LIGHTS OUT: A Project for the national conference on undergraduate research (NCUR)

The creation and control of concepts is an aspect of the social construction of knowledge and an integral part of the way in which the local and particular events and experiences of people’s lives are shaped and categorized into generalizable features.

Gillian A. Walker

LIGHTS OUT

Published Fall 2023 in Oxford College's literary magazine, the Oxford Phoenix

One can hardly play a role in society in which it is not fitting to be busy. Overcommitment is the mark of success; in fact, hustle culture demands what marketable value can be extracted from an unbusy life. Even those just getting by must be on and accessible at all times or forfeit their claim to an honest day. Human idealization of the logical mechanical world—and our subsequent tendency to compare ourselves to mechanical actors—instills in us an unsustainable, machinelike pattern of productivity, one that prioritizes output over the out-putter. Chafing against our expectations, our own limitations force us to contend with a very human experience: exhaustion. Seasons of exhaustion are themselves nothing new, but modern society lays out the perfect conditions for prolonged, large-scale exhaustion. Looking outside our little stress bubbles for solid ground, the present world hardly offers hope. Highly unstable at best, hostile at worst; incessant ping-ping notifications punctuating our collective consciousness expose a planet defined by war, conflict, extreme political polarization, economic turmoil, volatile job markets, mass shootings, climate threats, devastating natural disasters, and inescapable human suffering. In short, things look pretty bleak.

Perhaps because there seems no escape, what is becoming frighteningly commonplace within the larger societal sphere is total exhaustion. “Burnout.” The metaphor itself stands for an imperfect thought pattern, largely dehumanizing a very human experience by implying the slender filament lighting our glass-bauble worlds is bound to fail with the passage of time. Because a burnt-out lightbulb can’t be fixed, people suffering from burnout don’t need a break—they are broken. Once the bulb has burnt out, its useful life is over. Drawing parallels between human beings and lightbulbs, the accepted mechanization of human life means that inhuman expectations fall to those desperate to deliver, to excel—and to those just trying to get by. A new metaphor, the “Band-Aid” solution, naturally follows the implied necessity of justifying self-care. Comparing humans to machines regards maintenance outside the established, factorylike routine as a privilege (and a costly one, at that) rather than a duty, so quick fixes are in high demand.

Fortunately for a corporate culture particularly concerned by the implications of “quiet quitting,” social media platforms like LinkedIn are happy to provide “Band-Aid” solutions that ensure prioritizing well-being adds even more to our plate. Particularly for office workers in need of cheering up, weekend retreats, CEO summer camps, and group hiking trips in the name of team bonding mean that our desperation to do less inevitably turns into doing more. In an effort to mask a deeper deficiency, self-improvement, goal-setting, and time management is just more to master. More books to read, more speakers to sit through, more energy. More time. Wellness influencers, too, weigh in with more: more sleep, more reps, more kale! For the gym-averse, it remains only to take your bubble bath—a day off, if we’re feeling extravagant—before hopping right back into “the grind.” Absorbing a misplaced aspiration towards workaholism, young workers learn from the first weeks and months of their careers that “the grind never stops.” This mentality, initially highlighting the importance of perseverance, quickly turns into a conviction to submit to the pulverizing pressure of unseen forces now to buy success and, hopefully, balance later. 

The tendency towards mechanization filters down to the academic environment, affecting students at younger ages—exceptionally vulnerable simply because they lack context and experience. Especially for those students finding their way to “gifted and talented” programs, faced with punishing academic schedules and the daunting weight of their own potential, mental health concerns are all too often relegated to the back burner. Early mornings, late nights, and pushing just a bit more mean that getting help is a next-week problem, just as it is for those already established in their careers. And, since the idea of “getting help” implies less of a personal failure now than in previous years, opportunities for mental health support simply turn into excuses to expect more, supporting an arguably too-narrow vision of success. Problems multiply and solutions become more ludicrous—schools offering five-minute cry rooms is not unheard-of—laced with the subliminal message that you should need counseling if you're working hard enough. In short, if suffering now leads to success later, we can sleep when we’re dead. The commodification of the self from an early age, of extracting value from every talent and every sense of promise in an increasingly competitive and unstable world, may mean our most promising young students’ lives may be over before they’ve begun.

Metaphors like burnout are fiercely individualistic, expressing a singular failure to carry on. But as a society grasping at its potential normalizes “the grind,” factory-driven output, and extreme pressure to perform, cracks and fractures weaken the foundation as individual members crumble to dust: in short, we forget what it is we’re working so hard for. The pushback against fragility makes it difficult to find solidarity for a struggle meant to be invisible. Still, the larger issue is unique in that at some point, everyone suffers the same way for vastly different reasons. We all get a little bit tired of life. But being this tired is not normal, nor can it be fixed with “Band-Aid solutions” meant to scrape through another week. By collectively buying into a misguided vision of success, we are all complicit in its unrelenting hold on us. Continuing to expect mechanical results from a source simply not designed to recharge overnight will inevitably cause power outages, but perhaps realizing we’re all in the same boat will be the first step towards turning those lights on again—real ones this time.

First, we must acknowledge that we have allowed ourselves to become trapped by our own creation—primarily by the culture of toxic productivity that has infiltrated our schools, businesses, and homes, but also by the burnout metaphor that legitimizes it.

Metaphor is a powerful way to simplify complex relationships, but not always the best one. Take burnout. In an effort to capture and study a novel phenomenon, innumerable individual experiences were reduced to a vague concept, a vague concept was reduced to a list of symptoms, and a list of symptoms was reduced to a metaphor. Fifty years later, an entirely new thought pattern was created where none existed before. And a single word redefined how we see ourselves.

Burnout, a concept created in response to widespread workplace dissatisfaction, has brought us together, but also trapped us in a destructive thought pattern. Yes, it’s a comfort to know we’re all in this together—but weighed down by a shared flaw, we are sinking together.

As a young student at a top-tier university with bottom-tier mental health, my position is unique. I don’t just see where burnout leads: I see where it starts. Every day, I go to class surrounded by this country’s future doctors, lawyers, scientists, professors, and politicians; some of the most brilliant people I know. But frankly, we’re a bit of a mess. We’re the generation that prompted the U.S. Surgeon General to publish a warning on the youth mental health crisis—the chronically tired generation that listens to “Numb Little Bug” on repeat, scrolls past self-care routines and shock-value suicide rates—and goes right back to “the grind.” But Gen Z is certainly not the only group facing these issues. The country as a whole is struggling, with anxiety, depression (and, yes, burnout) at all-time highs.

But we knew that. Everyone knows that. Every year, the numbers go up—and every year, we declare something must be done.

By someone else.

The more research I’ve done, the more I realize we simply cannot afford to postpone the conversation by making burnout someone else’s problem and waiting for systemic improvement. Maybe we ask for more time off, better pay, accessible childcare, parental leave. Maybe that makes a difference. But we cannot rely on the systems that create the conditions for burnout to remove them. Those conditions exist for a reason. While assuming responsibility for a situation we had no part in creating may seem unjust, we cannot postpone our own fulfillment while we wait for a better world. At the most basic level, we are responsible for our own well-being—and sometimes that means working against the odds and empowering ourselves to say “no.”

 “No, this is not a healthy pattern for me.”

“No, I don’t feel fulfilled.”

“No, I will not continue to work this way.”

We can’t always choose our circumstances, but we can always choose how we respond. 

As a model high school student suffering from stress-borne anxiety, depression, chronic exhaustion, and a seriously flawed conception of self-worth, this was something I had to learn the hard way. No one was going to save me. Excel, and more will be expected. No one will ever tell you when you’ve done enough. 

We’ve all grown up in a culture of chronic stress; one that prioritizes output over the out-putter, equates work with worth, and glorifies toxic busyness. We recognize this as unfair, and it’s tempting to look for a scapegoat (corporate America usually gets it). But it’s also impossible to assign blame to any one group. Burnout, darkly ironic, is also a great equalizer. We all suffer under a pattern we’ve created—anyone can burn out.

This is the future, unless we take a step back and ask, “Who does this serve?”

If it's not “us,” it may be time for a new metaphor. Try “low tide.” When we think about ourselves, our energy, and our productivity like an ocean and not an outlet, it’s normal to be at low tide. Ebbs and flows are the rule, not the exception. Unlike “I’m so burnt out,” “I’m at low tide” is predictable but not permanent. Low tide is certainly not a personal failure.

Unlike a lightbulb, we can’t replace ourselves. We will always fail if we persist in thinking about our lives mechanically. But nothing could be more normal than having seasons of high and low tide. Still, we need to give ourselves the grace to adjust our lives and our expectations to compensate, knowing the tide will come in again.

Periods of low tide aren’t our cue to hibernate, and they don’t need to halt progress. Just like low tide exposes the not-so-pretty parts of the shore, low tide in our lives can offer a valuable time for reflection by allowing us to see the shapes and contours of what's at the bottom of our resources.

My point in all this is that we have more say than we think—and how we think is exactly what’s wrong. 

True, crisis-level burnout doesn’t come out of nowhere. It’s a result of months, years of unhelpful patterns; small steps that add up and eventually take you to a place you can’t come back from. But if you’re not quite there yet, this is your call to tap out.

It is an uncomfortable fact that we are wholly unequal to the demands of a world that outpaces us. Everything is bigger, better, stronger, faster—but we’re still the same. We may know more, do more, and think more than ever before, but our human limitations can be manipulated only so much before they decide they’ve had enough of this game. Still, what seems like a weakness can be redefined as a strength if we flip out perspective: we have something nothing else has—the ability to stop. To reflect. And to change. The individual is far from powerless, and the frenzy only threatens to sweep us away when we let go.

Next to a big, flashy solution, like mandating a four-day workweek, a simple mentality tweak may seem disappointingly obvious. Still, low tide is quietly revolutionary. Getting into this mess took decades, and we won’t dig ourselves out overnight. But changing the way we look at ourselves and the way we work may just be the biggest small change we can make. 

RESEARCH

Arman, Maria, et al. “Burnout as an Existential Deficiency – Lived Experiences of Burnout Sufferers.” Scandinavian Journal of Caring Sciences, vol. 25, 2011, pp. 294-302.

This 2011 empirical study, conducted to follow a previous study assessing individuals suffering from burnout in comparison to cancer patients, examines Swedish caregivers at high risk for burnout “...from an existential caring science perspective, rooted in theories on human suffering and understanding of life.” Concerning especially those in the health care, religion, and education fields, researchers found “...indications that people affected by burnout tended to shut themselves off from their own suffering. In their understanding of life, there were also signs of an undertone of emptiness.” Rather than being limited to the work setting (although issues may stem from the workplace), severe burnout tends to dominate all areas of life, negatively impacting the individual’s sense of his or her own purpose and efficacy from an ontological, “big picture” perspective. With a deeply unbalanced outlook, “the person with burnout seems to form his/her life as a project to be accomplished; the motif of which is the idea that this is what is expected by his/her surroundings. Often the person feels imprisoned in his/her life or like a victim without any possibilities of choice.” Based on the experiences of each participant, researchers also developed a general pathway to burnout: employment (work-related issues such as overwork, monotony, and prolonged stress) → life and self-image (general dissatisfaction with oneself and the way life is going outside of work) → bodily signs (unexplained illness, persistent fatigue, difficulty concentrating, etc.) → the collapse → (the individual’s realization that something is truly wrong and unwillingness to continue as before) → secondary suffering (solitude, guilt, feeling responsible for previous choices and like there’s no way forward). The consistency of this framework indicates that burnout follows a general trajectory, which may prove helpful in identifying and preventing damage to the individual at risk.

“Burn-Out an ‘Occupational Phenomenon’: International Classification of Diseases.” World Health Organization, 2019.

Johnson, E. W. “‘Burnout’ (A Metaphoric Myth).” American Journal of Physical Medicine & Rehabilitation, vol. 67, no. 6, 1988, pp. 237.

Dr. E. W. Johnson’s brief but strongly-worded editorial presents an alternative view of burnout, characterizing the term as “misleading shorthand,” “a copout,” and “deception” rather than representative of a true condition. As “...a socially-acceptable word for fatigue, laziness, change-of-heart, depression—or simply another rationalization for ‘throwing in the sponge,’” he criticizes “burnout” as giving the lackadaisical worker an excuse to give up. I would counter this view. While it is possible that the term “burnout” may be misapplied and misused, I do not agree that “....it has become a metaphor for ‘I give up!’” Rather, I contend that the symptoms of burnout appear before the term is recognized and applied to the at-risk individual; furthermore, the very nature of burnout is such that overcommitment and prolonged stress—rather than poor work ethic—catalyze the volatile reaction between an individual’s obligations and abilities.

 Leone, Stephanie S., et al. “Two Sides of the Same Coin? On the History and Phenomenology of Chronic Fatigue and Burnout.” Psychology and Health, vol. 26, no. 4, 2011, pp. 449-64.

This 2009 review of empirical research examines the relationship between chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS), a recognized medical condition, and burnout, a fairly new psychological phenomenon. The authors find many similarities between both the causes and symptoms of CFS and burnout, such as exhaustion, depressed mood, muscle pains, nausea, headaches and flu-like symptoms “...brought on by societal changes,” but stop short of conflating the two conditions. However, the authors note the medical/psychological line blurs as both conditions are studied in-depth: both burnout and CFS are thought to begin the same way, with “....a history of stressful events leading to overload which triggers the breakdown,” eventually robbing the individual of physical, mental, and emotional energy. Additionally, both burnout and CFS are unique to modern society—in a 1980 study conducted with Geraldine Richelson, “Herbert Freudenberger, one of the first burnout researchers, noted that burnout was ‘a demon, born of the society and times we live in and our ongoing struggle to invest our lives with meaning.’” The main difference between the two, despite their somatic-psychological barrier, is that burnout must stem from the workplace while CFS can be triggered by any kind of overstress.

Maher, Ellen L. “Burnout: Metaphors of Destruction and Purgation.” Soundings: An Interdisciplinary Journal, vol. 72, no. 1, 1989, pp. 27-37.

Ellen L. Maher describes metaphors as “carriers of theory” indistinguishable from the experiences they intend to capture. Although they lack precision and uniformity, “we are drawn to discussions of burnout because they label a disease in our experience in a way which captures our imagination, compels our attention, and resonates with our emotions” (27-28). Drawing on work by Freud and Stephen Marks, the author also points to another metaphor: that of human energy as a limited, currency-like resource “...subject to the laws of supply and demand, something which can be ‘consumed,’ ‘expended,’ ‘invested,’ or ‘wasted’” (29) but that can be replenished by “...enhancing the quality of our activities, not simply in reducing their quantity” (31). Interestingly, Maher also proposes a radically different take on burnout based on the Catholic idea of purgatory, one that is “forward-looking, purposeful and meaningful:” following a temporary purification period of disillusionment and distress, “...the professional who enters a period of burnout can come out of it stronger, more resilient and durable, more capable of withstanding the heat next time” (34). For some, burnout presents insurmountable obstacles to professional goals and the impossibility of recovery; but for others, burnout may introduce an opportunity to reflect and start over—proving a valuable time to reassess one’s own life and values.

Maslach, Christina, et al. “Job Burnout.” Annual Review of Psychology, vol. 52, 2001, pp. 397-422.

Schaufeli, Wilmar B., and Marisa Salanova. “Burnout, Boredom and Engagement at the Workplace.” An Introduction to Contemporary Work Psychology, 2014, pp. 293-320.

Schaufeli, Wilmar B. “Burnout: A Short Socio-Cultural History.” Burnout, Fatigue, Exhaustion: An Interdisciplinary Perspective on a Modern Affliction, 2017, pp. 105-27.

Schaufeli, Wilmar B. “Past Performance and Future Perspectives of Burnout Research.” SA Journal of Industrial Psychology, vol. 29, no. 4, 2003, pp. 1-15.

Smith, Michael V., and Paul Haack. “The Long View of Lifelong Learning: Lifelong Learning and Periodic Self-Assessment are Vital for Maintaining Enthusiasm and Avoiding Professional Burnout.” Music Educators Journal, vol. 87, no. 3, 2000, pp. 28-33.

Walker, Gillian A. “Burnout: From Metaphor to Ideology.” The Canadian Journal of Sociology, vol. 11, no. 1, 1986, pp. 35-55.

Author Gillian A. Walker uses the term “conceptual imperialism” to define the process by which new ideas are introduced to and accepted as part of the general academic discourse and larger cultural consciousness, a phenomenon instrumental to societal organization and power dynamics. According to Walker, top-down thinking modes inevitably direct the way we see ourselves and other people, because “the creation and control of concepts is an aspect of the social construction of knowledge and an integral part of the way in which the local and particular events and experiences of people’s lives are shaped and categorized into generalizable features” (36). In keeping with Marx and Engels’ work on how ideological frameworks are created and accepted by society, the author argues “burnout” is one such concept—a construction designed to capture a limited collection of selected, observable characteristics, rather than a universal discovery. Interestingly, although studies on burnout as a metaphor for a work-related phenomenon were first conducted in the 1970s (and this article was written in 1986), the symptoms and solutions presented are nearly identical to those detailed in contemporary sources—indicating that the broader issue of burnout has only worsened with time.