Parental Burnout Quotes

Millennials became the first generation to fully conceptualize themselves as walking college resumes. With assistance from our parents, society, and educators, we came to understand ourselves, consciously or not, as “human capital”: subjects to be optimized for better performance in the economy.

So what exactly does it mean to be a late bloomer? Simply put, a late bloomer is a person who fulfills their potential later than expected; they often have talents that aren't visible to others initially... And they fulfill their potential frequently in novel and unexpected ways, surprising even those closest to them. They are not attempting to satisfy, with gritted teeth, the expectations of their parents or society, a false path that leads to burnout and brittleness, or even to depression and illness... Late bloomers are those who find their supreme destiny on their own schedule, in their own way.

No wonder “helping professions” are so exhausting—you’re confronted with people in need, all day, day after day. No wonder parenting is so exhausting—once you’re a parent, you’re never not a parent. You’re always going through the tunnel.

Burnout is a term used to describe the response to excessive and prolonged stress at work, although paid employment is not the only environment in which we can experience burnout. Anyone in a caring role, parenting role or volunteering role may also experience burnout.

Harlow concluded that contact comfort, or touch, is critical to the formation of a parent-child bond and that a lack of this contact is psychologically stressful.

La teta no es solo alimento, es contención, es seguridad, es la certeza de que ese ser del que venimos nos está protegiendo.

Poor parents don’t “arrive” at burnout. They’ve never left it.

you’re confronted with people in need, all day, day after day. No wonder parenting is so exhausting—once you’re a parent, you’re never not a parent. You’re always going through the tunnel.

Given the pandemic and remote schooling, children are now being expected to perform at a higher pace and with greater productivity. The demands not only affect the children, but the demands are overflowing onto their parental caregivers.

Y mientras tanto yo trato de no dejarme arrastrar por la demanda inagotable de sus pequeños cuerpos, por la necesidad constante de ser su lugar seguro, por el anhelo puro de mi cercanía. Mientras crío ellos me crían a mí, me perdonan, me drenan, me cargan, me abrazan, me detestan, me aman, me suplican. 

Y sí, habrá días en los que me dirás que me odias, habrá días en los que no querrás verme ni en pintura y lo acepto, lo entiendo. Solo quiero que sepan que así, sin tapujos me entrego a la maternidad, sin negar la mochila que llevo en la espalda, sino sacado de ella lo que ya no sirve para hacer la carga cada vez más liviana y para hacer espacio para lo que nutre.

But for some of us, a harsh, toxic madwoman is telling us we don’t deserve lower stress or improved mood. She says it’s right that we should suffer; we don’t deserve kindness or compassion or to grow mighty. And so she will punish us forever, no matter what we achieve. This dynamic is not just self-criticism, it’s self-persecution.10 Folks with more history of abuse and neglect, parental rejection and humiliation are more likely to experience harsh self-criticism and react to it with a sense of helplessness and isolation.11 When people with depression try to be self-reassuring, their brains respond with threat activation.12 In fact, fear of compassion for self is linked to fear of compassion from others. That means that somewhere inside them, they believe that if they’re isolated, that’s good; isolation protects others from their real, core badness. And if they’re suffering, that’s good; it prevents them from growing mighty, which might lead to them having power that they would inevitably fail to use effectively, or might even abuse. If that’s you, don’t start with self-compassion; start with lovingkindness toward others. Metta meditations, as they’re known in Buddhism, involve wishing love, compassion, peace, and ease on everyone from the people we care about most to people we hardly know to total strangers to our worst enemies—and even on ourselves. When self-compassion feels out of reach, try lovingkindness for others.

The “Tall Tree” Fairness Test We can imagine the advantages and disadvantages that shape our lives as similar to the natural environment that shapes a tree as it grows. A tree growing on an open, level field grows straight and tall, toward the sun; a tree that grows on a hillside will also grow toward the sun—which means it will grow at an angle. The steeper the hill, the sharper the angle of the tree, so if we transplant that tree to the level field, it’s going to be a totally different shape from a tree native to that field. Both are adapted to the environment where they grew. We can infer the shape of the environment where a tree grew by looking at the shape of the tree. White men grow on an open, level field. White women grow on far steeper and rougher terrain because the field wasn’t made for them. Women of color grow not just on a hill, but on a cliffside over the ocean, battered by wind and waves. None of us chooses the landscape in which we’re planted. If you find yourself on an ocean-battered cliff, your only choice is to grow there, or fall into the ocean. So if we transplant a survivor of the steep hill and cliff to the level field, natives of the field may look at that survivor and wonder why she has so much trouble trusting people, systems, and even her own bodily sensations. Why is this tree so bent and gnarled? It’s because that is what it took to survive in the place where she grew. A tree that’s fought wind and gravity and erosion to grow strong and green on a steep cliff is going to look strange and out of place when moved to the level playing field. The gnarled, wind-blown tree from an oceanside cliff might not conform with our ideas of what a tree should look like, but it works well in the context where it grew. And that tall straight tree wouldn’t stand a chance if it was transplanted to the cliffside. 19 One kind of adversity: How many white parents do you know who explicitly teach their children to keep their hands in sight at all times and always say “Yes, sir” and “No, ma’am” if they are stopped by the police? That’s just standard operating procedure for a lot of African American parents. Black parents in America grow their kids differently, because the landscape their kids are growing in requires it. The stark difference between how people of color are treated by police and how white people are treated results in white people thinking black people are ridiculous for being afraid of the police. We can’t see the ocean, so when black people tell us, “We do this to avoid falling into the ocean,” we don’t understand. But just because we can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there. How can we tell? By looking at the shape of the tree. Trees that grow at an angle grew on the side of a hill. People who are afraid of the police grew up in a world where the police are a threat. 20 Just because the road looks flat doesn’t mean it is. Just because you can’t see the ocean doesn’t mean it’s not there. You can infer the landscape by looking at the shapes of the people who grew in those environments. Instead of wondering why they aren’t thriving on the level playing field, imagine how the field can be changed to allow everyone to thrive.

We tried to work harder, and better, more efficiently, with more credentials, to achieve it. And everyone, including our parents, seemed to agree on the first and most necessary stop on that journey: college, the best one possible, no matter the cost.

Millennials, by contrast, have internalized the need to find employment that reflects well on their parents (steady, decently paying, recognizable as a “good job”) that’s also impressive to their peers (at a “cool” company) and fulfills what they’ve been told has been the end goal of all that childhood optimization: doing work you’re passionate about, which will naturally lead to other “better life outcomes.

And people protested. They protested the bans and they protested and they protested the Cad and they mobbed anyone with tattoos of leaves or ferns or cephalopods. No one realized that the infection was cryptic, then dormant, then heritable from either parent. And so it spread, named and considered an epidemic at first- a flash in the pan, like Ebola or Zika or Covid, that would eventually burn-out – and near the end more or less endemic.

I feel this intense pressure to step in and be this amazing “bonus mom.” Everyone expects me to just naturally be maternal and love my step-kids and take care of everything for them. I feel like I do all the hard work of parenting, but I don’t get any of the benefits that bio-parents get. I don’t get love, loyalty, or affection from the kids, no matter how kind I am to them. They never hug me or say thank you. I certainly don’t get acknowledged on Mother’s Day. I really try to be a good stepmom, but I feel like all my efforts are looked at with suspicion or resentment from my step-kids, because they think I’m “trying too hard.” It also feels like my husband wants it both ways. He expects me to love his kids “just like they’re my own,” and he expects me to take care of them and be involved and support them and help raise them. But then he gets defensive and territorial, and he resists my input if I try to be involved in any actual parenting, because they’re “his” kids, not mine. And his ex-wife gets threatened, and she basically tells me to “butt out and stay in my place.” So, my husband and his ex both expect me to help them do the hard work of parenting and provide childcare for them, but only on their terms. Apparently, I don’t get a place at the decision-making table. I feel like an unpaid babysitter, not a partner. And it seems like the harder I work and the nicer I am, the less anyone appreciates me. I can’t win.

We, humans, are creatures of habit. We tend to follow the mental picture painted by our parents, our neighborhoods, our towns, and the region of the world from which we originate. For better or worse. We don’t have to, though. We each have our minds, capable of imagining our ideal lives. We can choose to say yes or no to the million choices we face every day.

The story of middle-class ascendancy is all about individual hard work. And no one wants to lose any of the hard-won benefits of that work, which helps explain the popularity of the Personal Responsibility Crusade amongst boomers and their parents. Members of the middle class were so freaked out by seeping economic instability that they started pulling the ladder up behind them.

They, uh, gave me these.” He holds them up with a bashful smile. He stretches one out toward Dad. I hate every second of it, even if I understand that it’s more about partaking in the ritual than proclaiming him parent of the year. Then Flynn hands the other one to me. His face is flushed. My throat is thick with emotion as I take it. I hold it up in thanks and he backs away, then spins around to head back to the bench.

I've never been a nature person. Consider it my rebellion from my burnout hippie parents. I only ever went out to nature to see if I was tough enough to conquer it, never to just appreciate it.

With assistance from our parents, society, and educators, we came to understand ourselves, consciously or not, as “human capital”: subjects to be optimized for better performance in the economy.

No one told us hitting midlife would be so bloody hard!" says my old school pal, Friend Number One. "I mean, as if we haven't been through enough and then we are hit with peri menopause, menopause, medical stuff, kids turning into humans with their own brains, divorce, work burnout, parents getting old and sometimes dying–very inconsiderate of them.

If you are a person who devotes your life to the welfare of others—as a nurse, teacher, or social activist—meditation practice can protect you from burnout and open your eyes to a deeper understanding of ethical concerns. Bringing a contemplative dimension to your work allows you to honor your convictions while remaining open and flexible, even in the middle of chaos and confusion. If you are a parent or child, friend or lover, listening to the other with an unprejudiced heart, while fully expressing yourself, is a way of practicing the precepts that brings enlightenment into your relationships.

Most folks I know come to activist spaces longing to heal, but our movements are often filled with more ableism and burnout than they are with healing. We work and work and work from a place of crisis. Healing is dismissed as irrelevant, reserved for folks with money, an individual responsibility, something you do on your own time. Our movements are so burnout-paced, with little to no room for grief, anger, trauma, spirituality, disability, aging, parenting, or sickness, that many people leave them when we age, have kids, get sick(er) or more disabled, or just can’t make it to twelve meetings a week anymore.

It's never too early to start lecture kids about race and racism. The following pointers will assist you in getting the conversation started. Sara D. Lee, MSW, LCSW, shares her tips for talking about race with our youngsters. Inspect her website Pacific Burnout Therapy or on Facebook. Conversations about race are always happening around us. Always. Of media, and each person participates in the least times. A bit like during a painting, where the filled and blank spaces close to doing the whole work, both what's said and what's left unsaid matter. For instance, I adore Mr. Rodgers. Still, the absence of 1 or more celebrated paternal figures of color in children's media is an example of racism shaping the children's conversation on race. An Asian-American, Latinx, Native-American, or African-American father figure could have filled that role if it didn't require a singular blend of access and privilege that our society exclusively extends to the White race.

Parents’ Rule: Always give trust slightly in advance of demonstrated trustworthiness.

My parents thought I was the Good Little Girl, because that’s who they wanted me to be.  For decades during my adult life, I was a doormat because they had trained me to be totally responsive to other people’s needs with no consideration for my own.  I do enjoy giving to other people, but when it’s required over a long period of time, the joy leaves, quickly replaced by total burnout. I’ve come to realize that I can have a good heart and be deeply compassionate without being a doormat.  And I can give to other people, as long as I give to myself as well.

One of the more insidious side effects of pseudo-productivity in the knowledge sector is the manner in which it forces individuals to manage tensions between work and life all on their own. If you toil in a factory, and your employer wants you to put in twelve-hour days, this demand will be clearly specified in a labor contract, in black and white, in a form that can be pointed to and argued about...Under a pseudo-productivity regime, by contrast, such demands are more implicit and self-reinforced. You're judged on how much total work you visibly tackle from a never-ending supply of available tasks, but no one is going to tell you specifically how much is enough - that's up to you. Good luck! This reality requires parents - and more specifically moms, who often shoulder more of these household burdens than their partners do - to renegotiate for themselves, day after day, the battle between the demands of employment and family. This is a process that unfolds as a thousand cutting decisions and compromises, each of which seemingly disappoints someone, until you find yourself writing at 4:00 a.m. next to a precarious pile of laundry.