Tuesday 2/25/25
Today, burnout showed up in my professional life in multiple frustrating and exhausting ways. The professional development session on writing IEP goals and documenting IEPs felt particularly draining. It is a task I perform regularly, and the session didn’t offer any new information or insights. It felt like a repetitive cycle, and instead of leaving with a sense of accomplishment or growth, I left feeling mentally exhausted. The time that could have been used for something more meaningful felt like an additional burden. After the session, my special education team spent an hour venting to our supervisor, which provided a small sense of relief. It felt good to express frustrations and frustrations that others shared, and it reminded me that I’m not alone in how I’m feeling. Even in that moment of shared understanding, the reality of our overwhelming workloads lingered.
Then, to top things off, I was given an unexpected task—planning for a student who isn’t even on my caseload. This student is in another classroom! It was just one more responsibility added to my already overflowing plate. Each task seems to feed into another, and it feels like there’s no space to breathe. Instead of being able to focus on the students I’m directly responsible for, I now have to shift focus to something outside my scope, further heightening my sense of being overwhelmed.
In my personal life, burnout followed me into the lunch hour. I had hoped the sushi break with a friend would offer a mental respite, but I couldn’t fully disconnect. My thoughts kept racing, and I felt guilty for not being able to truly enjoy the moment. When I got home, I was emotionally drained, and it was hard to give my full attention to my family. I felt like I was not fully present for them, which left me feeling more guilty and exhausted.
To manage my burnout today, I made a conscious effort to take breaks. Whenever I felt overwhelmed, I stepped away from my desk for a few minutes, trying to clear my mind and regain focus. During lunch, I allowed myself to embrace the small change of pace, enjoying the time with my friend and the sushi, even if only for a moment. The venting session with my team also provided a moment of emotional release, reminding me that the struggles I’m facing are shared by others. Despite these small efforts, the day left me feeling worn out, and I realized that I need to find a way to balance my work more effectively. As we return to teaching kids tomorrow, I am hoping the day will feel more manageable, but the weight of everything piling up still feels heavy on my shoulders. This balancing act is not getting any easier as I gain more experience in the field.
Me: (Studying the delicate arrangement of sticks. Arms crossed.) Fragile balance is your name. That is exactly how I feel – like I’m barely holding it all together. One more demand, one more unexpected change, and I’ll snap.
Fragile Balance: You see weakness in fragility, but I see resilience. These sticks – thin and brittle – still stand. They lean on each other. They find a way.
Me: ...but for how long? How long before the weight is too much and something gives? I don’t want to be strong just to break in the end.
Fragile Balance: Balance isn’t about never failing. It's about knowing when to shift, when to let something go before it crushes you. You can’t carry everything forever.
Me: (quiet whisper) If I put something down – if I let go just for a moment – won't the entire thing collapse?
Fragile Balance: Not if you shift wisely. Not if you trust that some things can be put aside without losing yourself. Even fragile things can endure. They merely need space to breathe and just be.
Me: Maybe I need to stop carrying it all. Maybe I need to trust that I won’t fall apart just because I rest.
Fragile Balance: Exactly. Even fragile things have strength. Even you.
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