burnout
This essay is written to my friends, and anyone else who may be feeling unhappy and resentful towards a job they otherwise love.
I’ve been working pretty much non-stop since 2009, and in that time I’ve not really experienced burnout. I’ve always been able to motivate myself in the bleakest of situations, excel under high amounts of pressure, and know just when to rest. I’ve always cared a little too much about work because I’ve equally been good at managing stress.
Last month though, I caught a burnout. I tried to help coworkers who were exhausted and demotivated, only to end up there myself. Add that to rigorous weeks of planning and the stress of organising Show & Tell, and for the first time, I hit rock bottom.
Until last week, I wouldn’t even have described it as burnout. But I stumbled on literature about the subject and the symptoms were awfully familiar: work overload, lack of control, insuffucient rewards, breakdown of community, abscence of fairness and value conflicts.
Looking back, it seems pretty obvious why I flamed out. I went from intense empathy and assimilation to intense planning and organising. I thought I could handle it as usual, but falling sick after all of this was the straw that broke my camel’s back.
In the depths of my negativity, I wrote a letter to Shola about being tired of it all, resenting what the company is becoming, feeling trapped in my job, feeling alone among peers, and wanting to leave. I didn’t send the letter, but I’ve returned to it a few times.
As Paystack has gotten bigger, I’ve felt that the company is losing its ability to care. Not that it doesn’t care — but it will no longer move the Earth for one person. The problems are more complex. Inefficiencies are more rampant. Changes are more costly. It has become impossible to cater to individuals. I fell in love with a community, but now an abstraction loves me back.
And it’s not just Paystack. After the Show & Tell, I felt resentful about wuruwuru as well. I had other feelings, sure. I was proud to have made it happen. I was relieved it was over. The pictures were very satisfying. But underneath all of it was a loss of motivation and a sense of dissatisfaction, no matter how hard I tried to frame it positively.
Because of how costly and difficult it has been to work with people, wuruwuru has always felt like unrequited love. I find joy and motivation in completing projects and seeing people grow, but it has been a struggle. I’ve often had to remind myself that no one asked for this.
You know the thing they say about relationships — that the person who cares more will be hurt more. Well, it’s like that with work too.
All of a sudden, it feels like I’ve been caring too much for too long.
I’m usually optimistic and motivated, but in that hospital bed, pessimism felt more honest. I wanted to send the letter because I feared that when I got better, I’d forget the feeling. Now I’m better, and as suspected, I’ve lost the will to send. But it was good enough to write it.
I no longer feel as angry or resentful. I no longer want to quit everything abruptly. I realize that my commitment to the job is a commitment to the people. That my role will evolve, and I’ve been making progress towards this. That there’s an honest intention to be a different type of company. That we’re all trying. That this is an opportunity and I have a role to play.
But on the flip side, I’m afraid of caring too much again.
My experience at Paystack has been largely positive, and I want everyone to have that. But however responsible I feel, it’s simply not my problem to carry. Even if I tried, I couldn’t. What I can do is to set an example, pay more attention, help where I can and advocate for the type of company I want. I’m already positioned to do this, but what if nothing changes?
wuruwuru is also not done. There are still open projects, and even the complete ones have a trail of follow-up activities. My sense of responsibility is stronger than my desire to quit, so I have to make it work. My (hopefully) reasonable approach is to rethink everything from scratch: the people I’m working with, the way we work, and my expectations of the studio.
In a 2021 paper about mental resilience among students in a Singaporean university, the researchers outline five ways to address burnout:
- Nurture relationships: As I return to work, I’m going to be more intentional about who I’m looking to for partnership and support. I keep looking sideways for peers, but I need to look in all directions. I’m going to pay more attention to people who are paying attention. I want to be a bridge to connect the best people at Paystack.
- Focus on solving problems: One of the big ideas I’m interested in this season is how to create agency. One of the main frustrations of burnout is the feeling of victimhood and helplessness. The antidote to that is agency—not just for me but for as many people in the company. I don’t just want to solve problems; I want to help people solve problems.
- Believe in your abilities: My problem here is less a lack of self-confidence and more a lack of conviction. I can do many things, but what do I really want to do? Can I truly differentiate my interests from my responsiblities? Can I excel outside of the safety of Paystack? Can I survive as an independent creator? Lots of digging for me to do here.
- Identify the big picture: My mantra to the team as we restart the year is active listening. One of the benefits of a design role is that we comparatively have more time and space. We don’t have to deal with the ebb and flow of the business, which gives us space to really dig into the big picture and paint it for everyone else. Less bias for action, more articulation. As for wuruwuru, I’m also stepping back to re-evaluate the whys. The studio will run, but very gently.
- Keep a positive perspective: Well, hopefully this one shouldn’t be too hard.
References
Burnout contagion: Managing and reducing socially-transmitted burnout