What Lights Us Up Can Burn Us Out
In March of 2021, I was invited by the Massachusetts Office of Victim Assistance (MOVA) to present a workshop on burnout and sustainability to mark the first anniversary of the pandemic shutdown. I titled this presentation, “Sustaining our Ourselves and our Movement.” I was joined by professionals all over the state for this zoom webinar. There were, of course, hiccups. The technology presented us with challenges right at the start as folks were arriving. We couldn’t figure out how to have my screen and the ASL interpreter, along with my slides, visible at the same time, so if you watch the recording you won’t see my face. I’m sure I stumbled over my words at different times. But the process of creating this workshop, and the experience of delivering it- however imperfectly- was transformative. I remember feeling that if something ended my career the very next day, I would have given and done everything I was meant to, that I fulfilled my purpose. The creation of this one workshop is what planted the seeds for what JT Consulting (JTC) is today.
It’s now March of 2024 as I sit here writing this blog. The seeds that were planted 3 years ago are blossoming. I get to live the purpose I discovered every day. My road to get here was not linear and the peace and joy I feel today felt, many times, unattainable. I struggled with the decision to start a consulting business because I couldn’t imagine leaving a movement that had raised me and saved my life and that I had dedicated my heart and soul to serving. What I came to realize is that the role I can play now, through my work with JTC, is how I can best serve the movement I love. That presentation, and this blog, are my love letters to the people who have created and sustain the movement to end sexual and domestic violence.
I came to this field, like so many others, because of my personal connection to the work. Because I am a survivor myself, I felt indebted to each organization who employed me; I remember getting my first job out of college and equating it to how college athletes must feel when they go pro. I couldn’t believe that I could do the work I loved so much and actually get paid for it. Nevermind that I couldn’t afford rent on the salary I was receiving. I wanted to demonstrate my worthiness, I felt I needed to prove my commitment.
The culture of my workplace fed into this conviction. My job had me on the road delivering workshops and speeches all over the state. I would lead our new staff and volunteer trainings which always took place in the evenings and weekends. But if I wasn’t in the office every day, I worried that my employers would doubt how much I was working and the depth of my commitment. Regardless of whether or not I was working until 9 or 10pm, I made sure to be in the office every day by 9am. When I cultivated an intensive partnership with a school community more than an hour away from my office, I found it impossible to be in both places on the same workday. I learned through one of my partners that a colleague was calling to check that I was really there. This school partner was appalled at the lack of trust or awareness of my work. But this just confirmed what I already feared; that my worth still needed to be proven and that the way to demonstrate my value was by working more. The organization was going through a difficult time with changes in leadership. In my first two months, 14 of my colleagues had left. I looked to my superiors to understand what was happening. The message I received- both implicitly and explicitly- was that the decision to leave was a failure of that individual, not of the organization. I heard, “This work is hard, and many people can’t cut it and they just burn out”.
As I went on to work with many different organizations that had a similar retention challenge, I began to see burnout as something that was nearly inevitable. I thought my passion for this work would somehow inoculate me and carry me through. I loved this work too much to ever give it up. I made my work my primary identity. I rarely, if ever, said no to work opportunities. There was so much need and too few resources. If I really cared as much as I claimed to, I couldn’t stop, couldn’t turn my back on communities and survivors who needed our services. I loved the organizations I worked for, and when colleagues left I tried to pick up as much of their workload as I could carry. I would receive praise for doing more, and would receive criticism- often passive or veiled in humor- when I took time off.
It took- quite literally- getting hit by a car to begin to shift my thinking. As I began to rise in seniority and leadership in different organizations, I began to implement the changes in my thinking into organizational practice. I was incredibly fortunate to have a boss and colleagues who were supportive of these changes. Focusing on the wellbeing of our employees was necessary for a sustainable organization, and is the only way our movement can be sustainable and continue to progress and evolve.
Here are the lessons I have learned along the way:
Many of us are drawn to this work because of our own experiences and trauma histories.
The work is impactful, and burnout is not inevitable.
Often it is not the work we do but rather the environments we work in that contribute most to burnout.
If we are dedicated to addressing and preventing harm, it is our ethical responsibility to each other and to this work that we do all that we can to reduce harm and suffering within our organizations.
Feeling cared for and cared about makes us capable of transformation, innovation, and so much more.
What lights us up can also burn us out.
Burnout is contagious- and so is healing.
If you work with an organization or institution that struggles with employee retention, let’s look together at the contributing factors. We cannot continue to rely on the idea that self care is the responsibility of the individual. What makes it possible to care for ourselves is when we are working in an environment where people feel cared for and cared about. If we are hiring someone to do trauma-focused work (prevention or intervention) there is going to be an impact. How are we supporting our colleagues to be able to address the impact of their work at work? How are we supporting their wellbeing through compensation, benefits, social connectedness, and meaningful access to resources? We can be explicit in recognizing that these issues hit close to home for many of us, and that doing this work does not immunize us from experiencing future trauma; in fact when we do sexual and domestic violence work, we are more likely to receive disclosures from our friends and family. When our personal and professional lives intersect in this way, it can be overwhelming. We need to ensure that employees have confidential spaces where they can process the impact of this work. We can commit to offering our colleagues the same compassion and support we offer to our clients. Organizations that can keep their internal practices in alignment with what they offer externally will find their employees are more bought-in to the mission and more likely to stay, even when the work gets hard. If we are an organization dedicated to supporting survivors, we have to live that dedication within our organization. Survivors built this movement and they will be the ones to carry it into the next chapter. We have the opportunity to lift their voices and support their wellbeing. Let’s begin today.
