January 2026

I began this month with high expectations.  After a joyful and refreshing Christmas vacation, I wanted to bring all that good energy with me into the new year.  I resolved to find more balance between work and play, to maintain sleep and exercise routines for my mental health, and to keep focused on the things that bring me joy.  It felt good to have a plan.  I used this momentum to put my goals into action sustainably.  At home, I kept up the routines that hold me steady and invested in quality time with my kids.  At work, I felt a healthy detachment from the everyday stress and drama.  I hit a personal record on my first “long” run of the year (4.5 miles!).  Everything was off to a great start.

And then the balloon popped.  I got sick, laid low by the latest virus of the week.  I felt too tired to exercise and too foggy to keep track of what needed to be done.  I snapped at the kids.  I forgot the laundry in the washer.  I felt guilty that my husband and coworkers had to cover while I tried to rest.  Even as I started to get better, I couldn’t get my footing back.  All my lovely new routines had gone out the window.  I was behind at work, overwhelmed at home, and still having trouble keeping my mind on task.  One little virus pulled the rug out from under my illusion of control.

In this moment of deflation, a familiar thought started circling my mind.  “Why do I even try? Why work so hard to keep it together when it’s all beyond my control?  If I can’t run four miles, then I should just stay home.  If I can’t be the perfect gentle parent, I may as well let out all my frustration.  If I can’t keep ahead of the demands, then I should just accept failure. In just a few days of illness, I rode the pendulum all the way from idealism to apathy. A familiar sign of burnout.

The same pattern happens when I watch the news.  There’s so much going on and so little I can do.  It’s easier to turn it off and stop caring.  I want to be the idealist who stands up for justice, sacrificing my own needs to help others, but I’m tired.  I have kids to worry about and laundry to finish.  There are deadlines for work and insurance companies to fight with.  There’s barely enough energy for the daily tasks, not to mention the looming societal problems. 

My apathy is a red flag.  It’s a sign that I’m taking on too much.  And if I’m willing to listen, it’s also an invitation.  Underneath that apathy is a painful but needed reminder that I have limits.  I am not God.  I am not superwoman.  I am not the solution to every problem in my family, at work, or in the world.  My limits invite me to let go of control, but not to give up altogether.  At times like this, I come back to the Serenity Prayer: accept what I can’t change, change what I can.  Don’t let disappointment and grief scare me away from hoping and trying.  Below is an adaptation of the Serenity Prayer for those who are with me at the edges of burnout. May it help you find the balance between overwhelm and numbness.  

Grant me the serenity to accept all the things I can’t change:

  the endless cycles of illness

  the minds of those who disagree

  the dysfunctional systems we depend on

Help me focus on what I can do:

  choose kindness every day

  stay diligent in the tasks that are mine

  face suffering with compassion

And bless me with wisdom to recognize my limits:

  set healthy boundaries

  forgive my inevitable mistakes

  resist the temptation of apathy

       Amen