TOOTH AND NAIL

If I have learned nothing else from several years of English classes (and a long line of patient educators), it’s that language isn’t simply how we capture life—language is how we experience life. And because metaphor is so deeply ingrained in the way we approach life, I believe metaphor is life in the truest sense. My own study of metaphor has opened my eyes to how we, as humans, metaphorically address any issue we don’t know how to deal with: we fight, tooth and nail, and ask questions later.

While reading “Emotional Implications of Metaphor: Consequences of Metaphor Framing for Mindset about Cancer” by Rose K. Hendricks, Zsófia Demjén, Elena Semino, and Lera Boroditsky, I was struck by the sheer pervasiveness of the battle metaphor and how intuitive it seems to unpack life through the lens of violence. Constant fight-or-flight cues bear overwhelmingly negative consequences—and as the authors quote a cancer patient, her every word dripping with an inescapable feeling of hopelessness, I empathize deeply with the prominent psychological trend throughout the article. Exhaustion. Having never lived through a truly devastating illness, I by no means intend to diminish the gravity of a cancer diagnosis. However, as someone who has experienced severe burnout, I would like to draw attention to some parallels brought to light by the battle metaphor itself, as well as the continuous stress response that comes with distilling taxing life experiences into a metaphorical battle to the death.

Militaristic terminology dominates conversations about cancer: “Metaphors to do with violence (including ‘battle,’ ‘fight,’ etc.) were found to be the most widely used type of metaphor in online writing… and among the top two most used types of metaphors in interviews with patients, family carers, and healthcare professionals” (qtd. in Hendricks et al. 268). Damaging for a variety of reasons, the “battle” with cancer bears striking similarities to another metaphor: “the grind never stops.” This mentality, initially highlighting the importance of perseverance, can quickly turn into a conviction to submit to the pulverizing pressure of unseen forces. Why should a grain of wheat fight to keep its shape as life’s crushing gears enact their fury? The grind never stops. And our little grain of wheat grows so very tired. Certainly, some degree of exhaustion is natural—physical exhaustion after a challenging run, mental exhaustion after a draining exam, or emotional exhaustion after a fight with a loved one come with being human. But what is becoming frighteningly commonplace in the arena I am most familiar with, the high-stakes world of young adults, is total exhaustion. Burnout. Quite simply described by Psychology Today as “a state of emotional, mental, and often physical exhaustion brought on by prolonged or repeated stress,” burnout also manifests in an all-consuming sense of defeat multiplied by uncertainty and self-doubt. It is here we cannot live, because we are too busy surviving.

High-achieving students destined for elite colleges, those most often subjected to the pressures of performance-based academia, surely resonate with the relentless sensation of entrapment described by Psychology Today: “The cynicism, depression, and lethargy that are characteristic of burnout most often occur when a person is not in control of how a job is carried out, at work or at home, or is asked to complete tasks that conflict with their sense of self.” As Granger notes in “Emotional Implications of Metaphor,” “Most crucially, the battle metaphor presents lack of recovery as defeat, and hence potentially as a personal failure” (qtd. in Hendricks 268). Support in the form of “just keep fighting!” (we approach cancer in much the same way) does little to ease the deep sense of isolation and personal failure burnt-out individuals face. Seasons of exhaustion are perhaps nothing new, but modern society lays out the perfect conditions for prolonged, large-scale burnout to occur. When struggling students—and faculty—look outside their little stress bubbles for solid ground, the outside world hardly offers hope. Highly unstable at best and hostile at worst, the media we surround ourselves with reveals a planet defined by an inescapable global pandemic, extreme political polarization, historic economic turmoil, volatile job markets, publicized mass shootings, international conflict, war, unnerving climate threats, devastating natural disasters, and human suffering permeating our consciousness.

To me, burnout speaks not just to losing the ability to “fight”, but also the will. And as Ashley Abramson writes for the American Psychological Association, “Burnout and stress are at all-time highs across professions.” In recent years, as Zoom fatigue became life fatigue and “quiet quitting” took over LinkedIn, youth anxiety, depression, and suicide rates were grave enough to capture the attention of high-profile government officials: in December 2021, “U.S. Surgeon General Vivek H. Murthy, M.D., M.B.A., issued a rare public health advisory… calling on the nation to respond to the growing mental health crisis impacting young people that has worsened with the pandemic” (Richmond). One need only reference the Surgeon General’s remarks on the youth mental health crisis to understand the devastation of these societal trends—“One in three high school students (and half of female students) reported persistent feelings of sadness or hopelessness, while suicide rates for young people rose 57% in a decade” (qtd. in Richmond). The battle metaphor reveals its darker side in self-sabotage as social relationships slip between the cracks, drug use rises, and self-harm becomes a conversation starter.

It is abundantly clear that the language we use matters: “...linguistic metaphor provides one means of reappraising a situation by shaping the inferences people make about a person’s chances of feeling guilty and accepting their illness situation” (Hendricks 277). The very term “burnout” represents yet another imperfect metaphor, grossly dehumanizing the experience by implying the slender filament lighting our glass-bauble world 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. The battle metaphor, too, is uncompromising. Absolute. The “battle” offers an ironic call to masculine energy; as if a single burst of strength, a final push, will solve everything (Hendricks 268). But much like students and educators thrust into merciless competition with their peers, “Patients struggling with treatment burnout often encounter waves of emotion and uncertainty about their future. They endure emotionally and physically exhausting treatments, often with doubts about their results. Some may have their independence stripped away, or they may feel they are a burden to others. Many ponder the common question: ‘Why me?’” (Cancer Treatment Centers of America). Early mornings, late nights, long hours spent pouring one’s whole being into something; a goal never realized, a project never finished. If I just push a little more. When life is treated as a war of attrition, exhaustion and burnout are inevitable. 

Through the medium of battle, I connect the cancer metaphor to the larger burdens of exhaustion, perfectionism, and burnout brought on by an unbalanced competitive mindset in the academic environment. In response to any issues with a messy answer, we are told to simply keep fighting a battle we cannot win. Humans always fight what they don’t understand.