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Part 01 - Workaholism

8/25/2009 7:35:26 PM

THE EARLY YEARS

Part 1

Entered on website 4/18/08

It took me a long time to acknowledge that workaholism threatened to cripple the heart of me.  In the early years of my ministry, I waved it like a banner that proclaimed what a wonderful person I was.  Look how the pastor sacrifices!  I wanted to be available for everyone at every moment, no matter what.  If by some chance a person’s need escaped my vigilance, I felt I’d failed and redoubled my efforts.

Days off were torture.  What emergency might crop up; what situation that would require my presence and expertise?  This wasn’t a job; it was my calling in life, and if, by God, I needed to pay for it with blood, sweat and sleepless nights, then that’s exactly what I’d do.

What I couldn’t admit, not even to myself, was the toll it was taking on my soul.  There was little time for quiet reflection, no time to focus on my dreams—unless, of course, the dreaming involved goal planning for the congregation.  Back then, this was probably the only dream I had.  But slowly, very slowly, the fingers of exhaustion were beginning to find cracks in my armor.

Journal Entry

I realize (again) how terrible a thing it is to allow myself to get so tired.  I’ve worked several weeks in a row now over 60 hours and it shows.  I talk more about being tired (no one needs to hear that from me), and I’m not as open to God’s leading, not as able to hear the little nudges and leadings.

I know there are many people who would love to work only 60 hours a week, but for me, it was over the limit.  I kept pushing myself to be the pastor I thought I needed to be.  I wasn’t yet able to step back far enough to see what was happening.  A good, descriptive image for me at that time is either that of juggler (I’ve got to keep all the balls in the air so they won’t come crashing down) or puppeteer (I’ve got to move people and programs around to keep the organization going).

When I felt like I was doing a fairly decent job, I was on top of the world.  But—let one little incident happen that called my abilities into question, and I plunged into depression and anger.

Journal Entry

Why, I ask myself over and over, do I have such a need for validation?  This confuses me.  I no longer need personal approval from people (I want you to like me), but I feel such a need to have my parishioners and colleagues recognize what a good pastor I am.  I’m constantly monitoring them to try and understand what they expect of me, and how it is I can meet those expectations.

My days are ordered by thoughts of what a pastor is supposed to do.  Half the time I can’t tell if others expect these things of me or if I expect them of myself.  What image of the ‘perfect’ pastor do I carry in my head that tells me when I’m succeeding and that haunts me when I fail?  And where on earth did that image come from?

Why don’t I ever ask myself why I have such a need to meet those expectations?  What will happen to my world if I stopped trying to meet every one’s expectations—including my own—and just be myself?  Do I have any idea what that would even be?

Oh, God, I’m so tired.

In rare, quiet moments (oh, those wonderful vacations), I caught a glimpse of the driven person I was and promised myself I’d change  My intentions were good but with hardly a whimper of protest, I’d jump back into the chaos and pressure as though it were calling me home.   This is what life is made of; this is what tells me I’m alive.

Whenever I’d hear gentle whispers that encouraged me to ‘let it go’, I dug in my heels and worked even harder.  Questions and doubts got pushed ruthlessly aside.  Me?  A workaholic?  Of course not.  I’m just concerned, committed, and holding the church together for God.   Being a pastor isn’t like other work: it’s not what I do, it’s who I am.  All these years later I still groan when I think of that driven, achieving woman who was trying so hard to hold life together, to somehow make it work.

I’d spent my whole life trying to be somebody’s good little girl.  It was easy to place myself in that same relationship with God.  The more I felt I had to somehow please God, the more pressure I put on myself to 1) know what God wanted from me, and 2) figure out how to go about doing exactly that.  And feeling constantly guilty because I never felt I got it right.  If you think I sound a touch neurotic, I think you’re probably right.

Journal Entry:  I’ve felt so tired again, a sure sign something’s not right.  Last night coming home, I realized during the funeral reception yesterday I needed to get away.  It was too much.  All those people needing me; the burden was stifling.

It’s no wonder I feel this way.  I’ve not even wanted to take off time.  Called in on my day off to check on things.  Last night, as I thought of taking more time off, my anxiety level began to rise.  I’m not entirely sure what’s at the root of it.  Do I see chaos setting in, swamping me, a fear of things getting out of control?  I’ve been feeling depressed, so that’s a clue my thinking’s gone awry.

As long as I felt ‘my work is who I am’, how I performed in my work was terribly important.  If I did well, I felt valued.  If I made a mistake, I felt shame.  I constantly (but unconsciously) measured myself against some imaginary standard of perfection.  What does it mean to be a good pastor?  And how, for heaven’s sake, will I know when I get there?  I even felt pressure in my relationship with God:  what are God’s standards and how many breaks do I get before God walks away from me?

Why am I focusing on workaholism now?  For two reasons: because it’s a major way of defending ourselves against growing and because it has tremendous impact on spirituality.  See Reflection 3- The Workaholic in Me.

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