burning out and rising up

on a gift from acceptance

Hi friends,

First of all, thank you for being here and waiting for me to regularly publish again on Substack. I’ve been struggling with managing my energy for a while now and, if I’m being completely honest, I wasn't sure if I’d ever create content again, let alone write.

My book is one of my top five life accomplishments, but over the last year since its publication, even looking at it has brought up anxiety and even some despair. I couldn’t understand why, but it kept me from using my social media platforms. I know that sounds heavy, but that’s a peek into how I felt.

There was no reason to feel that way because my book is brilliant. It’s needed in every teacher training course and with all professionals supporting neurodivergence in children. Parents of children with neurodivergence could use it too. There’s no book like it. I know that. I also know it’s necessary, especially in our current political climate. So why was I stuck on how to share about it? Why did I feel so much resistance towards engaging with it?

There’s a difference between being seen and being known. On social media, I’m seen carefully crafted and constructed through the content of my platforms. My life and ideas are squeezed into tiny squares as if that’s all there is to me. But a book? My book? You get to see a glimpse into how flawed, how different and how imperfect I really am. Perhaps I won’t fit your version of me I’ve helped create, because now you know too much. Maybe you’ll see how burnt out I really am and how I don’t have it all together.

what i mean when I talk about ocd

One thing I believe with complete certainty is that autistic burnout is its own kind of burnout. Not only because of the havoc it creates in your life but also because of the wreckage it leaves behind. You don’t come out of it like you went in. (Well, I didn’t come out of it the same anyway. Who am I kidding?! I’m not even out of it yet.)

I’m better than I have been in a long time, but it’s a process like anything else. I’m not the same person who started writing on Instagram six years ago. I certainly don’t have the same skills, stamina and mental clarity. Everything feels different and that’s because it is. I’m learning to be ok with that. This new normal is full of lessons I’m still learning and will probably take a lifetime to master.

We talk a lot about the skills we lose as we go through serious bouts of (autistic) burnout, but we rarely talk about the ones we’re often forced to gain. Like when we learn we must;

• ask for help more often (and before we’re at a crisis point)

• prepare for our sensory needs as if we’re going to have some (rather than struggle later or never bother to consider them at all)

• plan to do one task in the day, break that one thing down into smaller steps so that there’s even less to do (instead of picking three main things or planning a full day)

• plan our day to include basic life maintenance like showers, brushing teeth, making meals etc, realising that the more we do of these, the harder it is to do our one big task of the day (rather than never considering these life tasks as the energy drains they actually are!)

• planning to attend social events includes the travel time and demands, knowing the menu in advance, preparing for sensory needs and the amount of necessary recovery time before and after (rather than “socialising”, hoping for the best and left wondering why everyone and everything is so irritating, exhausting and overwhelming for days afterwards)

• say “no”, say “no” often and know that “no” can be a complete sentence (rather than making “yes” the go-to answer and struggling for days afterwards)

• sit in the discomfort of all that we must change for ourselves while learning others may not like it or get why we’re being so particular now (rather than engaging because everyone else is and we can’t miss out)

• pick up on the subtle signs of burnout creeping back in (rather than being surprised every time we feel down and exhausted as our ability to say “no” decreases)

• prepare our personal and work spaces for our needs as much as possible (rather than keep clothing, lighting and decor because everyone else has it, even though it makes us feel sensory unsafe)

• work smarter, not harder, which often means sticking close to the job description, saying no to extra work, extra socialising and being OK with disappointing others (rather than doing all the things in the hope that we’ll prove we’re capable even when we’re different)

• accept that some tasks or skills previously done with ease might need more support now (rather than beating ourselves up for our inability to do what we used to, only making ourselves feel less empowered to make change and ask for help)

For me, burnout recovery has been (and continues to be), a hard lesson in acceptance. Acceptance that things weren’t always easier before, I almost destroyed myself in my attempts to cope. Acceptance for how I used people, processes and substances that kept me from being the kind of person I knew I could be. Acceptance that if I wanted to make changes, I needed to be brave enough to love myself and finally put myself first.

Each time I allow a little more space for acceptance, I give myself permission to reconnect to more of the perfectly imperfectness of my humanity.

perfectly imperfect

Acceptance is hard. We want things to go the way we expect. But with acceptance, we finally choose to see things as they really are. That initial awareness sucks at first, but in the end, it becomes a pretty good place to be. It’s as if acceptance permits us to take actions based on what we innately know best supports us. Perhaps most importantly, acceptance reminds us that being human living in our moment, is truly enough. We don’t have to burn ourselves into the ground to fit into moulds never crafted for our survival.

Burnout comes when we’ve learned not to see ourselves as human beings but as human resources designed to be used by society til depletion in exchange for promises of safety, success or belonging. But acceptance moves us closer to recognising that we can give ourselves all these things. And when we do, we support others in their quest for the same.

To burnout, something had to set us on fire. Rising from the ashes happens when we accept who we are and trust we have everything to keep ourselves warm. What are you learning to accept about yourself in your journey of understanding your neurodivergence?

With love and gratitude,

SC xo

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