and in isolated conditions. There's surprisingly a lot you can do in those less than ideal situations that can become your daily life for months on end. You prepare for those situations mentally and emotionally. You make sure you have someone back home that you can rely on to be "your person" - someone who's praying for you, who can send you care packages (if the mail system and security situation allow), and who you can talk to frequently. You make sure you stock up your hard drive full of movies and photos from home, pack a couple of good books, a journal, and a string of twinkle lights (to make your small, dreary room feel a little more homey). Then you run through all the advice you've received, or read about, beforehand - manage your work hours, be diligent with leaving the office at a reasonable hour, make sure you take your weekends, get yourself into a healthy routine, make sure you exercise (if only jail house style workouts in your room), and eat healthy.

And then you think: "Alright, I got this. This is what I want to do. This is what I'm meant to do. I'm not going to burn out. I know how to set boundaries. I don't get stressed out. It's not going to happen to me. I got this."

But then you arrive in country, and slowly everything changes.

It's hard to prepare for life in-country. No matter how many times you read over the country profile you received in your briefing package, research the customs, culture, and language, talk to others who have been there, or at least in similar roles, it's still a bit of a slap in the face. Moving somewhere for an extended period of time is not the same as going on a "missions trip" to a couple of weeks to provide a service of some type. Yes you may experience culture shock, the hours may be long, and you may not get much of a break... but you also know it's only for 2-4 weeks. You can do anything for a couple of weeks. In fact, you could probably continue 14 hour work days, 6-7 days/week for a couple of months (which is what some of those working on "first-in" disaster response teams do. But there's also a reason why their contracts rarely extend past 3 months.

At that pace, you burn out.

It's extremely difficult to sustain that kind of lifestyle for months and months on end. And no matter how many movies you may try to watch, or books you attempt to get through, when you push yourself to that edge - when 14 hour work days become the norm (and you're 9 months in), when the only way you really know it's the weekend is because your national staff aren't in the office with you, when your idea of healthy eating becomes yet another bowl or pasta or ramen (but this time you've added whatever vegetable you could scrounge out of the team fridge), and even 3 week R&Rs don't refresh you... it gets to you. That thing you've been denying could happen to you has finally crept up.

It's real.

It exists.

And try as you might to escape that being your reality, there's a point in time when (through your tears and exhaustion) you have to acknowledge that the burn out is real... and it's now part of your job description.

It's funny, because humanitarian workers can be quite resilient. We're able to work through and in some pretty horrifying conditions without blinking an eye. We can spend all day walking through a refugee camp, face-to-face with dust-filled, naked kids running around, splashing in a muddy slew, hearing stories of lives left behind, staring at row after row of bamboo and tarpaulin houses, packed one on top of the other, watching the men attempt to fix up the latest leak in their roof, while the women walk along uneven, garbage-filled, mud pathways towards the foul-smelling water tap where they'll wash mound after mound of dirty laundry by hard. Hard labour. Intense conditions. And then later that night while their whole family is laying cramped in their tiny one room home attempting to fend off mosquitos, cockroaches, and afraid to use the toilet in the dark due to the potential of being raped or kidnapped, we'll somehow be out at our own local watering hole - dancing to Shakira in a small cramped bar, throwing back a Hunter beer, and attempting to fend off drunk men on the dance floor.

What a contrast.

Yet, you do what you have to do to survive. It's not that we don't care. I mean, we obviously wouldn't be out there, working for peanuts, if we didn't truly believe in the work we were doing. You just have to do what you have to do to shut off... to attempt to keep burn out at bay.

But when it sneaks up on you, you need to address it.

People experience burn out in many different ways:

- cynicism

- frustration

- disillusionment

- poor sleep

- increased/excessive alcohol use

- feelings of guilt

- social withdrawal

- a sense of guilt

- crying

- chain smoking

- anger

I remember the exact moment it came down with full force on me. I hadn't been myself for weeks. I just seemed to care a bit less. In general I wasn't the most social with my team (but that's because I need time to myself after being "on" all day), but I'd become even less social, avoiding group situations whenever possible. And people were starting to notice. My roommate, the team Mama, took me aside one day, sat me down, and asked me how I was doing. And that's when I lost it. I cried and cried. I shared everything that had been weighing down on me - the struggles, the exhaustion, the frustration - it all came out. It was cathartic in a way. I felt better after. I knew I was burned out. I knew I had to admit it. But I also knew that I needed to start making a change or I wasn't going to last. I could easily start heading down the long, dark path that spits out jaded, angry aid workers who either quit the field altogether, or who end up being those people who just do the work as nothing more than a job and very clearly lack the compassion and heart needed for this line of work.

I didn't want to be either of those people. I didn't want to become someone I didn't recognize. Someone doing this for the wrong reason, with the wrong frame of mind, or with a jaded heart. I knew I needed to make a change. I didn't know what to do, or how to go about doing it. But I knew that it needed to be done.

But you know what the amazing thing is? God knows. God knows what I need before I even realize that I need help. He can take any situation, no matter how horrible, shameful, or disgusting it may be, and He can use it to bring forth light.

Shortly after I had my "burn out breakdown" (for lack of a better word), God stepped in. I suddenly, and unexpectedly, found myself faced with a family situation that needed all of my attention. I was now faced with a situation that required me to make a huge decision - to stay... or to go.

Ultimately, my family is first and foremost. Above all, they come first.

So instead of finishing up the last 2 months of my contract, I made the decision to come home early. Though at the time I couldn't see it, and I really struggled with leaving... I can clearly see now, 2 months later, how God intervened in that whole process. He took a less-than-ideal situation, and used it for for greater than I ever would have thought. Despite how hard it was to say good-bye to my team with such short notice, I have no doubt in my mind that coming home was the right decision... for me, and for my family.

Even being home I still think about life over there - everything, and everyone I left behind. It's difficult. It's still in my heart. And the work will still be a part of my life. And one day soon I hope to be back... and wherever in the world God has planned for me, I'll be there.

-

However, prior to coming home, my parents and I decided to go ahead with a previously booked trip to Portugal (which was supposed to have been my R&R). So stayed tuned for more on Portugal in the springtime.