Resting as Resistance: Understanding Burnout and Rejecting Toxic Productivity Culture
Burnout, Languishing, & Plain-Old Giving Up
The term “burnout” is used frequently in our culture, especially lately, but do we really understand what it means? Burnout is characterized by exhaustion, cynicism, and self-blame and can lead to serious outcomes, including significant impacts to one’s mental and physical health. We have also seen an increased use of the term “languishing” throughout the COVID-19 pandemic. This state is “characterized by dissatisfaction, lack of engagement, and apathy,” and it is clear to see why lots of us identify with it. Notably, Adam Grant wrote a piece about languishing in which he likely accurately described it as “the dominant emotion of 2021.” Both of these terms have become increasingly relevant not just during the pandemic but over the course of our lives, especially for younger generations.
Written about one year before the pandemic, Anne Helen Petersen wrote a piece about burnout, which she calls “the millennial condition.” Peterson discusses how those of us who have grown up and entered adulthood in this era are expected to be both workaholics and perfect workers – we are not guaranteed any economic security otherwise (much unlike generations prior). She also illustrates how we have bought into the idea that we should all be doing work we are passionate about and that impresses others, as well as ensuring our online presence upholds our personal and professional “brand.” These actions of “self-optimization,” coupled with the increased access our employers or clients have to us (through emailing, messaging apps, and more), rendered a lot of us burned out, well before the compounded exhaustion caused by the pandemic.
Additionally, I find myself reflecting on the common trajectory of life experiences for myself and my peers, which has been marked by social and cultural turmoil and anxiety. I recall watching the destruction of the World Trade Center on live TV as a youth and then living in a country that turned fear into violent hatred and instigated US military retaliation and occupation of multiple sovereign nations, of which we are still witnessing and measuring the devastating impacts. Then came the Great Recession of 2008, during which many of us were in college or early in our careers, leading to massive amounts of uncertainty and economic insecurity for a generation of people already shaped by our prior collective anxiety (and with massive amounts of student loan debt). Then as we began to see some social advancements (e.g., increased access to healthcare and expanded legal protections for some LGBTQ+ individuals), we also saw a rise in conservative extremism and bigotry in response. Then, we entered the Trump and McConnell era, where every week, and at times every day, we faced active setbacks on social progress or threats to societal security and welfare.
Then enters the COVID-19 pandemic and the indescribable exhaustion and frustration it has caused, especially for disabled and chronically ill folks. This could (and may one day) be its own piece, but if the average non-disabled person is suffering from burnout, I’d say the average disabled person is suffering from scorch-out. (Yes, that is a made-up word, but all words are made-up, and it paints the picture for you.) The election of Biden and the rollout of vaccines at a time of great uncertainty and widespread disease and death provided a lot of us the hope we needed to carry on, at least temporarily. But more than two years into this pandemic, we are seeing the highest rates of community spread ever with little to no public health interventions to assist us in combatting it. Alongside that, our Congress continues to hit massive roadblocks with legislation that would improve the lives of Americans, and we anticipate at least a partial overturn, if not a full reversal, of Roe v. Wade in the not-so-distant future. Are you tired just from reading all that? Even only briefly mentioning these events and leaving out a lot of others of significance, it is clear to see why jobs seem obsolete and why so many people are leaving theirs this year during the Great Resignation.
But You Owe Me: Entitlement Culture in the Workplace
Intrinsic to our capitalist culture is the idea that if someone else pays you to perform work, there is an inherent entitlement that comes along with it. Employers, bosses, and clients believe that since they are giving you money for your labor or skills, that you owe them, that you should feel grateful to even be earning money. Lots of employers still feel this way even when they are offering unlivable wages, no healthcare coverage, and/or no other necessary benefits or economic security. Some employers also utilize “family” or “community” imagery to describe their cultures, implying an unconditional relationship in the context of labor, which is very conditional by its nature. Please know that no one is entitled to our labor. Rather, we should all be entitled to universal standards in exchange for the labor we provide. Employers would not be able to produce or gain profit without our labor. We owe them nothing. They owe us everything. We have continued to accept the bare minimum from employers and perpetuated the narrative that we should be thankful to be eating scraps at the kids table instead of being forced to starve, while those in charge eat multi-course meals in front of us.
With the rise of tools like Slack and Zoom becoming commonplace if not expected within the workplace, especially during the pandemic, the access to our physical and mental selves by our employers inches closer and closer toward boundlessness. While lots of folks enjoy using Slack-type platforms, and some have pointed out its ability to help workers create some sort of shared consciousness, using a new tool for work requires us to learn its functions, taking up additional mental space. Furthermore, even when we are offline or off work, it adds another pot to our overflowing mental back-burner – we know that each time we create a boundary with our work Slack channels, we will have a backlog to consume later, in addition to the backlog of our inboxes and never-ending to-do lists. I think about my own experiences in jobs that didn’t use Slack or those that didn’t even have access to me via texting, and the difference is that those small moments of silence, our natural pauses and transitions at work, are now filled with dings, pings, rings, Zooms and whatever task, reminder, or work-related content comes with it. These moments to ourselves were once filled with quick walks to the water fountain, organizing some stack of papers on our desk, or maybe most importantly, they were filled with the mental processing that is so necessary for us to feel ready to move on to something else. We are missing out on these small moments to ourselves and our minds and giving them over to our employers, often for the same pay as before. The slate is never wiped clean. It is now filled with more and more markings and tasks, leaving us feeling unaccomplished in any one thing and overrun by the end of the days, weeks, months, and years.
Capitalism & Ableism Have Co-Opted Our Non-Productive States, Even Our “Self-Care”
Outside of our jobs, we are also constantly pressured by our society to do more, to push ourselves harder. Throughout all of our seasons of collective anxiety and whiplash, including the pandemic, the backdrop has been a resounding “work hard, play hard” mentality or similar mantras like “rise and grind.” This really is just more capitalist propaganda pushing us to produce more by optimizing the hours in the day. These are hallmark examples of toxic productivity culture, which encourages us to feel guilt for not doing “enough,” whether in our jobs or in our personal lives. We are even told that hobbies should be productive, commodified, and for the consumption of others – turning what could be acts of leisure and joy into either a full-on side hustle or some less direct benefit to your online presence or “brand.” This toxic productivity culture asks us, “Why have just a hobby when you could do more and earn more money for it?!”
We have quantified and commodified the very aspects of life meant to aid us in escaping capitalist culture, in turn, increasing our desire for more products and perpetuating the system. This is perhaps most apparent in the business of selling “self-care.” The very concept of “self-care” itself has been co-opted from Black feminists and activists, like Audre Lorde, and turned into a booming industry that lots of us have bought into. This fuels and perpetuates the “industrial wellness complex,” a concept explored by Brigid Delaney, who argues for a shift away from focus on the self toward a true feminist focus of collective care. Here in Texas last year, I saw this effort move into the mainstream during our deadly winter storm when folks heavily supported and relied on mutual aid programs, proving that we are capable of taking true care of each other.
Some perspectives veiled as attempts to reimagine “self-care” are really just a wolf in sheep’s clothing. For example, some give us advice on how to maximize our rest, creating even more expectations for us, even within the contexts we should be allowed to just be. This strategy also forces us to question whether we are even doing enough to take care of ourselves, forces us to compare our self-care and self-preservation tactics to those of others. Within a capitalist and ableist society, to simply exist is not sufficient, but if we resist this, we are called “lazy,” which like most things, is a social construct rooted in capitalist, ableist, racist, and classist ideas. Literally all animals rest, and the measure of productivity was created by people. As Lindsey Weedston points out, the concept of “laziness” exists to create judgements about certain groups of people and subsequently justify villainizing them as inferior “others.” We see this rhetoric persisting to this day, with Joe Manchin refusing to support legislative efforts to help Americans in need, because he thinks people would use stimulus checks to buy drugs and use paid family leave to go on hunting trips.
I'm reminded of the scene from the animated Robin Hood film where the Sheriff pretends to help a character elevate their broken leg, only to repeatedly bang on the cast to cash-in on the gold coins hidden beneath, the last bit of money he had that the state hadn’t yet stolen from him. The character winces in pain while he loses his money to a system, much like the one that wants us all to lose not only our “downtime” but the money earned through our labor or rightfully given to us for our disability, to be put back into the system of capitalist spending.
Prioritizing Our Own: Recreating Anti-Violence Work Cultures
The anti-violence movement, specifically, has increasingly become more “woke” in its approach, including concepts like “trauma-informed care” and “victim-centered services” becoming the new gold standards in the field. Many have even adopted policies like unlimited leave or permanent remote work as additional benefits to employees, and treat the workplace culture like a “family” where all opinions are purportedly equally valued and respected. These approaches can mislead employees, especially when there are stipulations for accessing certain benefits and the organizational hierarchies still exist to raise certain voices over others.
When it comes to anti-violence, people in this field are drawn to the work. People who want to just make money for a living are not pursuing a life in public service geared toward violence prevention and intervention. This field is passion-driven and issues-based, and those drawn to working in it do so because of their care, their passion, or their calling toward it. It is my opinion that even when done subconsciously, most anti-violence organizational cultures exploit this knowledge that folks have a passion for the work, and therefore expect a lot more out of their employees and volunteers for a lot less pay than they’d earn in most other industries. The passion itself is exploited and leads to a really specific kind of burnout that doesn’t just chip away at your overall willingness and eagerness to be productive and stay engaged, it is actually an affront to your sense of self-worth. Those involved in passion-driven, issues-based work like anti-violence often equate the work they do with their own identities. I did this for a long time until the organizational cultures I was a part of burned me so deeply, I was forced to confront it and ask myself the question, “Who am I without this job?” I was forced to grapple with the realization that I had, like most in this field, become my job, a characteristic of professional self-objectification, as described by Arthur C. Brooks. Brooks writes, “The great irony is that by trying to be special, we end up reducing ourselves to a single quality, and turning ourselves into cogs in a machine of our own making.”
When the work culture disregards your opinions, disrespects your time and energy, and devalues your worth, it feels deeply personal when your job is inherently entangled with your identity. So, this normative work culture in the anti-violence space leads to seriously high levels of burnout and turnover but is also actively damaging the people drawn to the work in the first place. If we are running off and wearing thin the only people drawn to do this challenging work, how do we expect to move the needle on how society treats domestic violence, sexual assault, child abuse, and human trafficking? How will we ever generate meaningful and sustainable change on these issues when this is how we are treating those showing up to do the work? I truly believe the anti-violence movement will see its greatest societal impact when organizations prioritize employee and activist well-being alongside the well-being of survivors, specifically implementing an anti-capitalist and anti-ableist approach.
2022: A Year of Rest & Resistance
As we embark on the beginning of a new calendar year, I see lots of intentions, resolutions, and encouragements circulating across the web. We all likely expect to see the eager, determined, energetic posts on social media that can make us feel guilty and inferior for not measuring up to those standards for our own New Year’s resolutions or intentions. I have seen, however, more posts reminding people that simply surviving 2021 is an achievement worthy of pride and celebration. But I think we have to take that concept a step further – true rest is natural and critically necessary. And in a culture that really only measures your value in your productivity and your contribution to the economy, true rest is radical.
So, if you find yourself feeling this year like you’re not doing enough – whether at work, in your personal life, or both – remind yourself that most of these expectations have been ingrained in us by outside forces, and try your best to prioritize doing what feels right and what you can do. I’m not going to give you advice on how to rest or tell you things you should try in your pursuit of rest. Only you know how to rest for yourself, and your rest is valid on its own. Instead, I encourage you to continue to shed the societal burdens and pressures to do and to be more than what you already are. Go ahead – do nothing, but please, don’t feel guilty about it.
Tiffany has lived experience working within anti-violence organizations and is available for consultation, assessment, and training for those seeking to create meaningful cultural change.
