Death by burnout: Feeling exhausted and pushing through anyway.
In which I consider a possible maladaptive teacher trait
Sometimes I wake up of a morning and think, “How would I feel if I had to go to work today and stand in front of 25-40 children with 25-40 different parents and home lives in waves that keep crashing on me every 44 minutes?”
I groan and turn over in bed.
If you are not a teacher, please dwell in my early morning question for a minute.
Sure, I know you’ve got worries of your own. And I hope you have wrapped around you supports that help you manage them, even turn them into strengths and points of pride.
But teaching is a pretty unfathomably unique situation if you really think about it.
Given the uniquely unfathomable nature of teaching, I often wonder what type of person goes into this profession. If I use myself as an example, it’s fair to say one type is the Savior. The person who thinks she can and should save the world. And has no needs. Who pours out love and care and attention on everyone around her but reveals no vulnerabilities of her own.
I am now a psychotherapist (perhaps an even more extreme version of the Savior) turned psycho-coach (less extreme, thank god), so I’m no longer in a traditional classroom. But I’m working with teachers. And the reluctance to take advantage of the relieving help that is sometimes handed to teachers amazes me.
Here’s my worry: That a driving force in at least some teachers is what is called “pathological caretaking.”
putting others’ needs before your own (your own needs? what needs?)
having no needs
being the most competent person in the room (“If it’s going to get done right, I have to do it”)
feeling indispensable
feeling guilty for putting yourself first
stopping yourself from doing what’s right for you (taking a day off? leaving the profession?) for fear of others’ disapproval
running from any offers of help because they imply you are weak or imperfect or something else that is very bad
Pathological caretaking, while seemingly virtuous, is ultimately painful. It harms teachers. It easily leads to burnout, which is, in my view, a terrifying condition. And which, paradoxically, prevents teachers from getting the help they need — like joining a Teacher Support Group — because doing one more thing feels impossible. And, I’m guessing, because pathological caretakers cannot imagine that participating in an activity might do anything other than place more demands on them and deplete their already nonexistent energy even more.
For pathological caretakers, nothing involving other people can regenerate or heal them because just being with other people activates their pathology. See how that works? (I still struggle with this problem.)
But here’s the rub: Pathological caretaking isn’t just bad for teachers. It’s terrible for students. The last thing they need from their teachers is fusion — “your emotions and problems are my emotions and problems” — co-optation — “I’ll do your work for you” — messages of incompetence — “You can’t do it but I can and will” — guilt — “I’m a bad person because I don’t want to or don’t know how to deal with you” — or wholesale objectification — “these kids are lost causes and there’s nothing I can do about it” (More about the horrifying manifestations of teacher burnout in a future post.)
At bottom, pathological caretaking is all about the caretaker. Not about the students at all. And, when taken to its limit, pathological caretaking deprives students of the energized, hopeful, creative, even joyful presence of people they desperately need to be healthy.
I’m here to say that Teacher Support Groups are places where pathological caretakers — and others — can rest. TSGs are not demanding or depleting. Rather, they are reviving. Even healing. But hell, why should I say it? Listen to your colleagues from all over:
“It’s a safe space to discuss issues without judgement.”
“TSGs are a safe, nurturing space in which issues, ideas and wins can be shared, listened to and cared about.”
“I love the community and strategies to help make my way through the complex feelings you have as a teacher.”
“Working with you this year has been transformative for our staff, me, and the school. You have made a huge positive difference in our lives and the work that we do.”
“I can't express how much your support groups and workshops have changed my teaching life for the better.”
‘Tis the season, my friends. The season of burnout. I worry about you. I worry that you’re looking at what seem to be undeniable facts of your matter — that your school is a pit or the system sucks or you’re crispy and simply cannot go on — without addressing the controllable underlying forces that keep you in a dysfunctional relationship with teaching.
It doesn’t have to be that way. Relationships can change.
Contact me.