Reinvention, Interrupted: Honoring Reality & Rediscovering Momentum
- 14 hours ago
- 15 min read
This blog post is about a reality check. A badly needed one, with more to follow, as I navigate my way through the ambitious projects I outlined in my post on the first day of spring. It's my hope that turning my coaching skills on myself will help others similarly planning a seasonal reset. It may also serve as a cautionary tale about what happens when we try to do too much too soon.
Spring is an ideal time for renewal, cleansing, and letting fresh air (and perspectives) into our lives. As a reminder, my plans included:
relocate to Michigan (having bought a condo I'd never seen in person)
move my mother into a nearby assisted living community
start physical therapy to address chronic lower back pain
expand my business to utilize my new burnout coaching certification
commit to living more intentionally as a key factor of my fresh start.
Suffice it to say that not all has gone as planned. This post and the next few will attempt to unpack (pun intended) what I thought would happen, what actually happened, and what I'm still hoping to pull off. That is, if I can stick to practicing what I preach.
This post is not about making excuses for what I didn't get done. Or boast about what I did. It's about sharing what I learned and still learning in real time. Most of all, the need to keep adjusting expectations to ever-shifting realities.
How stress and burnout can short circuit reinvention
Despite my experience, education, and training, I still managed to underestimate what it would take to get half those plans off the ground. As priorities changed — and my time and energy waned — I struggled to avoid reverting to old patterns. Familiar but ultimately self-defeating.
When stress kicks into high gear, most of us hit the auto pilot switch. But that mode is usually a blast from the past that does little to point the way forward. It also makes us susceptible to knee-jerk reactions and bad habits returning with a vengeance. Like the varicella zoster virus that lies dormant in our systems until our health is compromised. End result: a painful case of shingles.
What started to go wrong for me? When did I realize my expectations were about to collide with my reality?
When the burnout coach stops practicing what she preaches
My clients range from 20-somethings to septuagenarians and I'm often touched when they share why they believe I'm able to help them on their life journeys. Having been where they are, or at least knowing what tools may better help them navigate their way forward. Then again, sometimes their coach needs a coach. Or a refresher course when dealing with her own life transitions.
At some point in the tumult of the last few weeks, I failed to heed my extensive training or well-developed instincts. Too many stutter starts and misfires occurred to convince me I was getting traction or momentum toward any of my goals.
I stopped checking to see how I was doing physically, mentally, emotionally, socially, and spiritually — the five key energy centers I had just learned about during burnout coaching certification.
Even a burnout coach can miss the warning signs
I started out strong. Committed to being patient and mindful of limitations. Then life happened — a truly scary turn of events. But I'd already put myself in a vulnerable position by getting complacent, careless about my daily practices. When life threw me a curve, I started to backslide.
The life crisis involved my mother, who was suddenly in the hospital battling pneumonia. At nearly 98, we had to consider the sobering possibility that she might not live through this. Mike and I were just days away from our planned move.
It was time to dig deep, except my reserves by then were substantially depleted. They'd been squandered in the days and weeks before, as I pushed myself harder to do more with less. One more box, one more closet. Rest when this is all over.
I'd failed to pause or adjust course to protect my physical and emotional well-being, To practice even the most basic rituals of self-care. Instead of a much-needed pit stop, I just pressed harder on the gas pedal.
Burnout is a term most often applied and studied with respect to workplaces. But burnout can occur wherever chronic stress goes unchecked and healthy boundaries get breached.
Research cited in Psychology Today defines burnout as part of a three-part syndrome involving "emotional exhaustion, depersonalization, and a diminished sense of professional efficacy." I would argue that this extends well beyond the workplace. Burnout can threaten us anywhere at anytime, especially if we're not fully grasping the hidden costs of unchecked stress.
Beyond work, other arenas of our lives are ripe for burnout — big moments and milestones that often come with overblown expectations. Burnout can also result from intense periods of transition: dissolving relationships, prolonged financial hardship, or a sense of shifting purpose — as in being newly graduated, empty-nested, or retired.
We often set the bar high in these moments, then chase imagined perfection rather than reasonable reality.
For me, burnout was hovering around my life ever since we decided to relocate. In fact, in the months prior, wrestling with the decision and its consequences, the well was being primed for elevated stress. I assumed because I'd moved so many times in my life, I'd be immune to its worst effects.
Available research tells us that moving — crosstown or across the country — ranks just behind the loss of a partner and ahead of divorce and job loss as a trauma-inducing force.
"Moving ranks among the most stressful life events because it compounds multiple simultaneous stressors ... that most emotional life events trigger in isolation," notes the editorial board of NeuroLaunch, an online source that makes cutting-edge science about brains and behaviors accessible to the general public.
As panic sets in, packing systems fail
As the move drew closer, and stress picked up speed, every closet door or drawer I opened was like meeting another monster to slay.
Why didn't I purge more before packing? That was a whole chapter in a book I highly recommend: The Art of Happy Moving by Ali Wenzke. In Chapter 5, the title says it all: "The Secret to Happy Moving — Get Rid of Everything You Own."
It's actually about decluttering in a thoughtful way rather than leaving everything behind. Purging can save us money (less stuff to transport), make money (sell what we don't need anymore), and help others (let someone else enjoy what we don't want anymore). It's an opportunity to have our belongings match our goals. For our next adventure, take only what we need to move forward — not just move. Let go of extra baggage, literally and figuratively.
For me, at this point, nagging deadlines and logistical snags were outpacing my ability to declutter.
In my mad rush to make "progress," I started marking boxes with vague labels such as "storage room" or "master bedroom." I knew this would be a challenge on the other end, but better to kick the can (or box) down the road for now. No time left for following a system. Takes time. Who has time?
In the 11th hour (the night before handing in our apartment keys), I finally turned to the black hole of packing systems: large, flexible trash bags. By then, the old frenetic, frazzled me was calling all the shots.
As the calendar marched on, I starting skipping vital checkins and timeouts such as my usual one-minute meditations or three-minute walks. These respites were ditched to do more packing, cleaning, and worrying. New to-do lists and spreadsheets only to end up drowning in Post-It notes. They were stuck on everything, everywhere.
Find new doctor, dentist, hairdresser, bank, pharmacy ... DMV for new driver's license. Take to Goodwill, sell on Facebook Marketplace.
Life transitions and the emotional fallout of living in limbo
Complicating matters were the daily hiccups of life that kept demanding attention. Without warning or mercy. While trying to sell furniture on the fly, I made an emergency trip to the dentist for a cracked crown. Then I was scoped and probed for intensifying indigestion and worsening heartburn. (And still I didn't get the message!?)
Another round of advice from Wenzke's book addressed the need to sort belongings into piles. To decide what to sell, donate, or trash. Each piece must be handled, evaluated, and placed in the designated pile. After awhile, they were dancing together in defiance of my attempt at streamlining.
Decision fatigue is a "silent stress multiplier," note the writers at NeuroLaunch. "Choices get worse. Impulsivity rises. Emotional regulation degrades. Small problems feel enormous."
If Marie Kondo had come along and asked me what items were still "sparking joy," I would have growled at her.
Once closets were emptied and hidden spaces exposed, I also noticed some shoddy housekeeping habits. Dust bunnies, obscure stains, and orphaned belongings. Okay, coach, now we're playing the shame game too?!
The emotional drain of watching everything we own disappear into boxes and bags caught me off guard. Without the tangible evidence of our lives — pictures on the walls or familiar treasures scattered about — I felt displaced.
As I stood in our now sparse apartment, I thought: We don't live here anymore. We don't live there yet either.
An unsettling limbo.
Adaptation: the burnout phase that goes unnoticed (with consequences)
Rather than take stock of the physical and emotional hits I was taking, I merely adapted to the escalating chaos.
Adaptation sets in after our energy centers have sent warnings we promptly ignored. Our symptoms — headaches, sugar cravings, disturbed sleep, and irritability — can now really dig in and become chronic.
We adapt to what's unsustainable by increasing our "reliance on coping mechanisms," notes physician Neha Sangwan, Founder and CEO of Intuitive Intelligence. She is also the creator and lead instructor of my burnout certification program. Sangwan warns that by ingesting more caffeine, junk food, or alcohol to ease our anxiety, we put a further strain on our operating systems.
Adaptation is the time to take serious action before it's too late. Before we suffer strokes, heart attacks, and mental breakdowns. The longer we wait to intervene, the more difficult our recovery will be.
Stress thwarts growth and invites old patterns to return
The groundwork for how we'll handle stress shows up early in life, from how we study in school, how determined we are to achieve goals, and how we handle setbacks along the way.
I'm the classic "over achiever" who brags about giving 110%. That common perversion of simple math is already an indicator of how susceptible we are to overdoing things and blowing past guardrails. Achieving is admirable, but driving ourselves to achieve at any cost is rooted in insecurity. We must go "above and beyond" to prove our worth to others (rather than for ourselves).
For most of my life, I started most new adventures like a belligerent mix of field marshal and head cheerleader. I'd unleash my enthusiasm on any available troops, hoping my sheer will would become contagious. I'd cajole and whip everyone around me into participating. When that didn't work, I'd bark orders and make enough noise so that people went along just to hear blessed silence.
In hindsight, I've come to understand that my warrior (with pompoms) approach usually backfired more than it succeeded. To be aggressive from the get-go, whether it's getting into shape, clearing out the garage, or learning to golf, is a strategy, albeit a flawed one. We overachievers figure we have to start out strong because sooner or later reality will dampen our enthusiasm and stall our momentum. Or make us quit.
What I had to learn the hard way was to study my false starts and failures for the inflated expectations that preceded my best efforts.
Experience and training has exposed the flaws in my thinking, but as recent weeks illuminated, insights are not enough. Action is key — even small steps if any progress is to be realized.
Burnout training taught me how to help clients already on the path to crisis. The Positive Intelligence program — that forms the bedrock of my practice — is about getting ahead of the crisis.
PQ is about mental fitness to build resilience through daily "reps." These are bite-sized but consistent exercises to help rewire the neural pathways and disturb recurring, unhelpful patterns. It's about being vigilant and prepared for stressful situations before they spin out of control.
In recent weeks, I told myself I was too busy to fit in such tools. I risked stress creep like a Weight Watcher member risks weight creep. After weight loss, the maintenance program exists to not only continue building strong habits, but also to ensure enduring lifestyle changes.
During the past few weeks, having to devote my all to moving was the excuse I used to not practice mental fitness anymore than I was talking walks to ensure physical fitness. My resilience wore down, allowing allowed old patterns to retake control. Even more alarming, I let ghosts from my past back in.
When new stressors trigger old wounds
Things had to get worse before they got better. That included resurrecting some painful issues from my childhood that I thought I'd resolved a long time ago through therapy.
While watching my mother cling to life, mounting panic brought old wounds out of the shadows where I could spot their blisters all over again.
I studied the ER technicians laboring to reverse the effects of pneumonia. As time wore on, she grew more visibly frightened and further disoriented. It triggered a crippling mashup of emotions in me. I felt helpless to control the situation, hers or mine. I was increasingly gripped by waves of anger, grief, and guilt — the latter mostly because I was dwelling on how my new beginning was being threatened by how her ordeal ended.
I felt like the ultimate imposter: a life coach who thinks she's got this stress thing in the bag — and the hubris to think she can handle any rage or grief that reappears. The reality was that control of anything was slipping away.
Life in transition: the pull of the future shadowed by the past
To a stranger, I seem the poster child of a selfless, devoted daughter. I've spent the last dozen or so years safeguarding my mother's quality of life.
I've mentioned in past blogs how she's lived with my husband Mike and I for most of the 18 years since my father died. I often write about her — and how much there is to admire. She retains a wicked sense of humor, remains grateful for life's small pleasures, and still enjoys the occasional martini. Proof she's done something right to live so well for so long.
Yet, none of that fully grasps the amount of effort it takes for me to maintain my equilibrium when I'm around her. To reestablish my truth in the face of her shifting fictions about our family legacy.
My siblings and I have had a tumultuous relationship with our parents. My father was a troubled man who could turn violent at the slightest provocation. As most children of abuse come to realize, the terror comes from not knowing the causes of rage but suffering its effects just the same. Because we're too young to grasp any alternative, this version of reality becomes deeply internalized as the norm, leaving us always searching for safety — and finding it elusive.
My brothers and I also deeply resented our mother's unwillingness to confront him — for our sakes as well as hers. Instead, she justified his physical and emotional abuse of us (never to her), blamed his erratic behavior on his job as a police officer, and made sure their wants as a couple took priority over their need to parent. We often were left to fend for ourselves.
When we became adults, we vowed to do better by each other — and any children we might have. That included taking care of our parents as they aged. We didn't question if it was the right thing to do. Nor did we leverage our advantage to settle scores or pick at emotional scabs. We had genuinely learned from their mistakes.
So why wasn't I doing a better job of learning from mine?
Giving our inner critics an opening to taunt us
As I sat by my mother's bedside praying for another day with her, I also heard the screams of my younger self — so fatigued from years as a caregiver morphing into being her loving parent. Yet, the wounded child in me remained angry for having spent so much of my life being one for myself.
So many of us who survive abuse learn to make peace with trauma — or else risk it forever haunting us. We learn to convert hurt into healing and to practice forgiveness to repair our ability to trust, especially ourselves. I thought I'd gotten a grip on this a long time ago. But I'd allowed stress to erode my defenses and my past now seemed a vivid part of my current turmoil.
I finally wandered down to the hospital chapel to say as many prayers for myself as for her. With my back to the wall, I knew I had to start somewhere. Take the first light step.
Once we humans sense threat, we prepare to fight, flee, or freeze (some add fawn and flop to the mix). Whatever mode our reptilian brain chooses to thwart a perceived attack, there is little wiggle room for more thoughtful action.
So, in that chapel, I took that first step. I worked my way through five key approaches I knew from training — and recommended by the American Psychological Association. I've recreated the APA's steps below. (Also, see above link for 30-second videos that accompany each step.)
Get calm
Slowly breathe in for four, hold it for four, and then breathe out for six. Repeat 10 times.
Why it works: Slowing our breathing allows our bodies to recalibrate and lowers levels of physiological arousal.
Focus
Slow our racing thoughts by counting backwards by three from 100 (100, 97, 94, etc.).
Why it works: Focusing in a structured way and engaging our brains in a distracting task can disrupt unhelpful patterns.
Relax
One by one, tense each muscle group in the body for 10 seconds and then release. Notice how it feels to let our muscles relax and have the tension leave our bodies.
Why it works: Actively relaxing our muscles can increase energy and flexibility, helping us feel calmer.
Get grounded
Do a quick scan of our bodies and notice the air around us and any surfaces we are touching. If possible, close our eyes and focus on sensations, textures, and temperatures.
Why it works: Focusing on our physical surroundings helps us become more attuned to details and make more balanced assessments of our environments.
Celebrate
We're dealing with huge challenges. Think about three things that went well today — or that we're grateful for (even under duress). If these involve other people, thank them when possible.
Why it works: Slowing down to recognize even small successes can increase our sense of control over our environment and help us to effectively help ourselves as well as others.
With each passing minute, I started to tune into what my body, mind, and spirit were trying to communicate. An imaginary electrocardiogram machine was transmitting data. I just had to sit quiety and interpret the signals.
It took no more than 15 minutes to reset my system. It was a monumental first step. The lessons of my training returned and with them a reliable beacon and way out of my darkness.
Take a step. Then another. Momentum started.
Finding momentum after a brush with burnout
I also reclaimed the mantra I so often use with clients: momentum is not linear.
Unless we're physicists who study the relationship between mass and velocity, most of us must accept that momentum is forward movement — just messier than we assume. With time and consistent effort, momentum will pick up speed. But we can't just slam on the gas pedal and think we'll get to where we want to go. At least not safely.
Momentum looks more like a zigzag — like those ECG signals I mentioned above. Close up, they resemble erratic spikes and scrawls. Step back for perspective and notice their progression — the forward march of electric signals being telegraphed from deep within. Evidence of life, not stasis.
Reinvention, recalibrated: the road forward starts with the next step
Remarkably, my mother rallied enough to be out of immediate danger. She still faced an unknowable future, given her age and the nature of her illness. She'd remain hospitalized and monitored for further signs of progress, with doctors warning that her recovery could take weeks, even months.
My brother urged us to go through with our move to Michigan and fly back if things took a turn for the worse. By then we were in a hotel with all our worldly belongings stuffed into a moving truck parked outside. Another limbo with no easy way out.
In the end, my mother's health scare forced me to change course. Â It jolted me out of auto pilot and exposed old patterns threatening to unravel me.
My next post will pick up the story where this one leaves off. Find out how slow and spotty my own recovery would be, as I resumed caregiving of my mother (once she was strong to join us in Michigan). I also still had plenty of those spring (maybe summer?) projects to complete. Let's see if I learned my lessons. And if I went back to practicing what I preach.
Take a step. Then another. Momentum continued.
If you need help with anything that was shared in this blog, or want to share your thoughts, book a Discovery Call below. I'm here to listen and help you map your path forward.