3 Months of Sabbatickle (Jul-Sep 2017)
In July 2017, I stepped away from conventional full-time office work. I resigned as the Associate Vice President of Strategy from arguably the country’s leading communications firm. I did so because I could no longer breathe. I was burnt out and depressed. My productivity levels were down to nothing. My creative energies were empty. I spent the workday at my desk looking out of the large window, at the trees and the clouds, and wishing I were outside. I got frequent panic and anxiety attacks, where my muscles would clench suddenly and my body would jerk. I slept poorly. I was unable to apply my mind and energy to anything, at work or outside.
I resigned without a plan. I fought my own resignation, tossing it over in my mind, trying to take it back, talking myself into doing better. But I knew that the path I was on was unsustainable. My resignation was an intervention before I completely broke down.
The first few days of my sabbatickle felt good. Having a clear schedule and the freedom to experience the day immediately felt lighter. I practised light creative meditative exercises, like tracing out the Kannada alphabet. I did short rounds of Surya Namaskar and Sudarshan Kriya. But my brain got tired quickly, and so I vegged out and watched a lot of TV shows and movies. I also reached out to my former therapist and began to see her weekly.
I spent half of July at a local cycle builder. I consider myself an occasional recreational cyclist, but given my height, I’ve never owned a lovely cycle that fit. So, I got a custom bicycle built for my gangly dimensions. I dreamed of bicycle touring and commuting, so I got the best tourer out there, even if it was a heavier financial investment. And the cycle came out gorgeous and it fit just right.
In August, I broke down, mentally, physically, emotionally. I was waylaid for two weeks due to dengue. The weight of everything bore down on me and I collapsed one weekend and spoke non-stop to my parents. I ranted and raved and beat myself up and worried about the future and blamed my decisions and feared for my mental health. I had spent too much on the cycle, I had quit my job, I was in no condition to work, I had no immediate prospects of making money, I was taking myself out of contention in my career, I had lost all faith in my chosen industry, I had no idea what I wanted to do. I felt lost and hopeless and useless and shattered and a failure. I was 33, unmarried, recently single, living at home with my parents, unemployed, unemployable, fragile. The bright spots were that I was not financially broke, I had no major health issues, and I had no dependants like a spouse, child, or pet.
In September, the fog started to lift… a little. My breakdown seemed to have released some of the negative energy I was drowning in. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I could breathe a little. The constrictions around my chest began to decompress a bit. I started to accept my decisions a little more. The play that I had been rehearsing for all of 2017 had its premiere, and it met with fantastic response. The audience loved watching it and we loved performing it. I dusted off the opening to my novel, edited it, and even reshaped it into a short story with the intention of submitting it to magazines. I wasn’t writing yet, but I was hanging out with words, which was better company than I had kept in a while. I also travelled, a weekend trip.
3 months into my sabbatickle, I can see how far gone I was while I was employed. I can see how important it was that I take this time and space for myself. A lot of people I spoke to while deciding to quit told me that I needed to put myself first, and I’m glad I have. I still have some ways to go, I’m still in the process of getting better and finding my balance, but I’m on my way and that’s important.
