Today, I went on a walk and spent much of my time outdoors searching for the exact word to describe my emotions. The only word that really made sense was weary. Yes, my exhaustion is physical; I have not been sleeping well and my children have not been sleeping well. But more than the interruption to my sleep, I dread a nightmare for one of my girls because once they wake me up, I lie awake mentally scrolling through my own nightmares that also occupy my daytime thoughts. Rising Covid rates in my city, current events both here and abroad, my daughter’s worries, I even worry about the implications of worrying about worry.
A few years ago, in a text, my mom used the word “weary” instead of tired. I remember thinking, “Well, that might be a bit dramatic.” But her word choice was not dramatic, it was specific. Weary is different from tired and it was a much better choice for what she was feeling. It is important to be specific with our language.
Weary is a different feeling than mere physical tiredness. Weary conjures up pictures of a heavy weight that pulls you down and feels as though it will pull you under. Weary is not merely a lack of sleep, though that does not help, but also a general depletion of resources — of energy, of purpose, of hope. Being weary means you need help, you need someone to come alongside you, you need someone to help carry the burden.
I have read article after article about burnout among teachers, doctors, nurses, and pastors. Parents are no exception. Much of this comes from hope deferred. We had hopes for a normal summer, a smooth reentry to the school year, more playdates and fun for our children and ourselves. Then the delta variant hit and we had to once again manage not only our children’s expectations but our own. And at least for me, managing my own expectations is much more difficult.
Children do not exist in some sort of fear vacuum. My three may show it differently, but they fear all kinds of things — snakes, loneliness, sickness, death. They are looking for an adult to comfort them, but after eighteen months of comforting and consoling, I keep looking for the end. When will life give them a break from the constant worry of a pandemic? If it was just myself affected, I could manage (maybe). But I’m trying to handle my own emotions while helping three small children with unformed prefrontal cortexes learn to regulate theirs. It’s a lot. I felt validated when I read an article in the Guardian by Saima Mir, “This exhaustion becomes so severe parents begin to feel the need to distance themselves from their child … This is a common way we can identify compassion fatigue.”
I am also frustrated that my friends without unvaccinated children are pretty much back to normal. Sure, they may be asked to mask while indoors but for them, it’s a small inconvenience. I still live with three unvaccinated individuals and it’s hard to see my friends who feel secure and safe go on their vacations and their concerts and their social events.
At the same time, I also realize that, even when my children are vaccinated, I will have other things I grow weary of. A scientific breakthrough will not actually give me a full supply of energy. At the core, what I am sick and tired of is not Covid-related.
I am tired of telling friends that we cannot do certain things because I am worried about my children. I am really tired of judging others for making different choices. I am exhausted by my own self-criticism for being too strict or too anxious or too judge-y. My interior life and my exterior life are characterized by a total depletion of energy because I am spending all my precious energy on wearying things. And I cannot make myself stop.
I believed I understood the famous passage, “Come to me all you who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest.” I thought Jesus was talking about the months of physical exhaustion from a newborn or the emotional exhaustion of parenting a child with anxiety. And I think he does mean that. But Jesus is also talking about the burden of being all-too human: being worried, judgmental, sick and tired of ourselves. Jesus, you see, doesn’t add more items to our to do list. He isn’t yet another thing we have to manage. We don’t care for him; he comes alongside of us and cares for us. Indeed, his yoke is easy and his burden is light. In faith, we bring our weariness to him at lay it at his feet. He takes the anxieties, failures, and dismays of life and gives us peace in return.
Featured image via Quanta Magazine.
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[…] Weary of Myself by Jane Anderson Grizzle, mbird.com. “My interior life and my exterior life are characterized by a total depletion of energy because I am spending all my precious energy on wearying things. And I cannot make myself stop.” […]