Finding hope & beauty in the fallow season

A story about spectacular autistic & occupational burnout

There's a quote attributed to an unknown source that says 'often it takes a crisis for us to wake up.' I wish it wasn't that way, but unfortunately it was for me. I knew I wasn't well, physically or mentally, and I knew I wasn't going to get better in the environment that was making me sick. That environment was a particular job I had at the time where the people, culture, commute and physical building - although none of them terrible - weren’t great.

It quickly became apparent that despite my best attempts to treat everyone at the organisation equally, one person (someone I didn’t even work with directly) had taken a dislike to me and, without going into unnecessary detail, made multiple attempts to have me fired. Everyone in the organisation told me that this person was a ‘difficult member of staff’ and could see that her attacks were unprovoked and unjustified. Things turned quite nasty and I was very glad to have the backing of my boss, as well as the organisation’s board members, in dealing with this situation. And although the situation was eventually resolved, there were lots of other negative things about that job that I wasn't able to fix.

Despite conversations prior to my employment around flexible working, and promises made to me that I would be able to work from home sometimes should I want to, my follow-up requests were met with disapproval or plain disdain, even though my work didn't usually require me to be physically present in the office.

And although there were commiserations over my long commute and 10 hour days it was simply implied that I should be able to cope because I had signed up for the job in the first place - and who was I to argue with that?

As with most things in life, there were other factors that contributed to my job stress, including money worries and what other people would think of me for leaving prior to my contract ending. I was in my mid 20’s, I was earning good money, and I had already quit a previous job after less than a year. I wanted to prove - to myself, to my family, and to the wider world - that I could do it. This role was contracted for eight months and here I was less than halfway through, unable to see a way forward. I felt guilty and ashamed for even considering resignation.

Not only was work stress getting on top of me, but I felt like life in general was just too much for me to handle. I had always struggled with overwhelm but I couldn’t seem to get on top of things - especially wedding planning, which I'll talk about more in another post.

I felt frazzled on a daily basis, like I was at the end of my proverbial rope. My then-fiancé/now-husband repeatedly expressed his concern when, after being out of the house for 10+ hours, I would sit on my bedroom floor unable to speak, seemingly mute from exhaustion. Romance was almost dead during this time, and any task or activity requiring brainpower was completely beyond me.

I felt emotionally numb yet frequently broke down in tears as soon as I was alone. I regularly spent the whole hour-and-a-half commute in tears, only to put a smile on my face to walk in the door to work, to then cry the same journey home, just to wipe away my tears before heading inside.

What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I cope? I was making good money! If I quit now, I would be a failure - or so I thought.

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I have experienced many lows in my life so far, and although this job was not my lowest point, I could foresee that things were not going to end well if I kept going on the trajectory I was on. I had a sneaking suspicion that I had already let myself get too burned out to recover without taking drastic measures, and I was angry. I was angry at myself for taking the job in the first place, and I was angry at society for being set up in such a way that I seemingly couldn't function well within it.

It was during my time in this job that I decided to research autism more deeply and came across the YouTube videos of the wonderful

Charlie Rewilding

. Her videos surrounding her ADHD diagnosis, after already having been diagnosed as autistic, sparked something in me… Was this it? Was this why I couldn't function well in ‘normal’ society? Was I too, autistic - and maybe even ADHD?

The answer turned out to be yes - to both. I had already researched autism a couple of years prior to this, but this time something stuck with me, especially the research I found surrounding women with ADHD and how the symptoms can differ so much from the stereotype. I recognised myself in so many checklists of traits that I realised I couldn't ignore my neurodivergence anymore, especially as it was affecting my ability to function in the workplace.

I quit my contract early, not even six months into the role, and 12 months later to the month, in March of this year, I was diagnosed as meeting the assessment criteria for both autism and ADHD.

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I guess this is a story about internalized ableism, although I think that term is horribly overused and quite honestly I don't know enough about it to go in-depth here.

All I know is that there was a very large part of me that desperately wanted to be ‘normal’ - to be able to cope in a normal job, wear normal clothes, and not fall apart at the end of each day (and week). Everyone else seemed able to cope with the demands on their time and energy, so why couldn't I?

In farming and agriculture, historically every third year a field would be given a ‘fallow season’ when no crops were planted so the soil could recover.

It's been around 14 months since I resigned and I haven't done any paid work since. My husband and I have had many conversations that typically end with both of us concluding that neithet of us see me returning to employment any time soon - if ever. If I was to return to work it probably wouldn't be a desk or office job, as sitting at a desk for prolonged periods of time isn't ADHD-friendly for me and I struggle with oscillating sensory understimulation/overstimulation in office buildings.

Instead I'm choosing to see this quiet time in my life as a fallow season, an intentional period of rest to allow myself to recover and re-assess my life. I have already evolved and changed so much since my resignation, and have been pleasantly surprised to find new interests and passions emerging, as well as old ones resurfacing. I have rediscovered parts of myself that were hidden or buried as well as discovering new things I like doing and new parts of myself that have taken me completely by surprise. I can only assume this is because I am unmasking more thanks to my diagnosis and also because of burnout.

Also, no longer needing to look ‘presentable’ for work has led me on an interesting journey regarding my personal style and clothing choices. I have a lot of thoughts on how we’re expected to dress vs. what actually fits us well and makes us feel good - not to mention what suits our lifestyle. This is something I'd like to talk more about in future posts.

All in all, any casual onlooker would probably think I haven’t ‘done much’ since I left paid employment. As I was pondering the value and importance of my own fallow year, I was struck by the poignant words of Bex Massey of

Bramble & Fox

in her post Fallow Fields:

If you’re wondering how we’re nearly half way through the year already and you haven’t got anything to show for it, pause for a moment and and consider - is 2024 your fallow year?

It seemed serendipitous that someone so eloquently put into words the exact thing I was thinking and feeling. It confirmed to me that the fallow year is not a failure, but instead a time of recovery, recuperation, and ultimately rejuvenation and renewal for a new season ahead. Even though Bex’s words ring true for me in that “it looked like a year where I stood still for a large part of it.”

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My fallow season has not quite ended, but I can foresee a time when it will. Going forward I will always have to be aware of having a reduced capacity thanks to burnout, my neurodivergence, and a couple of niggling health issues - but I am getting better, slowly.

I'm not writing this to give advice or to congratulate myself that I am through to the other side of burnout. I simply hope that if parts of my story resonate with you, or if you have seen yourself in these sentences, then this serves as a reminder that you are not alone.

We are all in this together. And I, maybe like you, also stand at the intersections of life, not knowing which way to turn.

But I am figuring it out, slowly. And I trust that you will be able to figure it out too.

We will figure it out, together.

Til next time,

J x