Exhaustion and baggage

I am exhausted.

Mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually. I am tired in my bones and my eyes, my heart and my head.

I was traveling this past weekend, visiting my best friend Jenn in New York. When I visit, we do a lot of nothing together, which honestly is the most amazing thing in the world. We eat, play with her daughter, maybe get a pedicure…and sit on the couch. Bliss.

I was tired when I flew there on Friday, and fell asleep on the plane while trying to read. We went out to dinner with her husband that night, had some amazing sushi (and possibly one more drink than I should have), and by 10pm I was practically falling asleep on the subway ride back to their apartment. On Saturday, I fell asleep on her couch at 1 in the afternoon. On Sunday, I fell half-asleep while getting a pedicure. On Monday, predictably, I fell asleep on the flight back home.

We didn’t do anything strenuous while I was there. And I probably got more sleep than I do in my own bed, thanks to not having to walk a dog or get up at 5:30 to have time to myself before the kids start invading my space. My weekend in NY was the most relaxed I’ve felt since my solo week in the mountains at the end of last year.

And yet. I am exhausted.

Or maybe it’s not a “yet,” but a “because?”

I slowed down for a bit while I was visiting Jenn. There were no meetings, schedules, responsibilities, obligations. I was off the hook with everyone, including myself. It’s like…you know how when you’re always in constant motion, you don’t know how tired you are until you stop, and then it smacks you in the face like really potent wasabi? Or how you can work for three weeks straight and feel fine, but the minute you take a break you get sick? It’s the universe’s way of telling you you need to get off the productivity conveyor belt more often and let yourself take a goddamn break.

I took that break, and now I am more exhausted than before, which probably means I didn’t take a long enough break to really be restorative. It was like one of those tiny spoons they give you to sample ice cream flavors before you decide which one you actually want to get. Just a taste…and now I need more.

Something about this exhaustion also feels like it goes beyond physical tiredness, though. There’s an emotional component to it. In the weekly Empathy Standup I’m part of on Wednesday mornings, we do a “baggage and energy” inventory of the things that are weighing us down right now, and the things that are giving us life. Baggage, as we describe it, can come from global, cultural, community, or individual sources—different specifics, same potential weight. The baggage we’re carrying at any given time impacts how we’re showing up in the world, both for ourselves and for others.

Sketch from the Empathy Decathlon Playbook, by the Empathy Lab

When I fly with literal baggage, my goal is always to pack as little as possible so that I don’t have to check anything. More freedom, less risk of something getting lost. I am not nearly as neat and tidy with my emotional baggage. Not only do I carry a lot of my own shit, I also tend to attract other people’s shit on top of it. I am like the lint trap of emotional baggage. I collect everything and hardly ever get cleaned out.

That’s where I feel like I’m sitting this morning. In the lint trap. My team at work is feeling burned out, and I’m carrying the weight of helping them all through it. My daughter is struggling a bit with her ADHD, and having some very big tween emotions in general, and I am her person (she does have a therapist, but I believe a lot of moms become unofficial therapists to their kids, too, which means we actually are working three full-time jobs…but that’s another post). My husband and I are not feeling super connected right now, and there are some things that are weighing on me pretty heavily there. It’s a lot to carry.

Then there’s the work I’ve been doing on myself. All the reading, and learning, and coaching, and self-development. And creating this website. Today that feels like baggage, too. It’s not that I don’t want to be doing it, but I am just too freaking exhausted to be able to do it wholeheartedly. I know I’m wading into dangerous territory when some of my favorite things—like my morning reading and dog walk—start to feel like a burden.

I’ve noticed some of my old thought patterns popping up. I made a cheesecake for my husband’s birthday tonight, and after we celebrated, I caught myself thinking about how to balance the extra calories out tomorrow. THAT is a slippery slope for me. I will say, though, I am very proud of myself for noticing that, and for consciously steering myself away from the edge.

I know I need rest. REAL rest, like the kind where you are completely unplugged and alone. I have only experienced that once: the aforementioned week I spent by myself in the mountains this past December. And that was only possible because my kids were with my in-laws, and my husband was traveling for work. In normal life, wives and moms and busy career-women don’t get time to do nothing. But if I don’t find time to do nothing, I won’t actually be able to do anything.

It’s a conundrum.

So for now I will just be exhausted. I will keep writing here because it’s the one thing that I seem to be able to muster any enthusiasm for. I will try to steal a quick nap in between meetings but ultimately end up on Slack solving more problems for other people. I will resent having to make dinner every night and plan all of the kids’ playdates. I will spend an hour at bedtime every night counseling my daughter because she needs me. Ultimately, I will resent, that, too.

I am exhausted. Aren’t we all?