Burnout is No Joke!

Why I started Project BurnBright

I loved my seniors. I absolutely adored them; I clicked with them, I understood them, their histories fascinated me, their music made me tap my feet, and I still have pictures on my wall of a handful that I was so close to my kids would have called them Grandparent. I was eighteen when I started working with them as a receptionist, and I was so sure that my future was in senior living that I trained in every department of the industry without peeking my head out. Why would I? My company let me work in administration, caregiving, housekeeping, dining and activities. I knew that company and those people inside and out, top to bottom. I literally married the maintenance guy.

Okay, so maybe I was a doormat, because they “let” let do everything lower level, but never more than that. I was someone the higher ups could call on for anything and never be told ‘no’. Or give a pay raise to. Hm. Maybe I really was that passionate about the work. Or maybe I didn’t know what I wanted, so I was hanging around in a familiar place. The Scary Unknown is, well, scary. Maybe I was just following the path of least resistance. Maybe I was afraid that if I left the seniors, no one else would take care of them.

What I do know is that after twelve years, I was aggravated, disgruntled, unsatisfied, and working harder than ever for less to show for it. I still loved my seniors, but I needed longer and longer breaks from them. The seniors’ inability to understand computers was becoming less endearing and a little more irritating; the dementia desire to hide cash at the bottom of the trash was a source of frustration, less compassion – why on earth was his daughter letting him have cash! For that matter, if I was on the ground floor, face to face with these people every damn day, I did not understand why management could not hear me when I talked to them about anything! I was suddenly taking more sick days than ever. Who cared if I didn’t get paid when I didn’t show up? I’m sure no one even noticed when I was gone, anyway, the way they ignored me. When the company announced it’s sale to a larger management firm, I rolled my eyes – those people had no idea what a mess they were inheriting.

But new management brought two things in quick succession: a pay raise (small, but better than I’d ever gotten before), and… a new hire from outside rather than a promotion for me. I can admit now that quitting, while long overdue, was also a temper tantrum.

I went to manufacturing and sales instead. How’s that for a change?

Fortunately, I was actually decent at that work, (as good as you can be with zero interest in the subject), and I worked my way to higher and higher salaries for the next seven years. For a hot minute, that pay raise was enough to keep me satisfied. Yet I eventually found myself unsatisfied there, too, because I did not care about the job at all. I felt no connection to the community, and I lived for the weekend where I got two blessed days with my husband and daughter. Outside of paying my bills, though, here was no drive. I hated where I was spending most of my waking life.

So when I had the opportunity to join management in senior living… how could I not? They promised me a good wage, work that I knew I cared about, work I knew I was really great at, autonomy and a voice. I desperately wanted back into my community – or, rather, I wanted back in with a community. I spent my two weeks notice planning my new role, figuring out the details and preparing implementation. I had a five year plan. Honestly I was so useless with my two weeks notice, I am still shocked they didn’t kick me out sooner. But for my new job, I was ready to hit the ground running and reach for the blue, cloudless skies.

I lasted six months. Six. Months. Following a break of seven years – how was I still burned out? I actually learned something pretty incredible here with that question, but it would be another couple of years before I figured that out.

Post-manufacturing/sales and post-attempted comeback, I have taken the many and varying skills of my different careers and put them to use. Now I am doing administrative and office support for small mental health practices. I have variety, autonomy, a community I deeply care for, a patient base I understand, and the wherewithal to protect my passion for it. Hands down, I adore everything about this work, from the clientele and the practitioners, to the fellow admin workers in the Medicaid office and the mind bending details in billing. This version of healthcare, for me, is just different enough from senior living that I am burning bright and strong. I do not have that sneaky master called burnout creeping up from behind anymore.

But you know who does?

All of the practitioners I work with. Every single one. It is everywhere. It is invasive.

Burnout matters to me and it should matter to everyone because it is stopping so many of us from reaching out communities with the high quality and lasting longevity for which we strive. It is defined as an occupational phenomena, primarily seen in the service industries, but circling every single worker like a vulture. The problem with burnout is that no one person can cope with it on their own. By that I mean that even if a practitioner lays out a flex schedule, this is only as good as their employer who respects that time over driving profit. This can make it seem too overwhelming and systemic to do even bother dealing with, so we sputter, drop out shoulder, give up and then burn out.

I am here to tell you that it is not that hopeless, that we can work smarter and better, and we can make changes in our cultures to support one another into our best selves. If it takes a village, then I am here to help build the village, to lay down the foundations and boundaries around providers in a way that keeps them insulated from burnout. This is both a personal and cultural process. My goal is to be able to offer patients the best providers for their circumstances, so that we can serve our communities in the best possible way.

Can we practice better so that we can practice longer?

Can we provide great care to a few, rather than weak care to many?

Can we focus on changes that will allow us to be present in our practices, with our patients and in our care?

Let’s find those answers