A Hard Lesson on the Importance of Work/Life Balance

Throughout my career, I’ve had potential employers ask me a range of interesting questions — anything from “What’s your horoscope sign?” to “Are you angry at your last employer for laying you off?” While I’m sure all these questions are fundamentally rooted in some behavioral assessment, the most interesting question I’ve ever been asked, “What do you do outside of work? We believe in work/life balance at our company.”

It is often asked hurried, hushed, right at the end of the interview, with the interviewer darting their eyes around the room as if afraid Capitalism will overhear them. “Two years ago,” I say honestly, “I wouldn’t have been able to answer that question. But, now, I have hobbies. I like to do yoga, go hiking, learn Spanish, and right now, I’m learning how to crochet. But, more importantly, I believe in taking the time I need away from work to be more able to do my work.” 

“I loved my job, the validation I got when the CEO, VPs, Directors praised me sustained me. Until one day an innocent question from my friend sent me into a spiral.”

I answer this way because having a life outside of work doesn’t equate work/life balance. I am much more confident now in my ability to know when to call it a workday. But two years ago, I didn’t know that. In fact, I would have scoffed at anyone leaving before 6pm, been annoyed with anyone leaving before 5pm, and absolutely disgusted with anyone leaving before 4pm. Life was work and work was life. I was the first one in the office and the last one to leave. My coworkers would walk in and out of the office, rolling their eyes and asking me if I lived there. I didn’t care. I loved it. I loved my job, the validation I got when the CEO, VPs, Directors praised me sustained me. I worked 12 hour days, checking email and Slack before I’d barely opened my eyes in the morning and one last time before I shut them at night. I was consumed. Until one day an innocent question from my friend, “What are your hobbies?” sent me into a spiral.

“What are my hobbies?” I asked myself. I racked my brain, repeating the question like a mantra, desperately trying to find an activity I did outside of work that wasn’t “watch Netflix”. There was nothing. No matter how I tried, the answer was “I don’t have hobbies” or “work” and this bothered me. The question refused to leave my head; I obsessed about it for weeks. Anytime a co-worker sat down to eat lunch, I immediately jumped on them: “Do you have hobbies? What are they?” Surely, I couldn’t be the only one who didn’t have a hobby, a life outside of work. Yet, time and again, whatever coworker I asked, gave me a reply: crafting, soccer, coding, volunteering, break-making, hiking. 

 “What are my hobbies?” I asked myself. I racked my brain, repeating the question like a mantra, desperately trying to find an activity I did outside of work. 

There was nothing.

I couldn’t let this stand. I had to have a hobby. In fact, my New Year’s Resolution became “get a hobby”. I started with walking. It was easy, free. I did 10,000 steps every day and got to explore NYC while doing so. Then, I moved to yoga. I had loved doing yoga as a teenager and wanted to increase my flexibility, so I started doing free yoga videos on Youtube. Soon, I was doing 10,000 steps a day, yoga every morning, and then work. And at work, I was flying. I had received a promotion right before the holiday break; I felt unstoppable. Important. The promotion meant twice the responsibility. After all, if anyone deserved it, it was me.

“I was doing everything, I was a rising star.  But what goes up, must always come down.  And I came down hard.”

Cut to: December, almost a year after my resolution to become a person with hobbies. At this point, I was working two jobs within my company and received another promotion. And then another. I’d also started an online Master’s program. Somehow, in-between all of this, I was also doing 10,000 steps every day, yoga every morning, volunteering once a week, seeing any musical or play that piqued my interest, maintaining a social life taking Spanish lessons three times a week, and moving to a new apartment. I was doing everything, I was a rising star. But what goes up, as the saying goes, must always come down. And I came down hard.

I’d been at the company for almost two years. I was a semester into my Master’s program. My hair was falling out. I couldn’t sleep at night and when I did, I woke up in a pool of anxiety. No matter how many deep breaths I tried to take, I couldn’t breathe until I finished my exercise regimen. I was losing weight even though I was eating constantly. I was stressed and but I thought I was handling it. Everything is fine, I thought. All I need is to do is this project, that assignment, this meeting, that final essay, 10,000 steps, and everything will be fine. (Cue Narrator: But everything would not be fine.) In my mind, if I could just maintain my obsessive and disciplined routine and schedule — now so overloaded and packed with work, life, and hobbies galore! — until I went home to see my family in Wisconsin for the holidays, everything would be fine.

“I didn’t stop crying for eight days straight.”

I woke up at 4am on the morning of my flight to do my yoga, do a Spanish lesson, get some steps in, and then to go see my family for the holiday break. Let me rephrase that: I woke up crying at 4am on the morning of my flight to do my yoga, do a Spanish lesson, get some steps in, and then to go see my family for the holiday break. And I didn’t stop crying for eight days straight.

“In whatever number stages of burnout there are, I was way past all of them.” 

I cried all through my yoga that morning. I cried brushing my teeth and washing my face. I cried through my Spanish lesson. I cried walking around the airport, getting my steps in. I cried all through the flight. I cried, silently, on the two-hour drive back home with my parents. I cried drinking my coffee in the morning, through dinners, starting my Winter class, and maintaining my obsessive need to fulfill 10,000 steps daily. For eight days, I wept silently, unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face for seemingly no reason until finally, in the middle of a 10,000-step walk through the freezing Wisconsin countryside, it suddenly occurred to me that I was burnt out. I stood in the middle of the road, suddenly cognizant of the last year of my life, which now was plainly laid out for me to see against the snow-covered cornfields.

It became very clear to me that despite my desire to become a person with a work/life balance, I had not appropriately balanced anything. I thought I could be a person who worked 12 hour days and still went to school, exercised, learned a new language, volunteered, and went to the theatre. I realized I needed to scale back, immediately; in whatever stages of burnout there are, I was way past all of them.

Since I was already out of NYC, it was pretty easy to begin with cutting out volunteering, going to shows, and canceling all my Spanish lessons. Though I knew I would eventually, slowly, incorporate these activities back in — at leisure and when I had time — for now, I needed to remove them completely from my overbooked calendar. Then, I sent an email to my manager telling him I would be unable to continue working two jobs for the company. I explained my situation and that I was burnt out. We set up a meeting for when I was back in the office to discuss how we could shift one set of responsibilities off my plate so I could focus fully on the other set of responsibilities.

“And then I slept for four days.” 

It was already too late to drop out of my winter class — and, in any case, it was a class I was super interested in taking — so the next thing to go was my obsessive, manic schedule of yoga and 10,000. After all, I was on vacation and after all, it was FREEZING outside. (My mom does have a treadmill, but I had done most of my walking outside despite the temperatures because I hated walking/running long distances on treadmills.) Instead, I simply stretched when I needed it and went for a short walk on my mother’s treadmill and called it a day. 

After I had finished my week of weeping, no amount of coffee could keep me awake throughout the day, so I gave in and listened to my body. And then I slept for four days. By simply understanding that I was burnt out from work and had too many things going on, I was able to give myself permission to let go of things. And with each thing I let go of, each activity or plan I canceled, I felt lighter. Finally, staring at an empty calendar, I could breathe again.