Breaking the Burnout Cycle: Menopause, Wellness, and the Power of Seeking Help
[Estimated reading time: 4 minutes]
This month I’m launching a 4-part series on burnout for Go Long. Take a look around you. At least in my network, burnout is very pervasive, including clients, former colleagues, friends and family. With my firsthand experience with burnout from multiple angles, I know that once you’re in a state of burnout, it becomes very difficult to take care of yourself. Burnout creeps on you in a very insidious way. And when it starts to rage, you can feel powerless. Getting to burnout varies depending on your circumstances, but the costs are generally the same - expensive.
Credit: PeopleImages
When I got the job I didn’t think I could have
Back in the mid-90s, I was an Analyst at Morgan Stanley. I was so proud to be there. I graduated from a state school that had less than a handful of alums working there, if at all. I snail mailed my CV with a cover letter to a general address. Somehow my envelope got picked up and the rest was history. Getting a job at a blue-chip investment bank changed what was possible for me.
I can remember having such imposter syndrome. Of course, it wasn’t called that back then. I was always thinking everyone else went to a better school, they were more fluent in the language of Wall Street, etc.
I commuted from my parents’ house on Long Island that first year in ‘93. It was rough. I went from a life where I would get home at 5am in the morning from partying with my friends from college to my new life where I now needed to wake up at 5am to catch the 6:01am train to work. I was consumed with making a positive impression to compensate for what I didn’t think I had. On an early day, I got home from work at around 7pm. I would have dinner, watch some TV and crash. Rinse and repeat, except on Thursday and on Friday nights. Ooof.
When I thought things would get easier
I progressed to a more challenging role and moved into Manhattan at the same time. Cool, I thought. I get 2 ½ hours of my life back per day because my commute went from 90 minutes door-to-door to 15 minutes! I can exercise now. Cool. But the lure of work remained as I wanted to continue to progress. Moving up was the name of the game. What else can I do to prove I am worthy of that next step?
Of course I was dealing with my fair share of demeaning tasks. I’m not talking about making photocopies (dating myself). I’m talking about dealing with an executive who wanted help picking out lingerie for his wife. Or being “volun-told” to go to a strip club with the guys. How about “can you pick up my dry cleaning because I’m stuck in meetings?” One of my direct reports told me that an exec told her he was checking out her legs during her interview. I also had to now deal with that escalation and blowback in the midst of being crushed at work.
But my thought the whole time was “They will not break me. I will show them.”
At around the 2-year mark, I had taken on a fair amount of responsibility because my boss was on assignment in London for a couple of months. So now I’m working around 90 hours a week regularly. Before this, it was around 80 hours per week. Going in on the weekends was a regular thing. Late nights were a regular thing. Going out with colleagues or friends after working late was a regular thing. Sleep was not a regular thing. Exercise even less so.
Of course, I knew I was tired. But I was living the dream. I was a middle-class kid from Long Island who somehow made it to Wall Street via a little known state university. Who was I to complain about being tired? Isn’t that what your 20s are for? Suck it up! I’m living the dream, right? What I didn’t realize at the time was that my identity and my job became one. It’s so easy to see in hindsight, but it's clear as mud when you’re going through it.
When burnout hit me in the face
I was so exhausted by the time Friday nights came around. I would make plans to go out with friends and repeatedly cancel on them. One time I was so determined not to cancel, but was still so tired, that during dinner, I literally fell asleep in my mashed potatoes. My nose made actual contact with the mashed potatoes. Fortunately no social media at that point.
Yes, you are allowed to laugh. It’s funny. And sad and pathetic. But funny. To her credit, she said she now understood how exhausted I was but also mentioned something about taking better care of myself. I said, “yeah, yeah, I know” and then proceeded to do the same behaviors over and over and over and over….
Around July 4th of that year, I went out to my folks house for the weekend. They had an annual party and I needed a change of scenery. In the middle of the party, Harv (aka Dad) pulled me aside to the front of the house and said, “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you don’t look good. Something needs to change. I’m worried about you.” I nodded and told him that I’m almost at the end of this tough stretch. I’d be able to focus on myself again. “Dad, it’s going to be OK. I always figure things out.”
The consequences of my burnout
Well I was right. I did figure things out. Only after I self-combusted. My decision making at work wasn’t as crisp. I made some bad calls. My boss came back from London and something blew up on a task I was responsible for. She actually brought me outside of the office to explain what went down and how the mistake was mine, and mine alone.
I experienced something I never had before. I literally just started shaking uncontrollably. I was fighting back tears and I didn’t even know what the fuck was happening. Instead of focusing on why I was having such an adverse reaction to the feedback, I was only fixating on “Good-bye promotion. Good-bye future. I’m getting fired. FUCKKKKKKK!!!!!”
A bit overdramatic? Yep. None of those things happened. I got my ass handed to me and rightfully so. Once I was able to calm down from everything after taking the rest of the week off, I realized where I needed to take more ownership over my own actions. I also needed to figure out a way to disentangle my identity from my job. I wouldn’t say the longer hours stopped completely, but I did start making more time for myself by going to the gym. That was a start.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget that feeling of helplessness and loneliness in that moment sitting with my boss, who was trying to help me at the time. I just felt so raw and fried that the concept of asking for help seemed so foreign. Plus as a woman on Wall Street, vulnerability of any kind was not really an option. Being soft was for someone else? That wasn’t me.
Will I grow from this experience?
But eventually you learn that you don’t have to be pushing all of the time. You don’t need the adrenaline rush all of the time. You think you do, but you don’t. And you certainly don’t have to prove anything to anyone. All you can do is do your best to learn and to grow from the experience.
Unfortunately, it would take me a few more times to really learn this. In next week’s post, I’ll talk about how two major events impacting Wall Street forced me to realize more change was needed.
Remember. Hope is not a strategy. Let’s get some time on the calendar and chat about how Go Long can help you.