Tag Archives: decision fatigue

Working through decision fatigue, maybe

The diagnosis, I think, is decision fatigue. Forgive me — I’m jumping into the story in the middle but this is where it gets interesting. I need to decide a few things: What to make for supper tomorrow, what groceries to order, whether I want to go on a group trip to Egypt in the April, whether I’ll sign up for a dance class that starts, um, when, next Tuesday? 

None of these is a life or death decision. Or even that important. Only one is expensive (I’d be paying for Egypt with imaginary or future money, never a good idea).

I can’t make myself to make any of these decisions. I try. I can’t. Paralyzed. Left or right—I’m walking the dog and I pause at the intersection, frozen. I agonize. What’s the right direction? What are the consequences of choosing the wrong one?

Decision fatigue, obviously.

I know the cause, of course — pandemic hangover. Do you remember all those agonizing daily decisions? What to do, what not to do, who to breathe on? I think I’ve used up my life’s quote bak then. Also, I know: divorce, buying a house, career pivot (then another one, I probably need to rest a bit before I make any other decisions.

Unfortunately, life keeps on demanding I make them. The boys need to eat supper tomorrow and that means I need to decide what I’m making them and decide which groceries to order and…

But also, should I take that dance class?

You know what the worst thing about being a full grown and then some adult is? You realize that the people who runt he world — they’re just like you. Moody, petty, insecure, confused, anxious, exhausted, hangry, all the things.

And they set economic and social policy. And have armies and bombs.

Speaking of bombs — Egypt? What do you think? I want to go to Egypt, of course but I want to see it through my love’s eyes not on a group trip but also what a great opportunity but also, maybe the last chance because the world is scary but also group trip and I hate people right now and I don’t know most of these people suppose they are really annoying but also, if I don’t go, will I always regret it?

Yes. I should go. Go. Just GO. It will be amazing and if it’ snot, well, it will still be an experience. 

(Past me loved experiences.)

(Present me just wants security and safety.)

(I don’t really want to be present me.)

Egypt. Dance class, Groceries. Do it.

(It’s easier not to.)

Actually, that’s a lie. It’s excruciatingly hard to NOT make decisions. Excruciatingly. It’s exhausting.

Make the decisions. Move on.

(Can I hide in my pillow fort instead?)

Ok. I can do this. 

Egypt. 

Dance class.

Groceries.

Pickle soup and toast.

Done.

Xxoxo

“Jane”

Pandemic Diary: Decision fatigue is killing me, and so are empaths

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I’ve figured out why everything has been so much tougher the last few weeks, even though, theoretically, it should have been getting easier.

Ready?

(I am so full of insight.)

It boils down to this: decision fatigue. In March and April, and into May, when everything was cancelled and closed—and the weather was shit—things were very hard and frustrating, but our decision-making wasn’t taxed. The directive was clear: stay home, flatten the curve. And even if you didn’t want to stay home—well, everything was closed, so there was nowhere to go. Except for the grocery store and the liquor store (my poor liver). The big decision we faced on most days, in my privileged family anyway, was what board game we’d play that night—or maybe, shake things up, movie? Or, enough family time already, everyone go hide in their own rooms.

These days? There are options and no clear directives—plus a lot of mixed messaging about what’s safe, what’s irresponsible—what’s allowed. And so, every time you step out the door… decisions.

Decisions, decisions, decisions, decisions.

Wear a mask? Just take it with you to put on in the store? Nobody else is wearing a mask, fuckers, and you happen to know you’re COVID-free cause you just got tested so you’re only wearing the mask to protect them and you don’t need it and they clearly don’t care about protecting you, so why inconvenience yourself for those selfish motherfuckers? Get that coffee and croissant for take-out? Or risk sitting down, eating in—even if you’re not really concerned about your own safety, you’re thinking about the wait staff, other customers. Is your presence causing them stress? Are these genuine feelings, a true sense of risk or just paranoia induced by excessive media consumption?

Touch of cabin fever hits you, and you can go—to the parks or to the mall, or hey, the library is opening tomorrow. Should you go? Wait? Haircut? Yes? No? What’s the right thing to do? Fuck it, I can’t take it anymore, I’m just going to stick my tongue down the throat of a stranger whose risk-profile and safety practices I don’t know at all—ok, I won’t, but OMG, I understand the people who do and I just don’t want to think about what the right thing to do right now is anymore.

Decision fatigue.

I have some larger, more important decisions to make these days and the brain, it hurts, it is tired, so I don’t, I put them off. I’d cut myself some slack on this paralysis except if everyone in the world cuts themselves some slack for the next two years and does nothing, because decision fatigue and also, don’t not want to get out of bed, we are fucked.

I have, incidentally, very high executive skills (I’ve been tested; if there’s such a thing as excessive executive functioning, that’s me). That means I gather data, analyze it, make a decision quickly—and act on it immediately.

I try to tap into that part of myself now: it seems to be buried under something. Not scar tissue—more like piles of wet toilet paper, snotty Kleenexes. I can get at it, if only I get all these soggy used Kleenxes out of the way.

If only.

Decision fatigue.

It’s real.

It kills.

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If decision fatigue is killing me, so are empaths. This pops into my newsfeed:

OMG, so true.

My insincere apologies to everyone who goes around identifying themselves to all and sundry as an empath, usually in the first two minutes of a conversations… you’re not.

Stay with me. Empathy is real and critical, and it’s something that makes the world a better place, and we need to teach it, foster it, and act out of it.

But a lifetime of experiences had now taught me that anyone who says, “Well, I’m an empath, so all this is really extra hard for me,” is actually a self-centred, selfish prick to whom the most important thing is their own feelings.

Self-awareness, of course, isn’t a bad thing. (Well, maybe. Too much self-awareness, as you and I both know, leads to too much drinking, other things.) But wallowing in your own navel while telling yourself and others that you’re deeply affected by the feelings and suffering of others—come on. Get your head out of your ass, look around and instead of shouting from the rooftops (I mean, I suppose, social media platforms) about how much the suffering of others is affecting you… fucking DO something about their suffering.

Just a suggestion.

Empath fatigue.

It’s a thing too.

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Grateful that I am not an empath and that I own, for the most part, my narcissistic tendencies—by the way, owning your boundaries and telling people who violate them is not narcissism, it’s self-preservation, fuck the fuck off, I may not be a fragile empath but I have feelings too and you’re stomping on them—I try to solve my decision fatigue problem.

Mostly, I think I need to make fewer decisions—which means I just need to commit to some consistent actions. And execute them.

Ok. I got this.

Maybe…

No. I got this. I got this.

Execute.

Get out of bed.

xoxo

“Jane”

PS If you wanna read that Empath Fatigue Twitter thread: https://twitter.com/RebeccaRennerFL/status/1276673896150859776