In late 1980, the girl is hanging out with friends, playing cards around a rectangular two-level coffee table. There are bowls of half-eaten chips, cans of soda and hamburger wrappers. A feathered roach clip rests on the table beside an amber-coloured ashtray packed with burnt tobacco, cigarette butts, and roaches from the hashish and marijuana they have consumed. A thin haze of smoke fills the room, and the curtains are closed. The room walls are painted red; the sun’s reflection hits the curtains and turns black. Bob Seger sings a song about a lonesome highway, and there is counting: 15 for 2, 15, 4, pair for 6. The conversation is inattentive and limited to “It’s your crib” and “Pass me that.” Her mouth is dry, and she has the occasional bout of paranoia that is easily overcome. It’s 2 pm, and she is in her pyjamas. She feels dull and slow-moving; she is burned out. She needs eight to ten hours of sleep and an orange.
It’s 2020, and the girl is sitting in an office in an 80-year-old heritage house. The room smells of antiseptic with undertones of artificial fragrance contained in soaps and cleaners. The room lacks balance with a mix of contemporary office meets IKEA dining. The pine chest and rocking chair in the corner have belonged to her for 32 years. A plush pink couch rests awkwardly against a stained-glass window. It doesn’t fit because it is rounded. The desk is laminate-rich brown with two computer monitors; the computer is pinging, the phone is ringing, and another one is buzzing; there is a continuous flow of crucial information. A surgical mask covering her dry, itchy face smells off, so she carefully replaces it while avoiding contamination.
If one were to look closely at her eyes, they would notice she is frantic. If they listened to her talk, they would hear she was having difficulty formulating a thought. Physical anxiety hits her at the slightest stressors, and she can’t escape the constant worrying. She listens to an endless loop of stories in her head, becoming paranoid as she fights back tears. She is mentally and emotionally exhausted and wonders if she has gone crazy. She is burned out. And without ten hours of sleep and a couple of 15-minute naps a day, she fears her body will eventually end up lying still anyway – in her bed, a hospital, or the morgue.
Burnout is real.
It is not a problem related to life management but an occupational syndrome caused by chronic stress (stress=pressure/resilience). Stress and pressure are often mistakenly used interchangeably but are very different. Stress is the internal response to external factors, and pressure is the external force of external factors. Stress is the body’s response to pressure caused by situations or life events. Pressure is the tension felt during moments perceived as uncertain and important. Pressure is not developed by stress; however, due to pressure, stress will develop.
Stress occurs when the point is reached where pressure has increased to the degree that resilience is damaged. Resilience is the ability to bounce back when experiencing stress. Pressure, stress, challenge and change are unavoidable; therefore, individuals need resilience to avoid being affected in pressure situations. Thus, resilience is central to well-being and is necessary to prevent burnout.
