No, really. Whinge on. It helps.

Once upon a time, I took an ill-advised break from working out.

Well, if we’re telling the truth, the break itself was fine. Delightful, even. The part that was ill-advised? Taking a break then going back.

My poor legs. My poor, poor legs.

About a week into returning to the gym--in which my trainer tortured me with not one but two leg days--my husband, Sam, and I took a trip to visit my middle brother, Thor.

Thor was starting med school in Michigan and we were there to celebrate him receiving his white coat. Because Thor is Thor, he also planned a weekend full of outdoor activities.

Saturday morning, we found ourselves lined up at an outdoor adventure course. We then had a ball scrambling up ropes and leaping across chasms as we navigated treetop obstacles.

The entire day was delightful, just like my break from the gym. But then it came time to leave.

When I took off my harness, I realized that I couldn’t walk. After my brutal leg days and then using underdeveloped stabilizer muscles on the obstacle course, my legs were kaput. Utterly finished. Destroyed.

So I found my way to the ground, sprawled out and moaned.

Sam would perhaps call what I was doing whining. My mom and aunt would likely join him in his assessment. My brothers as well.

Okay, so I was whining.

My legs hurt so much. So much!

Sam, being Sam, shook his head and laughed at me. “You did this to yourself,” he said. Basically Mother Teresa, my husband. An overwhelming font of compassion.

Then, after I responded with some incoherent grumbling, he pulled me up, threw me over his shoulder and carried me to the car.

Thank goodness for husbands.

***

If we’re being adults about this, we can all acknowledge that Sam was right. I did, in fact, create my own mess. I did it to myself.

And yet...I still wanted help. I wanted Sam to carry me to the car. Getting there on my own seemed awful. I didn’t know if my legs would make it. Plus sometimes I like being carried. Who doesn’t?

(If your response is, “Er, I’m not sure if most adults like being carried?” my counter is, “When’s the last time you tried?”)

But anyway.

I wanted help. I asked for it (perhaps a bit dramatically). And I received it.

Even though I very clearly created my own problem.

It didn’t matter!

I’d like to point out that this is true in almost every situation.

Even when we create our own problems, we’re still worthy of receiving help.

And, if we’re bold enough to ask for it, we’ll frequently receive it.

***

The situation where this matters most to me is burnout. In 2018, I founded a business designed to help women in recovery re-enter the workforce. In the years that I spent growing the organization, I lived on the edge of burnout.

There was a lot of demand for the service we offered and the business grew quickly. I felt like I spent my whole life treading water, paddling frantically to keep my head above the surface so I wouldn’t drown.

As a result, I made a lot of poor decisions. Because...duh. A drowning person is really good at making survival-related decisions. A drowning person is not good at making any other kinds of decisions. There’s no bandwidth for that--everything is focused on survival.

While a few of my poor decisions were related to the business, most were in my personal life. My work completely overtook my life and, even though I knew better, I let it happen.

My social life fell apart. My wellness rituals disappeared. I ate garbage and didn’t exercise and felt like I never had enough time or energy for the things that mattered most to me.

I was stressed and scattered and not the best version of myself.

And yet, I kept doing it. I’d take a vacation and dig myself out of the hole, then I’d go back to work and find myself in the same place a few months later. I knew that I was doing it to myself, but I didn’t know how to do things any differently. I felt a tremendous sense of responsibility and worried that I owed it to the organization to keep trudging.

Sure, our success came at a high personal cost, but we were succeeding. If I was succeeding at a venture that was creating good in the world, wasn’t I obligated to keep going?

***

Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha.

Current me laughs at that line of reasoning, because my brain is now clear. I’ve escaped the burnout cycle, calmed down my nervous system and regained my common sense.

I wasn’t obligated to do anything. And, frankly, if an organization--especially a young organization--is led by a leader acting out of a sense of obligation rather than a sense of overwhelming purpose, there’s misalignment.

A leader in that situation isn’t doing right by the organization and the organization isn’t doing right by the leader. It’s a lose-lose. Even, paradoxically, if the organization is growing, like mine was.

Fortunately, I’m the kind of gal who will throw herself on the ground and moan when her muscles give out. I’m not a martyr. I’m not a trooper. I have exactly the right tolerance for suffering, which is ZERO.

So I didn’t live in burnout for too long. Unless you ask my husband, who will say that I lived in it for way too long. But the beauty of writing is that I get to tell the tale, not him.

***

My burnout story was just like my aggressive-first-week-back-in-the-gym-followed-by-a-day-of-functional-fitness story--it wasn’t that I’d never be able to handle the workout or the job. It was just the timing. I took on too much too soon. I took on more than my body could handle. I took on more than my psyche could handle. I took on more than any part of me could handle. And, honestly, probably more than most humans could handle. My workouts and my job were both tough.

And, even though I created my own problem, I didn’t have to figure out my solution by myself. There were people who could help me, who could see me on the ground and extend a hand.

My heartfelt plea to anyone who is currently experiencing burnout--either from work, from parenthood, from too many demands on their time or just too much time spent doing things they don’t want to do--maybe get on the ground and whine a bit.

Don’t soldier on.

Let someone see that you’re hurting. That you’re no longer able to stand.

If you’re especially lucky, you might have a husband who will throw you over his shoulder.

But, even if you don’t have that, I suspect magic will happen from the mere act of admitting that you’re at your limit.

***

We don’t have to have all the answers all the time. We don’t even have to have them most of the time. When we’re living in survival situations like burnout, when all of our energy is going towards saving ourselves from drowning, we’re really not at our best anyway. Our perspective is skewed. Badly.

Let someone else, someone who is able to think about a bit more than just treading water, offer their perspective. Pick someone you trust and admire. See what they have to say.

If that person doesn’t yet exist in your social circle, pay someone to do it. If money is an issue, try your employee assistance program (or start there anyway), look for helpers who offer sliding scale payment systems, or learn about shamanic journeying—an ancient meditative practice that connects you to your inner guidance.

Just please--please, please, please--do something. No more stiff upper lip. No more silently suffering. Burnout can turn into depression or another health crisis that demands you stop everything, which then becomes much more challenging to correct. A lot more costly, as well.

Don’t let it get to that. Surrender now. Sink to the ground and whine a bit. It works, I promise.

My question for you:

Is there anything you ought to get on the ground and whine about?

***