Burnout Diary: The Week I Switched the Phone Off
An Adelaide companion recognises the signs of burnout after a heavy season, takes a full week away from work, and records the slow, unglamorous business of recovering.
Saturday. I realised it in the middle of a booking, which is the worst place to realise anything. A lovely client, an easy evening, and I caught myself counting the ceiling tiles. Not bored. Just absent. Like the lights were on and nobody was home. I got through it, and I think he didn't notice, but I noticed. When I got home I sat in the car in the driveway for twenty minutes without moving.
Sunday. Tallied up the last six weeks. Thirty-one working days out of forty-two. Fringe season, festival crowds, a tour to Mount Gambier, a run of late outcalls. Good money. Terrible sleep. I have been running on coffee and good intentions. I wrote a message to my regulars: "Taking a short break to rest. Back on the fourteenth. Thank you for understanding." Then I switched the work phone off and put it in a drawer.
Monday
Slept eleven hours. Woke up feeling worse, which my GP later told me is normal. The body finally gets permission to feel how tired it is. I lay on the couch and watched old films. I cried at an ad about a dog. It was that sort of day.
Tuesday
Walked along the beach at Henley in the morning, slowly, with no podcast. Bought a coffee and actually tasted it. In the afternoon I cooked a proper meal for the first time in a month: a lemon chicken thing my nan used to make.
Wednesday
Saw my GP, who was matter-of-fact and kind. Blood tests, a chat about sleep, a reminder that rest isn't laziness. She also asked whether I felt safe at work, which I appreciated. I said yes, I was just overloaded, and she nodded like she hears that a lot.
Thursday and Friday
Friends. My sister's house in the hills. A long lunch. Nobody asked me about work. I remembered I have opinions about books.
The plan
Going back next week, but differently.
- Maximum four working days a week, no exceptions for festival season.
- No outcalls after eleven.
- One full weekend off every month, blocked out in advance.
- If I catch myself counting the ceiling tiles again, I stop and take a day.
Sunday. I opened the drawer and looked at the phone. I didn't turn it on. Not yet. Tomorrow. Tonight is still mine.
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