You know you have reached the pinnacle, or maybe I should say the rock-bottom, of burnout when you can’t even take a day off for fear your entire world will fall apart. It was the end of 2022 and I had been running from myself and my charred state of heart and mind for years. I had this inner knowing that if I stopped I would absolutely fall to pieces. It wasn’t a misplaced belief in my head, it was very real. In hindsight I can see that I had this twisted relationship with the ever-present feeling of impending doom.
It has been with me a long time and reminds me of a recurring dream I would have as a child. In the dream, I was sitting on the edge of this pit full of all variety of beasts. My feet dangling over the edge, the beasts would get closer and closer the longer I sat there. The dream always ended with me barely escaping and waking up with this deep sense of relief. But why was I goading them on? Did I like this dance with danger? I think my childhood experience was one of complete disempowerment and lack of control. I had no way to escape the danger in my waking life and the repeated narrow escape in my dreams gave me this sense of being in control somehow. I needed to get to that place of almost getting caught so I could rescue myself and feel the endorphin rush of relief.
Over the course of three months, I literally disintegrated until there was nothing left but scorched earth and smoke. The past consumed me and spit me out — a ball of hair and bones. I went dark, fallow, and descended into the void, the abyss of no-thing.
My burnout feels similar. I knew I was being pursued by this beast and if I stopped it would catch up with me. I look back at my feeble attempts at stopping and hear the universe laughing in her loving but oh-honey-you’re-so-blind kind of way. My first lame attempt was taking medical leave early in 2022. While on leave, I found myself doing workshops and check-ins with clients. Yeah, not stopping. I didn’t know how to stop. Second attempt was cutting back on client hours, yet again, and doing more healing work to “fix” my inability to keep up. I fooled myself into believing that I was slowing down, taking a break. I mean when you are driving 120 mph, going 60 seems slow, right? And when you’ve got a beast hot on your heels, 60 mph feels just like sitting on the edge of that pit with the monsters nipping at your toes.
My attempts at addressing the burnout were clearly not working. After many tearful discussions with my therapist and friends, I made a decision. I decided to leave mental health and transition my life to teaching and writing — I would take medical leave again, return for a couple months to wrap up with the my current clients and then retire from mental health for good. A solid plan that kept my sense of financial security intact. But being the observant reader that you are, you might notice, there was nothing in this plan that involved stopping, not really.
And yet, there I was, a fallow field. All signs of life plowed under, leaving me alone to regenerate — the epitome of death and non-productivity. That is certainly how it felt. One of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life really, to be unproductive. To do nothing, to be nothing, to be dead.
But I can always rely on the universe to have my back. She knew that there was only one way to get me to stop and examine my ways. She had to yank that old rug right out from under me. And just like the tower card, lightening struck, everything caught fire and I found myself in free fall. I say this with a chuckle really. But at the time, it did not feel funny. Two weeks before my medical leave, I got COVID for the first time. Because of my autoimmune issues, I had avoided COVID with the same dedication that I had avoided taking time off and they both caught up with me in one felled swoop.
I was sick for months and just could not bounce back from the fatigue, brain fog and memory loss. It was terrifying. My body was a shell, my mind a fragmented labyrinth and it became apparent very quickly I was not going to be doing anything for anyone, not even myself, anytime soon. Over the course of three months, I literally disintegrated until there was nothing left but scorched earth and smoke. The past consumed me and spit me out — a ball of hair and bones. I went dark, fallow, and descended into the void, the abyss of no-thing.
Descent into darkness is not new to me. It fact, working with trauma for the last 10 years, has made it a landscape I am intimately familiar with. What I realize now is that all of my excursions into the underworld felt productive. I was doing something to help others and to heal myself. Most of the time it was my choice to go there and I felt a sense of empowerment and badass-ness at being able to navigate Hel. But this time the darkness was different. I found myself in new territory — the territory of the void.
What, you might say, is the void?
The void is an ineffable place of divine darkness — a cosmic womb. I experience it as the place where my essence, the spark of divine potentiality that became me, exists in perpetuity. A fallow place where the ego cannot exist. It’s our ego’s worst nightmare really. So suffice it to say, my ego had a lot to say about my year long descent into the void of no-thing. I wish I could say my ego’s death was swift and painless but it was the exact opposite, a slow and difficult dismemberment. All that I had relied on in the world for my sense of security and belonging were stripped away one piece at a time — my mind, my sense of time, my belief I was in control, my professional position, my fragile connections with others, my productivity — all gone.
And yet, as my ego was being dismembered one piece at a time something else was being revealed — a (re)membering if you will. Remembering my own divinity. Remembering my deep desire to connect with the earth and nature. Remembering what it feels like to just be in oneness with the all.
What I know now is that my doership is what was dying along with my ego. My ability to do. You know, what our entire post-industrial capitalistic model of living is built on. I come from a particularly hardcore line of doers — a militaristic-puritanical-germanic lineage of pure productivity. They take it seriously and will tell you on the daily exactly what they accomplished and what the agenda is for tomorrow. They feel shame if their feet don’t hit the floor running before 6 am. The very thought of something lying fallow is time and money wasted.
My ego made it very clear that it agreed with my ancestors. This fallow business was a waste of time. And yet, there I was, a fallow field. All signs of life plowed under, leaving me alone to regenerate — the epitome of death and non-productivity. That is certainly how it felt. One of the most uncomfortable experiences of my life really, to be unproductive. To do nothing, to be nothing, to be dead.
Every once in awhile, my ego would erupt out of its shallow grave making its opinions known on the matter. My ego is tenacious to say the least and it became this feral zombie roaming the halls of my house — eyes dull, hair disheveled and wild with fear about how we were going to survive. Its shrill voice reminding me; You’re insane. You won’t survive this. You are nothing. You have to DO something. My ego was gasping for air and trying as it might to DO. And each time I tried to do anything — a new project, to write, to create a workshop, to see clients, to read a book — it would just dissolve and slip through my fingers like sand. It’s sad really, as I reflect on it now. I just wouldn’t let go, I wouldn’t let my old self die out.
And yet, as my ego was being dismembered one piece at a time something else was being revealed — a (re)membering if you will. I began to experience a connection with Spirit that had never been accessible to me before. I was being nourished in the womb of the Great Mother herself in ways I had only ever imagined. I was being reborn. Remembering my own divinity. Remembering my deep desire to connect with the earth and nature. Remembering what it feels like to just be in oneness with the all. The times I could be still and just be, I experienced the warmth, comfort and love of that eternal womb space. And when I couldn’t just be, well, I found myself at the whims of my very vocal and stubborn ego.
In the end, I landed in a place of total surrender with a large white flag flying — singular and alone in my fallow field. I surrendered to being and the moment-by-moment unknown of that state. It is a daily practice really, surrendering to the unknown, the mystery, the void of no-thing. A daily Fool card practice of just stepping off into the void, one step at a time. To where? I don’t really know. And I think that is kind of the point. Because in the not knowing I find my essence of pure being. I find the Divine.
What I do know is this, under the surface of my fallowness things were, and still are, organically happening. Waste is being broken down and recycled. A network of mycelial nerves are repairing themself. Long dormant seeds are working their way to the surface. Rain and snow are soaking me with nourishment. Just like an embryo in the void of the womb, I am being knit together into a new way of being. My job, if you can call it that, is to just be — to rest, to listen to what the mystery is trying to teach me, to soak in the stillness and allow myself to be in the regeneration.
To some this may seem like a dramatic rendition of a midlife career transition but to others, you know who you are, you will know exactly what this feels like — this rebirthing process. Only one thing can come from rebirth and that is new life. A new life of balance between being and doing. A new life of daily communion with the unknown of the void.
I feel a sense of excitement and anticipation about what will spring forth from my fallow field. If you would like to learn more about what new offerings are budding for spring visit me at Innate Institute and sign up for updates!
If you enjoyed this post, please show your love and click the small heart, write a comment and share with your friends! If you’re new here and haven’t subscribed, would love to have you join!
One of the things I love about writing my own publication is I can change my mind if I want to. I said last post that I was writing one more post on the mental health system but I just couldn’t do it, not now. So I have edited that previous post and am ready to move forward with writing that brings me joy and hopefully inspires you!
In order to (re)member who we are, we have to (dis)member the programming, the patterns and the egoic structures we hold as our reality
- Michelle Acacia Raine
So resonate with the teachings on turquoise today! <3
Thank you for this deeply moving and vulnerable post. It resonated with me on so many levels because it's a conversation more of us need to have. I've never experienced burnout at the level I have lately, and your words about the need to be constantly doing something spoke to me. I'm in the process of finding my way to greater peace and a more sustainable rhythm and flow, which requires I let go and trust life more. A work in progress, to be sure.