Burnout and Self-Denial: Accepting Aspiehood

I think I’m burning out.

It’s really hard for me to type that. Accomplishment is my self esteem. Staying busy is my form of sanity. Functioning through anything is my identity. It’s a family legacy. It runs in the women of my family: through an alcoholic husband and small children. Through law school and working and activism and creation. Through depression and keeping a family afloat. Through wars. When I think of my mother and aunts and grandmothers, I see women of steel.

I’ve always felt that pressure, and I have always lived it out by doing. I was the getting straight As, doing every extracurricular, working nights and weekends, writing in my spare time, graduating from college in 3 years type. I was the kind of person who’d go to the gym for 4 hours just to see if I could. I survived an eating disorder, major depression, self harming, anxiety, and just kept getting up and putting one foot in front of the other. I have always felt a sick kind of pride that no matter how exhausted I was, no matter how bad the depression was, I still made it to class, I was never fired from a job, I kept up my grades, I went to the gym, I got my shit done.

Yesterday, I left work early and slept for four hours. Over the weekend I took an eight hour nap. I haven’t been to the gym regularly in weeks. My blog posts are sporadic and infrequent. I know that I’ve dropped the ball on volunteer positions, and as a friend, and as an employee. I’m working less than I ever have, and I am more tired than I have ever felt before. It feels awful, but the more I fight it, the more tired I get. I have gotten blood tests and sleep studies and everything comes back fine. I am perfectly healthy.

Last year I was diagnosed with autism (Asperger’s for those who still use those terms). It felt weird. I haven’t done anything about it. I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I was busy. I had other things to keep track of and fix and plan for. I’ve been reading about it, wondering if I can implement any of the coping strategies I see, but not quite getting how they apply to me. I have some sensory sensitivities, but not the kind that I can accommodate very well: I am light sensitive and tough sensitive and taste sensitive. I’ve made all the accommodations a person can, by not touching people and keeping my shades drawn constantly and eating a limited diet. I have social anxiety, but I don’t script, and I don’t find it helpful to play out scenarios with other people (this causes me more anxiety). I want to incorporate more proprioceptive feedback into my life, but I can’t just install a swing in my room and I don’t know what else to do. I don’t feel at home in the autism community, and I don’t feel understood and helped by their suggestions.

But more than that, I never notice that I’m being worn down or stressed out by things like sensory input or social outings. I don’t like big groups of people I don’t know, but I avoid that. I don’t notice myself consciously trying to figure out social rules, or puzzling out who I should emulate or how I should behave. I wonder over and over if I really am autistic. I wonder why the label matters, if it matters. Why did I even pursue a diagnosis?

Ok I promise these two things are related.

It hit me really hard last week when my therapist asked “what if the fatigue is sensory?”

There’s this thing called autistic burnout that happens when you spend all day every day coping with a world that doesn’t entirely make sense and is fairly unpredictable, with your brain running full speed making all kinds of connections and trying to consciously puzzle out social rules, and all the while your senses are overloaded and overwhelmed. Basically you get exhausted and you start to shut down. It might seem like you’re getting tired from nothing, or that you’re just not capable of doing a whole lot, but really it’s that your brain and body are working constantly to stay regulated. You need more sleep. You don’t have the energy to do things you used to do. You can lose coping skills or functions that you used to have. You might feel foggy or have a hard time concentrating, or feel like your memory has gotten worse.

It feels like depression but not, because when you’re depressed your body isn’t actually fatigued, you just can’t bring yourself to move and it feels full and empty at the same time. The flavor of depression is one of listlessness and heavy air and rot. Nothing is worth it.

With burnout, things are very much worth it. I want so desperately to keep going, but my body and mind just give out. I fall asleep when I don’t mean to. I make inattentive mistakes. I find that my muscles are going.

So here is where I’m at: I think I’m burning out. I didn’t notice things like lights and noises and smells until I did, and now they are overwhelming. I didn’t notice overthinking and questioning and worrying about everything I was doing until I stopped being able to do it and I started messing up. I didn’t notice all these autistic characteristics until I couldn’t mask anymore. It’s amazing how internalized and unnoticed my coping skills were. And over the last few years they’ve been dropping away as I both become more forgiving towards myself and depleted my reserves. I know there are others out there like me who have a hard time seeing all the characteristics in themselves, even as they suspect strongly that they have an Aspie brain. It seems like falling apart is the only way to properly see the pieces.

I’m in this space where I still want to be the person I’ve always been, the organized and accomplished young woman who does everyone proud. But I’m slowly becoming aware that it is damaging to want that. I am a flawed, exhausted, broken being, just like every other person. I can see that others don’t need to earn their self worth. I just can’t see it for myself. I don’t know how to expect less of myself. I don’t know how to accommodate my sensory needs and my social needs and my overworked brain. I’ve always wanted to know how to turn it off, but no one will tell me what to do.

I’ve got these conflicting identities of “autistic” and “woman of steel,” except that I like to pretend that the autistic part doesn’t affect me. I haven’t really incorporated it into my self understanding. But I think I might have to if I want to deal with this burnout. This may be the point where I finally find concrete actions to take. Maybe it’s the self denial that’s been so exhausting.

I hate personal posts because I always feel as if I need to find a way to make it relevant to everyone else out there. But I suspect it already is relevant to more than one of you. It might not be autism, but there are approximately a billion different reasons that we each have different limits when it comes to our energy levels. Sometimes it’s staring us in the face that we need to deny less of the reality about ourselves. I think it goes back to the post I wrote earlier this week: being strong isn’t the same thing as requiring no rest and no care. I know I am stronger when I listen to my own needs, and understand how I’m built. I am not steel. No one is. There is no pride in pretending I am. Maybe that’s the self-acceptance I’ve been looking for.

3 thoughts on “Burnout and Self-Denial: Accepting Aspiehood

  1. Benny Vimes says:

    I know these feels so much. I have no idea if this will help you, but working a pretty extreme low-stimulation period into my life has helped some. I still burn out, but I have a very quiet, very dark, and very cool place I can escape to every few weeks for half a day or longer – my basement bedroom at my boyfriend’s house. I call it my “cave.” I can’t get there super often because it’s not in my city, but when I can I go down there and sleep for as long as I can manage (12-16 hours usually) and just relax as much as I can. I feel like a whole different person afterward and can get a lot more done.

    Taking care of yourself, including getting stimulation breaks, will allow you to get other things done. I see my lower-stim times as being as crucial to my productivity as food and air and sleep. It’s a NEED I must take care of, in order to do the other things I want to do.

  2. kira jd says:

    Thank you for this. I think I’ve said it before, but its nice to read about stuff like this cause sometimes I worry I’m feeling something no one else is. Take care of yourself, and thank you for writing. I appreciate it.

  3. Matt says:

    you ever went on one of those frantic internet-research “trips” trying to figure out what’s REALLY wrong with you, promising yourself that >this time< you'll totally get it? well, ahoy from the HMS Irresolute! here's the thing though: reading your account, it really resonates with me! kinda feels like hitting a benevolent iceberg. I've been recently diagnosed as well and I feel like I might just essentially be in the same boat (ok, enough with the puns now) as you.

    I sure hope you're doing better these days.. in any case, thank you! you've helped me put the breaks on my crazy brain once more.

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