Burnout, in 3 acts

An essay on surviving

Once a month I write a little personal essay for paid subscribers. This month’s essay is looking at three different times I have experienced burnout in my life: in college, postpartum, and just the other day. Thank you so much to everyone who has already supported this newsletter—without you, I couldn’t keep doing this! If you’d like to support the work we are doing and join our community, we would love to have you. 

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At the time this picture was taken, I was so filled with dread I could barely eat

1.

I am in my dorm room, in my sophomore year. Everything had changed and I didn’t know how it happened. My roommate from freshman year had become my best friend, but she had transferred to a cheaper community college. My other best friend told me we couldn’t be best friends anymore, that I was too jealous. The sort-of-mean boy I had been flirting with had told me he didn’t think we would be a good couple. One of my other few friends had just been kicked out of the college for being gay. I was surrounded by Pentecostal kids in the bright southern California sun, but I couldn’t escape this feeling of winter inside of me.

Something started to happen to me every evening. As the sun went down, I would feel the dread creep up within me. As soon as it was dark, I couldn’t leave my room. I would sit cross-legged in front of the full length mirrors that served as sliding closet doors. Everything outside my room felt terrifying—a dark world full of people who could reject me, and places I felt I didn’t belong. I would watch my reflection as tears fell down my face. I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t know what was happening to me.