Borrowing from My Future Self

Creating Space for the Social Burnout Lag Effect

Borrowing from My Future Self
Creating Space for the Social Burnout Lag Effect

Photo by Ethan Hoover on Unsplash

I’m always trying to calculate how much energy I have left and how much I can afford to spend before I collapse in a heap.

Some people measure this in spoons. Some use a stoplight analogy. However you track it, those of us living with chronic fatigue or disability are constantly assessing how much we have left and how much more we can accomplish before we run out.

The problem is that our energy, and thus our capacity, ebbs and flows from day to day. One day I might be able to handle a ten-mile hike, but another day my capacity might be sharply reduced. With something like a hike, the cause of the depletion is obvious, and it’s relatively easy to predict the recovery time. In far too many situations, though, we don’t know what depleted us, and it catches us by surprise.

Last week, I came across a post by The Autism Doctor about the Social Burnout Lag Effect.[1] She describes that feeling when you attend an event, perhaps even one you enjoy, and then 24 to 72 hours later, you find yourself burning out. She notes, “By the time the fatigue, irritability, shutdowns, executive dysfunction, anxiety, or depression appear, the social event that triggered them feels disconnected from the symptoms.”[2]

As someone who is often puzzled by fluctuations in my energy, this struck me immediately. It felt especially relevant this past weekend when I had several emotional and extroverted activities on my plate.

The Autism Doctor describes the idea of borrowing energy from your future self. She writes, “When you are in ‘high-performance mode,’ your body relies on a surge of adrenaline and cortisol to keep you sharp. You are effectively “borrowing” energy from your future self to pay for your current presence. It’s only when the adrenaline clears and the nervous system attempts to return to baseline that the true cost becomes apparent.”[3] As I read that, I felt like she was writing directly to me.

Photo by ilya mondryk on Unsplash

The idea was still in my mind on Saturday, when I accidentally hugged a dear friend who doesn’t like physical touch at the emotional send-off for our beloved co-op preschool. I was dysregulated enough that I didn’t register what I was doing until I had already leaned in and wrapped my arms around her. To her credit, she didn’t recoil. But the moment the hug ended, I realized what I’d done.

“I’m so sorry I hugged you!” I said.

“It’s okay. I’ve been hugging lots of people. Tomorrow I’ll just be in a heap on the floor.”

She said it breezily, like it was a simple statement of fact. Then her face froze for a moment, and I saw a flicker of horror in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to sound harsh.”

But she didn’t need to apologize. I knew exactly what she meant. It was the Social Burnout Lag Effect, and she was experienced enough to know it was coming for her the next day.

Despite understanding this concept, I still get caught off guard by sudden drops in my energy. This weekend, I knew how emotionally costly it would be to say goodbye to our school community and reconnect with so many people, but I didn’t plan for the aftermath. I didn’t build in time to collapse.

So when Sunday arrived, I wanted nothing more than to lie in a hammock in the shade and read. It was unusually hot in Seattle, and I don’t do well in the heat at the best of times. This tumultuous stretch of life doesn’t qualify as the best of times.

The challenge is that I’m not just balancing my own nervous system. I have three AuDHD kids to consider as well. My oldest had no interest in going out, but my younger two were thrilled by the idea of spending a summer-like day at our local theme and water park. As I’ve written recently, the park is closing after this season, so I was minded to say yes. I want to help my kids soak up as much joy from it as they can while it’s still here.

In that moment, their need for adventure collided directly with my need to rest and recharge. Thankfully, my husband was able to drive, which meant I could attempt to get the best of both worlds: taking our kids to the park without personally having to shoulder the full load myself.

While we were at the park, I found myself quietly calculating the cost. Eighty-six degree heat. Thousands of people. Loud music. Intense smells. A steady hum of sensory overwhelm, just barely outweighed by my children’s joy and my own nostalgia.

The next day, I slept in a little before trying (and failing) to get my kids to school. I had hours of work to complete. I made it through the day, but I couldn’t help wondering when the bill would come due for the energy I’d spent. In the end, it caught up with me a few days later.

By the time this publishes, summer will officially be here. I know it will be filled with constant calculations of whose nervous system can handle what, and for how long. Balancing getting my kids out of the house to keep them off screens with allowing enough time to rest and recover between outings involves complex calculations.

The hardest part is that the cost won’t always show up right away. But it will show up. And we all eventually pay the price.

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[1] The Autism Doctor.

and https://theautismdoctor.substack.com/p/the-social-burnout-lag-effect-in?r=1abwsw&utm_medium=ios

[2] The Autism Doctor.

[3] The Autism Doctor. https://theautismdoctor.substack.com/p/the-social-burnout-lag-effect-in?r=1abwsw&utm_medium=ios