As exhausted as I was, I wanted to finish that last year in TV with my head held high. Most days felt like a battle, but thanks to an incredible support system and some ad hoc coping skills, I managed to push past my limits. My method was anything but perfect, but I’ve fine-tuned it since then. Now, I’m passing these steps on to you. I’m calling it: STORIES for surviving burnout.
The first step, S, stands for Say it out loud. Give that microphone a good tap and use your best TV voice to say, “I need help.”
Like the start of any recovery, you need to recognize that you have a problem. Putting a name to it makes it real. You are burning out. The initial symptoms may be subtle, like fatigue and anxiety. Do not ignore them. Our bodies have a way of getting our attention if needs aren’t being met. I learned this lesson the hard way.
After the panic attack, I started taking an antidepressant, Zoloft, and seeing a counselor who diagnosed me with Panic Disorder. I realized this wasn’t a 24-hour stomach bug.
The sickness had been bubbling just beneath the surface for a while. I had started to dread going to work. Suddenly, I was questioning my talent. I was reaching for perfection. A typo could send me into a spiral. I felt like an imposter — as if any moment my coworkers and the community would see me for who I really was — a complete failure.
But there was much more to my story. The stress of the job was also triggering some unresolved trauma. It was like pulling long, tangled weeds from the earth. It took me years to get to the root of the problem. I thought I just had bad anxiety, but I was also living with undiagnosed PTSD and Borderline Personality Disorder from prior life events unrelated to my career.
If this strikes a nerve, know that you’re not the only one peeling back the layers of who you really are. Unfortunately, many people live with insecurities or repressed emotions from trauma like childhood abuse and/or sexual assault. Addressing your burnout and saying it out loud may just be the beginning. You’ll never be the same after accepting this truth, but the journey is worthwhile.
So there I was, at the peak of my career, but a deeply insecure and anxious person whose whole identity was wrapped up in being the best journalist. It’s not so much that I was surprised by how hard the job had gotten. In college, my teachers warned me that I’d need a “thick skin” for this industry, but I personally wasn’t equipped to cope with all the emotions I’d feel at every inevitable speed bump in the road.
As important as it is to be introspective, something else needs to be said out loud: the industry at large is part of the problem. I had the privilege of a supportive work environment, creative freedom, and job satisfaction, but I still burned out. I know that’s not the case for many, many journalists. Experts have been sounding the alarm for years. A 2023 study estimated that more than 70% of journalists will experience burnout. Like anything worthwhile, being a journalist comes at a cost. It’s a low-paying, unpredictable, and demanding profession.
So what the hell does it even mean to have a “thick skin,” anyway? How do you acquire it (especially if you’re naturally sensitive or introverted like I was)? Of course, you’ll see the best in people and share inspirational stories about the human condition. But you’ll also see the worst and have to learn to tell all of those stories without absorbing too much of them. The fleeting joy, the disparity, the pain, the injustice. If you never learned to manage your emotions (many of us don’t), you’ll carry all the stories you cover until the weight threatens to crush you.
Sure, modern life is fast-paced, and you should take care of yourself. But on a journalist’s salary, just having your own space to decompress and a decent gym membership can feel like an unattainable luxury.
I get that the industry can’t afford higher salaries because of the business model (or some such reason). But it demands a lot from the people who make those profit margins possible, often expecting twice the work for half the pay. I believe that media corporations should take care of their employees by offering a livable wage, effective workflows, adequate time off, and mental health resources. And if you think it isn’t their responsibility to do these things, I’d argue that now more than ever, Americans harbor repressed trauma that an emotionally demanding job will inevitably trigger. This isn’t breaking news, so why not try to prevent it?
Many newsrooms have found ways to support journalists despite budget constraints, but it will likely be years before it becomes an industry standard. Local TV might be dying, but you don’t have to go down with it.