Burnout: A Path To Healing #4

In this fourth stop of the series, extracted from the book Self-Trust, Ana shares a relatable story about the path to burnout—a journey many women unknowingly take. She adds a touch of exaggeration, but the message is clear.

In Chapter 1 of Self-Trust: A Healing Practice for Women Who Do Too Much, read by Diane Box, Ana invites women to reflect on the concept of "Not Dying on the Beach”—the unfortunate outcome of burnout. Too often, women push through life with relentless effort, refusing to ask for help and expecting others to read their minds. This chapter is a wake-up call to reclaim balance and self-trust.

Transcript

Chapter 1 IT HAPPENED ON THE BEACH It was a usual Saturday morning,

And at 7.

30am Ophelia woke up and turned over to her left,

Reaching for her cellular phone.

She had left it just six hours earlier on top of the pile of self-help and business books stacked next to her bed.

It had awakened her with three consecutive dings.

She opened one tired eye and glanced at the three new emails that were added to the twenty-five items in her inbox,

Which she had cleaned just before going to bed.

She tried to ignore the fourth ding by turning to her right and curling into the fetal position,

But with the fifth ding she let out a long sigh of disappointment and sat up on the bed adjusting her pillows.

She began her day from her unofficial office that she used daily along with her official office and home office.

By 8.

30am Ophelia had managed to answer sixteen of the twenty-five emails.

She had made two phone calls,

Reviewed yesterday's report,

And sent five texts,

Two to wake up her children,

One to confirm the garage clean-up with her parents,

One to calm her boss down,

And the last one to her assistant to tie up some loose ends.

I'm an executive and this is what executives do.

She reminded herself every time she began to feel upset about the amount of work she had to do on her days off.

Ophelia was not only an executive,

But also a mother,

Wife,

Daughter,

Sister,

Driver,

Friend,

School volunteer,

And good neighbor.

She was a doer.

She had a demanding job and worked long days and weeks,

Often picking up the balls even before anyone could drop them.

That put her in the run for a senior VP promotion,

Which was well-deserved after seven years of working hard for the company.

Ophelia also had elderly parents who depended on her and an active family that counted on her support for sports events,

Recitals,

PTA fundraisers,

And other school events,

Which she thought were created just to satisfy the stay-at-home parents who needed something else to do and make the busy working parents feel guilty.

That morning,

Ophelia woke up feeling exhausted and mentally spent,

As she did on many other Saturdays.

She ignored the overflowing pile of laundry on the floor outside the laundry room,

The floors that had not been vacuumed for two weeks,

The dusty furniture that you could write your name on,

The dirty dishes in the sink,

And the note on the refrigerator saying that they were out of orange juice.

At least they're letting me know this time,

She said to herself.

As Ophelia made her way to the coffee maker,

Which had become her secret lover,

She turned her head away from the muddy dog paw prints on the kitchen floor,

The stack of mail on the kitchen counter,

And the dirty beat-up sneaker by the door.

Her son had reminded her that the coach had told him again to get new sneakers before the next game,

But she had completely forgotten.

She sipped her coffee in synchrony with two other dings from her phone.

Her husband walked in empty-handed from an early run and made his way to Ophelia.

Before he could kiss her on the cheek and say,

Good morning,

Honey,

She thought of the orange juice note on the refrigerator and exploded.

That's it.

I've had it.

I'm taking a day off.

I'm the only one doing everything.

Today,

You are all on your own.

She screamed.

Her daughter ran downstairs to the kitchen,

Alarmed by her mother's screaming,

And Ophelia screamed again.

I don't want to hear one word from any of you.

There's no OJ,

And no one will complain.

Did you get that?

Her family members looked at each other,

Wondering what had just happened.

She turned off her phone and threw it in her purse,

Walked out the door,

Stepping on muddy pawprints.

She got into her car and began to drive,

Without a destination.

She played loud music so that she couldn't hear herself think,

Cry,

Or both.

Ophelia glanced at her nails,

And the tears started.

It had been two weeks since she'd had a manicure,

And the last time she tried,

She walked into the salon on a Sunday,

Fifteen minutes before they closed.

How can anyone live this way?

She thought,

Sobbing.

Ophelia was still in her pajamas and slippers.

She glanced in the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of herself.

The bed hair didn't make things look better.

She reached over for her phone to call her assistant,

And came across a giant pile of clothes for dry cleaning that had been in the backseat of her car for a week.

This is insane,

She thought.

I can't keep doing this.

After a few hours of driving,

Ophelia finally stopped and parked her car at the marina where her family kept a small boat.

She looked through the dirty clothes for something better to wear,

But they were just her husband's shirts and dress suits.

She texted her assistant to handle things for the day and called the local pizza delivery as she remembered that there was no food in the fridge at home.

She ordered a plain cheese pizza instead of the usual half sausage,

Half pepperoni,

Just to punish her family.

She did her hair up in a bun and marched out of the car to the boat without making eye contact with anyone.

Then she took the boat out on the water.

After a few minutes,

Ophelia began to relax.

She felt the wind against her face and saw the blue sky and the birds flying nearby.

The water was glassy blue and beautiful.

There was no one to talk to or see that she was still wearing her pajamas.

She wondered why she didn't go on the water more often.

It felt great being out in nature,

Away from children,

Work,

Problems,

Phone calls,

And emails.

She began to daydream and enjoy the view when she heard a bump,

Then another,

And then a third.

She was a bit disoriented at first,

But then realized she had hit something on the water.

She noticed that the water was leaking into the boat and her slippers were getting wet.

Ophelia stopped the boat and began to panic,

Shit,

Shit,

Shit,

Shit.

The water was coming in from three separate holes.

She was paralyzed with fear.

Oh my God,

I don't want to die,

I don't want to die,

She cried.

She looked for her phone and realized that she had left it in the car with her purse.

She looked for a life jacket,

But there were none in the boat.

She realized that she hadn't done the usual safety check.

There was nothing on the boat other than a purple baby floater her nephew had left behind under the seat.

That's great,

When people find me dead,

I will be wearing a purple baby floater and old pajamas,

She said out loud.

She couldn't decide whether she should try to sail back or stay put.

She tried to remember what her dad had taught her to do in case of emergency,

But her brain was fried.

How could I forget 25 years of boating experience?

I'm an idiot,

She scolded herself.

Ophelia began to curse her job,

Boss,

Husband,

Children,

Sister,

And the housekeeper she never hired.

This is what I deserve for being good,

She muttered as she looked up at the sky.

Then she called on God,

Virgin Mary,

Saint Anthony,

Angel Gabriel,

And any divine presence she could remember for help.

She wondered what Oprah would do in such a situation and realized that Oprah would never put herself in such a predicament.

This was just too stupid.

Plus,

No one knew where she was and wouldn't be looking for her at least for 24 hours.

Ophelia cursed the police for another senseless rule concerning missing people.

What an idiot,

She kept calling herself.

She tried to slow the water with her feet,

But with little success.

She took a deep breath and finally made a decision.

She had worked so hard her entire life.

She had climbed the corporate ladder and became a VP.

She was up for a promotion and she deserved to live and be successful.

No one she knew worked as hard as she did.

I'm not going to die today.

I'm not going to die,

She repeated.

As Ophelia began to get her emotions in check,

She saw a butterfly flying over the water.

If a butterfly can fly here,

I can swim to shore,

She thought.

It had to be a sign.

She took off her slippers,

Blew up the little purple floater,

And left the boat half filled with water behind.

As she swam,

She estimated that she was about seven or eight miles from land at the most.

She promised herself when she got back home,

Things would be different.

She wasn't going to be pushed around by her boss and family or weighted down by her obligations again.

She was going to change her life for the better.

No more long days in the office picking up everyone's slack.

She was going to make everyone pitch in and even delegate the cleaning and laundry to someone else.

She made good money and could afford to pay someone to do that.

Why didn't I think of that before?

She wondered,

Pretty stupid.

Ophelia scolded herself as she swam,

Wondering how she could be so dumb and not bring her phone or put the life jacket on the boat.

She should have known better.

She thought about what her husband was going to say and how her father would talk to her just like when she was 15 years old and had taken the boat out without permission.

Her mother would be quiet and give her a disappointing look.

Such an idiot,

She thought,

And continued swimming.

She was more than halfway from the shore when she saw a fishing boat.

She thought of flagging it,

But immediately changed her mind.

It was too close to shore.

When she stopped to rest and float,

Thinking about being seen in her pajamas or being found dead in her old underwear,

She saw fish swimming underneath the surface that could be a shark.

Then,

The fisherman she had spotted earlier approached her and asked her if she needed help.

No,

Thank you,

She replied.

I'm so close to the shore now.

She didn't want to hear his response,

Cut her rest short,

And continued to swim.

She felt good about her decision because,

After all,

The fisherman could have been a rapist,

Kidnapper,

Or killer.

In the last mile to shore,

She rehearsed in her mind the story of how she managed to swim ashore,

Escape from the possible sharks and a killer,

And survive the boat accident.

The local morning newspaper would read,

Ophelia survived by determination.

By then,

She had been in the water for at least six hours.

She saw the sun setting and decided to pick up the pace.

She still needed to find her car and phone before it got dark.

She wondered how many texts,

Calls,

And emails she must have missed that day.

My boss will be mad,

But the moment he finds out about my ordeal,

I will be promoted for sure,

She consoled herself.

Ophelia made a mental note to get her nails done and probably also a haircut for the new photos.

She kept swimming at a faster pace until her wrinkled feet,

Which were still in the water,

Could reach the ground.

Yes,

Sand,

She sighed.

There is no need to swim.

I can walk now,

She thought.

But her arms and legs were exhausted.

Her fingers were more wrinkled than raisins.

Her legs,

Weak from kicking,

Took the first steps out of the water and she collapsed like timber,

Lying there on the dry sand on that late afternoon.

Ophelia died on the beach.

The next day,

The local paper reported on the news,

Top female executive dies on the beach.

There was no picture.

There was no picture.