The Violence of Hope: Burnout

The Violence of Hope

Burnout is not a personal failure. It's a rational response to an impossible situation. We have pushed against the tide until our lungs burned, until our arms gave out. We've endured our few fleeting waves of joy dashed against the rocks, replaced by angry waves of pain rising over our heads. We've screamed into the void until our voices wore thin and broken. We've dragged the mistakes of the past behind us and carried the weight of future generations, until our backs could bear no more. We've tried so hard to fix the problems that others built. We banded together to fight the rising tide.

And still, everything we've done, the successes, the struggling systems we built together crumble like sand castles in that rising tide, washing away everything we've worked for.

In The Burnout Society, Byung-Chul Han tells us that burnout comes not just from working too hard, but from the exhausting mandate to remain positive, to keep believing that individual effort can overcome systemic collapse. I've felt it in my own efforts to make the world a kinder place, when I was shown again and again that we were headed in the opposite direction and that there was nothing I could really do to slow the momentum of our demise.

For a collapse-aware activist, this creates a particularly cruel double-bind: we are expected to maintain hope while witnessing its futility.

Collapse Burnout

What we are feeling is not ordinary fatigue. Collapse burnout permeates every aspect of our being. Our bodies carry the stress of constant crisis, the tension of perpetual emergency. Emotionally, we bear witness to loss after loss, each new disaster confirming our worst fears. Spiritually, we face the dissolution of meaning structures that once sustained us. They've failed us, so we let go. Socially, we navigate relationships with those who cannot or will not see what we see. And as activists and advocates, we watch our life's work unravel despite our best efforts.

The very tools we once used to combat despair—hope, optimism, belief in change—have become instruments of our exhaustion. We are burned out not just by what we've done, but by what we've forced ourselves to believe.

Beyond the Self-Help Trap

Traditional advice to combat burnout rings hollow in the face of accelerating collapse. We're told to take better care of ourselves, to set better boundaries, to practice self-compassion, to find work-life balance, to maintain hope. But this individualistic approach misses the point. When the world is burning, self-care alone becomes another form of denial. A distraction. We need something more radical than hot baths and positive affirmations.

Doomee's Path Through Burnout

Instead of fighting exhaustion with forced positivity, we choose radical acceptance and authentic connection. First, we must release the burden of hope. Stop forcing yourself to believe in impossible outcomes. We're done. The sooner you accept that we're dying, the sooner we can get on with living. Let go of the need to fix everything. Accept that some things are beyond saving. That sometimes, it's better to let go so you can have time to say goodbye. Find peace in doing what you can without demanding results.

Then, we turn outward instead of inward. In our me-me-me world, this can feel counter-intuitive. Self-help books line our shelves and fill up our devices. We're helpfully chastised to "put the oxygen mask on yourself first." Rather than focusing on self-improvement, look for ways to help others. Let your pain connect you to the pain of others. Find purpose in reducing suffering rather than preventing collapse. Build relationships based on shared understanding rather than forced optimism.

If more people tried to make others happy rather trying to make themselves happy, the world would be a much happier place.

Into all of this, I am not suggesting that you don't take time for yourself. Take care of you. Honor your limits. Burning out serves no one. Accept that rest is not a betrayal of the cause. Understand that your capacity to help others depends on your own sustainability. Find ways to contribute that match your current energy levels. That said, finding a way to give that feeds your heart is one of the most rewarding ways to combat burnout.

Then, we go outside. To stay strong, we have to connect with the more-than-human world. Spend time with animals who want nothing more than to love and be loved, giving freely to anyone who treats them well. Walk among trees that don't demand your productivity. Listen to songbirds who don't care about your impact metrics. Feel the nourishment of rain that falls without asking anything of you. Remember that you are part of, not separate from, the natural world.

And find another like you. Practice sincere and honest connection by finding or creating spaces (frameworks) where collapse awareness can be discussed openly. Share your exhaustion without shame. Allow others to witness your grief without trying to fix it. Build communities based on authentic presence rather than forced resilience. Honesty knows honesty. Sincerity hungers for sincerity.

Tools for Emotional Survivability

Our emotional survival depends not on individual resilience but on collective care and connection. Positive supportive relationships, even one-on-one, especially one-one one, can pull you out of the riptide. For those who are a bit more social than I, grief circles provide regular spaces where collapse-aware individuals can share their pain without pressure to "solve" anything.

For the introverts (hello), you don't have to join a club or find a meeting to connect. Connection to animals and nature can ground us in something larger than human systems—through silent walks in natural areas, tending plants and gardens, slowing down to watch the secret lives animals, and tuning in to the flow of weather and seasons. But don't underestimate the power of connecting with just one human. A wave, a little neighborly help can build lifelines you didn't know you needed.

Service without attachment offers a way forward—helping others in ways that don't require specific outcomes, focusing on immediate, tangible acts of care, and finding joy in the act of helping rather than in the results. Through thoughtful internal energy management, we learn to identify our capacity honestly, choose actions that match our energy level, move between different types of service, and allow ourselves periods of complete rest.

Finding Your Flow

The way through burnout is not to push harder but to flow differently. Like water, we learn to move around obstacles rather than exhausting ourselves trying to break them. We find sustainable ways to help, natural rhythms of giving and receiving, organic patterns of connection and rest.

This isn't about recovering so we can return to the fight. It's about finding an entirely different way of being—one that honors both our deep care for the world around us and for our human limitations. Instead of being warriors futily battling against collapse, we are witnesses and helpers within it.

A Note on Continuation

For those who have spent their lives pushing and swimming against the tide, this approach may feel like giving up. It is not. It is giving in to a deeper wisdom that says: your worth is not measured in impact metrics. Your value doesn't depend on your ability to prevent the inevitable. You are needed not for your ability to fix things, but for your capacity to care.

The world needs us not to burn brighter, but to burn longer. Not to push harder, but to remain present. Not to hope more, but to love more deeply.

This is how we go on—not through the violence of forced positivity, not carrying a torch of hope into the downpour, but through the gentle persistence of authentic presence and a philosophy of care.

We can't save the world. We can't even, necessarily, make it a better, kinder place. But you may be able to save the ones who need you. And in doing that, you may even save yourself.

It's tough out there. Be kind. Even to yourself.