Young tired working woman at work.seb_ra/iStockPhoto / Getty Images
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Lauren Heintzman is a design editor at The Globe and Mail.
I am exhausted. And it’s not just because of this week’s time change. Working in the news industry can be a lot. The world is in a grim state. It is alternatingly (and increasingly) flooding and on fire. Children’s graves are still being found at residential schools. We have entered a third year of a global pandemic. There are conflicts worldwide, and people fleeing their homes by the millions. A looming food crisis. Humanity is “unprepared for the impacts of climate change.”
These big news events can make deciding what to put on the front page of The Globe easy. Heavy, but clear. There are obvious stories or photos that deserve a spot on A1. The early days of the Russian invasion of Ukraine were like this. As a design editor, I’m particularly interested in images that show the magnitude of war and its human impact. As the war drags on, though, these decisions can become tougher.
Visuals from Ukraine are haunting and relentless. There is no shortage of destroyed hospitals, homes and schools. Of people grieving and leaving their homes, their lives. When we create the paper, we understand these images can be inescapable. So the daily struggle becomes: Do we continue to show the devastating realities of a war with no end in sight, or try to find slivers of hope?
The weight of these choices is immense. The pressure of picking the right image to capture an entire country’s distress is incredibly daunting. And the guilt of doing so while safe and secure in my home can be overwhelming.
As I said, I’m exhausted. And I know that news fatigue is real, whether you work in the media or not.
In a recent Vox article, Anna North writes: “Americans are disengaged from the news and numb to politics, our circuits overloaded from months of crises and coup attempts.” I’m confident many Canadians feel the same way. And for those of us on the inside of the news, burnout presents a unique conundrum: We want people to be informed, but also know that too much bad news can make people feel hopeless and push them to disconnect. So when most of the news is upsetting, we can end up feeling stuck.
Two years ago, when the WHO declared the pandemic, COVID crept on to and took over the front page of virtually every newspaper. Editors across the world tried to balance the heaviness of a global crisis with stories of levity, communities stepping up, people coming together, and surprising outcomes, like the strange beauty of empty cities.
But right now, it seems there is nowhere to turn. For every relatively heartwarming story in Ukraine about helping cancer patients evacuate or taking in refugees, there are several more about bombed hospitals and apartments, refugees facing racism or having no place to go.
News burnout – or pandemic fatigue or worry exhaustion – isn’t all that different from regular burnout, and the solutions are the same. Take a step back and pay attention to the things that make you feel recharged. Get outside, write in a journal, meditate. We’ve been hearing this advice for years now about our jobs. And it’s worth noting that women suffer more from burnout than men in that context, a reality this McKinsey and Company report on women in the workplace supports. And – surprise – the pandemic has made things worse: 42 per cent of women surveyed for the report said they were often or almost always burned out in 2021, compared to 32 per cent the year before. And that’s in comparison to 35 per cent of men who reported burnout in 2021.
So I’ve been asking myself, how can I address my news burnout? And how can I deal with the inevitable guilt that I can, to some degree, turn away to give myself a break, unlike, for instance, those living through the war in Ukraine? How can I balance compassion for others with compassion for myself? I keep coming back to this thought: You’re not checking out because you don’t care, you’re checking out because you have cared deeply for so long.
While it can feel selfish to look away from all the hurt in the world, I also understand that I can care more fully if I pay attention to myself. Put on your own oxygen mask first, you can’t pour from an empty cup and all that.
I’m still learning what works. Fiction is increasingly an escape – I am two books ahead of my reading goal on Goodreads. I’ve figured out a way to (safely) set up a tablet in the bath so I can catch up on Euphoria. I am buying and propagating plants at an alarming rate. I can contribute to resources to help those in need.
There are small joys I can give myself. When I can’t find light in the news, I feel hope seeing my philodendron growing a new leaf. And that’s a good start.
What else we’re thinking about:
As mentioned, I am one of the many millennials who took up the houseplant hobby during the pandemic. It’s part of creating a space for myself that I actually enjoy – since I rarely leave it working from home. The act of doing something with my hands and watching a living thing grow has been so helpful for my mental health. Margaret Roach at The New York Times recently spoke with psychiatrist Sue Stuart-Smith, author of The Well-Gardened Mind: The Restorative Power of Nature. In her book, Stuart-Smith explores the nurturing effects of gardening – and its ability to heal. My houseplants aren’t exactly a sprawling outdoor oasis, but I think her wise words still apply: “Gardening grounds us, and gives us something to look forward to. In times of crisis, these simple qualities can offer a psychological lifeline.”
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