Fourteen months of a global pandemic got you feeling blue? Are you stressed out, Zoomed out, and overwhelmed? If so, you're likely suffering from burnout, and you're not alone.
The term burnout originated in 1973. Not the feeling, mind you, just the term. The emotion? Well, I imagine that occurred shortly after the invention of work.
In fact, according to a recent article in the New Yorker Magazine, one Swiss psychotherapist, while studying the history of burnout, insists that he found evidence of it in the Old Testament.
Herbert J. Freudenberger is the man who coined the term burnout. By the time he was twelve, Nazis had torched the synagogue to which his family had belonged. Using his father's passport, Freudenberger fled Germany. Eventually, he made his way to New York, attended Brooklyn College, and later completed a doctorate in psychology at N.Y.U.
The New Yorker states Fredenberber coined the term after a self-diagnosis. In 1970, he started a free clinic at St. Mark's Place in New York. Freudenberger worked all day in his practice and then went to the clinic, where he worked until midnight. "You start your second job when most people go home," he wrote in 1973, "and you put a great deal of yourself into the work. You feel a total sense of commitment . . . until you finally find yourself, as I did, in a state of exhaustion."
Feel familiar?
As I mentioned in last week's e-zine, the global pandemic and America's do more, get more culture, add to the burnout phenomenon. Still, it is not by any means isolated to our country or our profession. The World Health Organization recognized burnout syndrome in 2019 after it declared that it had killed 745,000 people in just one year. In Sweden and other Nordic countries, you can even go on sick leave for burnout. Yet another reason I want to move to Denmark.
If that were the case in the U.S., I suspect we would have to cancel music education entirely during the month of May.
Burnout is not unique to music education or education in general, but I believe it to be more common than other professions. The unique nature of the activity, the ever-increasing performance demands, and the visibility associated with performing ensembles add fuel to our souls, but also to the fire. And increased fuel means a bigger and more dangerous fire.
I guess you could say that for music educators, burnout is an occupational hazard, and we should never find themselves too far from overhead sprinklers or a fire extinguisher.
But for me, the emotional baggage associated with burnout is worse than the physical exhaustion.
In my experience, music educators often feel ashamed when we experience burnout. We are embarrassed to admit that we have lost our way, our fire, and need some help. We need to be reminded that we have done nothing wrong, nor have we brought this upon ourselves, and that this is a natural response to an unnatural situation.
Keep in mind, being burnt out means you were at one time ON FIRE! And that is something to be admired.
Think about it. What kind of teacher do you want to be? What kind of teacher do you want teaching your children or your loved ones? One who is ON FIRE, or one who played it safe, kept it cool, and never took risks?
To my way of thinking, experiencing burnout is an indicator of success. A sign that you ran as fast as possible, helped as many people as you could, and made every effort to make an impact. Burnout is a badge of honor and proof-positive that you went all in, gave everything you had in service of your students, and have nothing more left to give.
You should scream from the rooftops, "I burned out because I was ON FIRE, BABY!!!
I am not a psychologist. Nor am I a trained counselor. And, If you need help, please seek it.
All I am saying is that in some small and perverse way, feeling bad should make you feel good. You just completed a sixty-week pandemic marathon that you did not choose to run, having had no time to prepare for it.
After this year, I would be more concerned about your mental health if you WEREN'T burnt out. But as bad as you feel now, it will soon feel better. The schools will reopen, the masks will be removed, the hugs will happen and music will once again ring through the concert halls.
Herbert Freudenberger died in 1999 at the age of seventy-three. His obituary in the Times noted, "He worked 14 or 15 hours a day, six days a week, until three weeks before his death." He had run himself ragged.
But when he stopped running, he stopped living. Perhaps the lesson is not to stop running. but pause for recovery.
The race begins anew in August. Now is your time for recovery.
Have a great week!
- Scott