recovering from burnout

learning to cope with long-term chronic illness

Hi fellow readers,

For those of you who have subscribed in the last few months, welcome to On Sabbatical, and thank you for your interest in my life :) You may have noticed that I haven’t written anything since my first post back in July(!!). Rather than seeing this as a failure to stick to a personal writing goal (which might have been my attitude about a year ago), I’ve come to recognize it as a sign that I wasn’t yet ready to share what (or rather, how) I’ve been doing.

Burning out and slowing down

As I mentioned in my first post, I have a chronic autoimmune disorder called lupus, which cycles through periods of high and low disease activity (referred to as “flares” and “remission”). In late November 2023, I began experiencing the worst flare I’ve ever had since being diagnosed at age 16. Now, over a year later, I’m still grappling with the lasting effects of migratory joint pain, fatigue, body aches, and hair loss. In the midst of this flare, I wrote my dissertation, defended it, and (finally) graduated with my PhD. With the added stress of finishing my degree (which likely fueled my flare), I wasn’t able to truly start healing until May of 2024.

Now seven months into my sabbatical, I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I have been severely burned out. Though I knew my mind was burned out from the marathon of dissertation writing, I severely underestimated how long it would take my body to heal from the flare, and for me to feel “normal” again. I was sleeping 9-10 hours a night and still waking up exhausted and in pain. I struggled to run a single mile when I used to easily run five. I lacked the motivation to socialize, procrastinated on simple tasks like doing laundry, and when I opened this blog window to write, I found I had nothing to say. This wasn’t just a simple case of work burnout that could be fixed by taking a couple months “off,” but rather the prolonged aftermath of a physically, emotionally, and mentally taxing disease.

A year later, I’m coming to terms with the possibility that I may never return to the physical health and stamina I had before this flare. Without going into too much detail, my lupus itself has changed significantly, forcing me to deal with evolving symptoms and consider more long-term lifestyle changes. In particular, my lupus seems to be very sensitive to climate, particularly heat, humidity, and sudden changes in barometric pressure (as far as I know, this phenomenon is frequently reported but understudied), as well as periods of prolonged stress. Both rainy and sunny days make me ache, prompting a frequent joke that I make to my husband about being a fragile greenhouse flower. This flare has forced me to slow down, make more mindful decisions based on my energy levels, and even reconsider long-term personal and professional goals—things I didn’t expect to have to think about at 28.

getting my infusions ft. free ginger ale

Coping with chronic illness

Over the last few months, I’ve found new ways to cope with my long term illness. Relationships, both online and offline, have been a huge source of comfort as I navigate this “new normal.” I’ve found a warm community on r/lupus that validates my weird combination of symptoms. I have found solace in vulnerable conversations with my undergraduate advisor (and longtime friend), who has also been fighting his own rare chronic autoimmune disorder. I feel less alone in my slow recovery when I read David Heeger’s¹ public blog about his ongoing struggle with long covid. And I feel most seen by my husband, who has stuck by my side through numerous visits to the hospital, long nights of dissertation writing, and my extensive complaining about daily aches and pains.

By making rest and recovery my focus, I’ve learned to be gentler with my body, listening to how it feels each day and trying to not push it beyond my limits. In May, I started using an Oura Ring to track my sleep and recovery metrics, which has been extremely helpful for quantifying and understanding my physical limitations. These days, I’m slowly rebuilding my strength and cardio endurance. Tufts of hair are growing back from the bald patches on my scalp, a small but meaningful sign of healing. I let myself sleep as long as I need, and am incredibly thankful for every day I wake up free of joint pain and body aches. And I’m happy to report that those days are increasing in number.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading, and I promise more varied posts going forward in 2025.

Cheers and love,
Lucy

1. a famous computational neuroscientist whose work I admire