Burn out

A couple of days ago I met a couple of social workers. They were dining in at the restaurant. We began chatting about the field and mental health in particular. They had been in the profession for over twenty years. I mentioned I was considering going to graduate school for social work.

There response wasn’t exactly encouraging. It’s stressful. There’s no money in it. Burn out is real.

I left the conversation wondering if this was something I really wanted to do. Work with others. Underserved communities. Marginalized populations. Mental health. Addiction. Criminal offender populations. I wondered if my future would differ from their experiences.

Would I get burnt out? Grow tired of the day in, day out emotional drain? Then I realized that their experience was just one perspective. My passion and purpose doesn’t come from a field of my choosing. It comes from a personal journey that is uniquely mine. I didn’t choose this path. This path chose me.

All the struggles. The heartache. The days, months, and years in rehab. In mental hospitals. Behind bars. On the streets. The near death experiences. To the eyes of the world these experience make me a lesser candidate. People in business and politics desire squeaky clean individuals to represent their entities with “integrity”. A criminal record is a permanent scar in these arenas.

Yet my vulnerabilities can become my greatest strengths. I’ve walked this journey. There are others who can draw strength from my story. So many people in the shadows. Hurting. Lost. Afraid. I’ve been there. This is the path I am walking. Maybe I can help light the way a little.

After the rainstorm I found the rainbow. Maybe there will be a pot of gold somewhere there. Maybe there won’t. But my journey is more than chasing material things. It’s more than finding a career. It’s about fulfilling a purpose. A destiny. The meaning behind all the tears. I’ve caught glimpses in the past. I’ve seen a glimpse in my present. Because of that I keep my eyes watching God. Asking Him to increase my vision.

Burning out implies using up all my natural energy. Putting the world on my shoulders. Finding out that I can’t carry the burden. But having faith and trust in God lets me lay my burdens down. I can cast my cares aside. I don’t have to shoulder it on my own. I have a hidden reserve of oil to burn when my supply is gone.

Chasing the wind

Money. Career. Accomplishments. A family. Love. Pleasure. Social standing. Belonging.

In and of themselves, any of these can be considered normal goals. I’ve pursued after most if not all of these at some point in my life. Yet, I was never able to attain a lasting satisfaction. Even after checking the boxes. Decent paying job. Check. Promising career. Check. Good family life. Check. Loving wife. Check. House with mortgage. Check. A few zeroes in the bank account. Check.

I had these things for awhile. I loved life for awhile. And I still threw everything away. Something was unresolved in my soul. A silent sickness. An addiction that I refused to address. The type of cognitive dissonance that drives a wedge between me and God.

To the world, to my family, to my church, life was good. While I thought I was being a “good Christian”, I was living a double-life. How did it happen? Through a general numbing. The first lie felt bad. But the second one, less bad. The third, even less. Until I was completely numb to my conscience. During brief moments of reflection, I told myself I would stop. Every time. But I didn’t. One cover-up led to another. One deception gave birth to another. And another. Until my whole world became a house of cards. Waiting for the hammer to fall. And when it did, my beautiful illusion was destroyed in a moment.

Today, I have a better understanding of how such things happen. Not in one moment of weakness. It happens when I chase external things to satisfy. It happens when I lose contact with God. It happens when I ignore that little voice. When I lose that sense of peace. When my moral compass is jolted and I do nothing to recalibrate.

Today, my compass feels calibrated. It’s not pointed towards material things. Nor is it pointed towards “good” things. It is pointed at peace. The sense of peace that can be fleeting. If I allow it. If I allow myself to be blown away by the winds of temptation, anxiety, physical and soulish desires.

Peace. The sense of peace that comes from living in God’s will. I know how difficult it is to keep. To maintain. It is something I need to protect with moment by moment vigilance. It is a full-time job. Thankfully, I have the best employer. With God’s assistance, my life has become less of a chase and more a daily walk.