More than six months into the pandemic, I’ve found two articles about the six-month wall and resilience captivating and somehow reassuring.
The first, by Nancy Doyle is titled “Professor Ahmad’s Six-Month Wall: Rehumanizing The Virtual Workplace.” I started to clip my favorite bits and very quickly almost had the whole article. So here are a few gems... (I forced myself to stop at 5).
I *always* hit a wall six months into a tough assignment in a disaster zone. The desire to "get away" or "make it stop" is intense. I've done this many times, and at 6 months, it's like clockwork”.
I've had to power through that six-month hump before and there is life on the other side. Right now, it feels like we are looking ahead at a long, dark wintery tunnel. But it's not going to be like that. Rather, this is our next major adaptation phase. We've already re-learned how to do groceries, host meetings, and even teach classes. And we have found new ways to be happy and have fun. But as the days get shorter and colder, we need to be ready to innovate again. This is my first pandemic, but not my first six-month wall.
First, the wall is real and normal. And frankly, it's not productive to try to ram your head through it. It will break naturally in about four to six weeks if you ride it out. Of course, there are things we have to do. Work. Teach. Cook. Exercise. But just don't expect to be sparklingly happy or wildly creative in the middle of your wall.
Did you know that eighty three percent of disabilities are acquired, at the average age of 53 years old? ... here’s a bunch of advice from my neurodivergent and disabled colleagues and clients. This is from our experience of long haul living in a world that doesn’t flex to us, that we have needed to flex to in order to belong. Let us share our wisdom and ideas for hanging in there during crisis fatigue.
A client with chronic fatigue syndrome once relayed their metaphor for managing energy. “Never let the battery run to zero. Recharge at around three or four and set it back to ten before you get started again.”
The second is “What My Sled Dogs Taught Me About Planning for the Unknown” by Blair Braverman. It turns out that sled dogs, by nature, are unable to pace themselves; they don't know whether they will be pulling heavy loads for 30 miles or 1,000 miles. Braverman’s brief article was full of fascinating insights around how to operate when an unknown distance lies ahead. Two favorite quotes [bold emphasis mine]:
It’s far easier to prevent fatigue than to recover from it later. But resting early, anticipating your dogs’ needs, does something even more important than that: It builds trust. A sled dog learns that by the time she’s hungry, her musher has already prepared a meal; by the time she’s tired, she has a warm bed. If she’s cold, you have a coat or blanket for her; if she’s thirsty, you have water. And it’s this security, this trust, that lets her pour herself into the journey, give the trail everything she has without worrying about what comes next. You can’t make a sled dog run 100 miles. But if she knows you’ve got her back, she’ll run because she wants to, because she burns to, and she’ll bring you along for the ride.
What this means for people, for us, is that we can’t just plan to take care of ourselves later. We shouldn’t expect to catch up on sleep when we really crash, or to reach out to loved ones after we’re struck by loneliness. We should ask for support before we need it. We should support others before they ask. Because if you don’t know how far you’re going, you need to act like you’re going forever.
Lastly, if you want a burst of joy, check out Tammy Ortery’s 40-second video.