Burnout and recovery — Carmina Andra

There’s a reason why I have got a tattoo of the lyrics “I’m up in the woods / I’m down on my mind” by Bon Iver on my forearm, alongside a Douglas fir tree.

I’ve figured out a few years ago that, for me, the best cure for depression is an abundance of forest walks, touching spruce needles and inhaling the aroma, walking on mossy forest beds, listening to the whistling of the wind passing through the trees, the groaning of their trunks swaying, and the croaking of ravens and crows (or Jackdaws? I can never tell the difference!).

A walk in the forest soothes my anxious mind, fills me with hope, inspiration and a yearning to slow down and immerse myself in the beauty of a moment, suspended in the present, unspoilt by regrets from the past or worries about the future. I find joy in being.

There’s no other place that has the same effect over my mind and soul as a forest… especially an evergreen forest enveloped in fog. This sight, even from a distance, awakens a deep longing within me; something raw and primal. A hurt that moves me to tears, yet fills me with warmth and elation, like the aching desire and happiness awakened within you when you fall in love.

I can’t put this feeling into words without beginning to sound absolutely insane, but I hope that if there’s something that stirs your spirit in this way, you understand what I’m trying to describe.

I got that tattoo in 2020, in one of the gaps between lockdowns. I was going through an incredibly difficult time, and the only escape were the hikes in Peak District or Cannock Chase forest. Around that time I promised myself I won’t end up in such a dark place again, yet I kept breaking that promise, year after year.

I’ve read somewhere that if we expect different results, we can’t continue doing the same things.

Sounds like common sense, but it’s hard to see the forest for the trees when you’re in the thick of it (pun totally intended!). I always end up walking the same roads, stuck in the same patterns that lead to burnout. Every year, there’s no escaping the January Blues, the depression, the mental, physical and emotional exhaustion that comes at the end of a year trying to be everything for everyone (but never for myself).

Forest in dizzying patterns, Lake District National Park

Whatever the reason for your burnout, I think you know how debilitating it is to find yourself in this place, knowing that despite your best efforts to overcome it, you’ll end up right back here in a few months time. So what if you flipped the script for once? What if, instead of looking for a quick cure, you spent your energy shaking up the snowball and see all the elements of your life flying about, then try to rearrange them in different layouts? What if you could find a way to prevent burnout from catching up with you again in a few month’s time?

(I’m not a therapist or life coach, so please don’t take this as professional advice - I’m still finding my own way around this issue).

I’ve spent most of January doing the opposite of what I do each year (setting goals and resolution, diving into work to ‘be ahead in the game’ or whatever achievement driven endeavour I had at my finger tips each year).

This January I’ve forced myself to do the opposite: be as unproductive as possible. This might sound like your favourite activity, but I’ve got Asperger’s and ADHD. I thrive in chaos. I’m a workaholic, I’ve got lots of passions and hobbies, a business to run, and several projects in development at all times. The idea of going through a day without ticking off a long list of tasks done is a nightmare.

…a nightmare I knew I had to live through to for a while, to give my body and mind a few weeks of respite and ‘reboot’ my system. It’s a desperate attempt to shake my life to the core, and rearrange my priorities in a way that leads to a different lifestyle - more balanced, less demanding of my nervous system.

In a month when I was supposed to do nothing, I still did a lot.

I’ve spent most days reading about creativity, journaling, going on long walks, cooking meals, listening to podcasts on my rowing machine whilst working out, and only chimed in with some work at the coffee shop when some demanding admin job couldn’t be handled by anyone. I’ve had dozens of ideas for creative projects and I haven’t touched any of them. This behaviour is now spilling into February. Every morning I spend at least one hour reading and journaling, and on those days when I think of spending a few hours creating, I write my ideas down, then take the dogs on a long walk. By the time I’m back, I have a different idea of what I want my day to look like - and it does not involve taking photos or creating anything. At best, I go through an old gallery and edit a photo shoot, or I spend hours working on this website, updating galleries, writing blog posts like this or reading yet another book.

Have I lost my creative spark? The drive? The focus? The passion?

Absolutely not.

My brain is buzzing with ideas, and the pull to dive into a creative project is growing stronger every day, like a dragon hidden in a den and fed in secret, waiting for a chance to use the built up rage. My brain is screaming at me to get things done, and it’s a battle to keep myself from following that voice that’s asking me to get up and be productive.

I put on my noise cancelling headphones and drown out that voice with music while I go on another walk in search for trees to look at.

I know that right now, the best way to ensure a year of thriving, of fulfilling creative dreams, travelling and becoming my healthiest and happiest self, is to make sure I cement those healthy habits into my days, and only ever so slowly allow myself to dip my toes in the waters that threaten to sweep me off my feet.

I need to train myself to swim against the current, before I allow myself to take the dive.