“I’m completely burned out.”
‘Completely’ got my attention. Empty . . . spent . . . no longer with outstretched hands . . . -- this social worker had nothing left to give.
She was carrying a heavy case load of cocaine-abusing women who lived in the most violent section of
The social worker was not alone. Just minutes into our first conversation, Emmalee -- an exceptional neonatologist who was the project’s principal investigator -- made it clear she was far beneath the glitter often associated with high-achieving academic physicians. She had neither time for nor interest in soft platitudes. She knew better and intended to determine quickly if I did.
“Dr. Brown, I am losing the vision for what we are doing. I am stumbling as a leader. My staff is floundering. I am exhausted. Can you make a difference?”
In the late-1980s and early in her career, Emmalee focused on the alarming number of babies being admitted to the NICU she attended who tested positive for cocaine. When discharged, their mothers took them home to an inner-city wasteland depressed by grinding poverty, organized around an illicit drug ‘industry’, devastated by sexually transmitted disease epidemics.
Fifteen months into the project’s five-year funding cycle, two medical school collaborators had abandoned Emmalee’s leadership team. Hurricane Andrew had slammed
Working with Emmalee and her staff over the next several years as the project’s internal evaluator as well as ethics educator shook my foundations. Going to and being present with the 120 enrolled mothers who had been toughened by surviving such oppressive/threatening circumstances forced our biases/fears into the open and carried a real element of personal danger. We regrouped frequently to review each mother’s progress, to refresh our resolve, and to refocus our efforts around six mission/purpose questions – i.e., What sort of project are we? . . . What are our roles on the team? . . . For whom do we do what we do? . . . What values guide what we do? . . . What are our (and each mother’s) objectives? . . . How do we (and the mothers) define ‘progress’/‘success’?
Did you notice the ‘re-‘ words in that paragraph? Many more are imbedded in our discourse – e.g., revise . . . replenish . . . replete . . . recharge . . . rejuvenate . . . rekindle . . . remind . . . require . . . receive . . . reset . . . reverse . . . revitalize . . . reinvigorate . . . recalibrate . . . rehabilitate . . . restore . . . remember . . . recall . . . remake . . . return . . . retool . . . reconsider . . . renew . . . request . . . repeat . . . recreate . . . report . . . remain . . . repair . . . respect . . . .
Being ‘completely burned out’ is the devastating extremity of a protracted deterioration that requires radical (i.e., to the root) interventions if a caregiver has any chance to recover.
When we say or hear “I’m completely burned out”, we should listen to the tone – lament? frustration? anger? fatigue? defeat? . . .? -- and we should listen for the ‘re-‘ words. Recovery is still possible as long as we are using ‘re-‘ words.
Think about it. Perhaps talk to a coworker.
