{shortcode-e204cc548c23e3e994108b22fef359954405cc26}

When one of my professors showed us the term “moral masochism,” I felt like it perfectly encapsulated an ethos I’ve seen at Harvard.

It essentially means feeling superior to others due to self-deprivation or self-sacrifice – which you can sense in comments like “I only slept two hours!” “I pulled three all-nighters writing my thesis!” or my (least) favorite, “I was so busy I forgot to eat!”

I mention this because I want to discuss “doing”: where we want or feel obligated to do so much, until we feel it’s worth more if we suffer. So in a way, these self-satisfactory boasts could be warning signals in this vicious cycle of doing that may land us in burnout — a state of exhaustion brought on by stress due to work, social or family life, or other areas.

By no means am I the first to write about burnout at a place like this. But as we sprint towards finals and graduation, fitting in as many academic and social obligations as we can, I propose that we should normalize not going to the extreme — even for things and people we care about — if doing so is detrimental to our well-being.

I say this, because folks, I’m burnt out! But I’ve also had so much joy recently: with classes I’m passionate about, extracurriculars I enjoy, and loved ones in my life. How could I be burnt out?

My answer? Burnout seems to be the darker underbelly of FOMO (fear of missing out). And with time here, FOMO lurks under every opportunity to challenge ourselves academically, explore new skills, forge relationships, and gain memorable experiences. And I feel so lucky to have this at my fingertips, and I never regret what I append to my to-do’s — from reading poetry at open mics, to visiting cafes with friends. But positive stressors are still stressors: Even if we forge existences that are maximally fulfilling, if we don’t have room to breathe in between calendar slots, to simmer in our thoughts, to recover our energy, to embrace spontaneity, how can we truly call life fulfilling?

Of course, I’m not saying we shouldn’t do our best, or that we can avoid burnout altogether. You could say burning out is worth what comes later: something I’ve done, in early college years devoted to pre-professional extracurriculars and recruiting to break into tech — now affording me space to write. There are also commitments we hope to honor, like thesis deadlines, or unexpected pivots that offer us a chance to show up: from comforting friends in need, to — for me specifically — agreeing to fill in for a dance performance. Choosing to go beyond often does make sense and yield positive experiences.

Still, I hope we don’t get stuck in this incessant cycle of feeling like we could do more to the extreme; it’s dangerous if we perceive that our value is rooted in what we produce and how visible we are.

I still worry I should do more. Should I have done more research? Joined more clubs? Spent more time with this senior friend? It’s hard to tackle the notion that I’m not fulfilling my best self by all the things I’ve missed. But while I haven’t achieved full self-acceptance, in my burnt-out, undisclosed-not-feeling-well state, I now know that this cyclic narrative can’t run on forever.

So, if you’re feeling a bit frayed, please try to take a breath. Take a nap. Request that extension. Cancel that hangout. I personally know it can feel radical to care for yourself, especially with mental health struggles. At least for me, I think of the five-minute rule, which describes how just five minutes of work can help us realize work mode isn’t so hard to access – so instead, let us microdose moments of rest and see what life returns to us.

To normalize such acts of self-preservation, we do need to normalize honesty about how we’re doing. But that’s tricky when norms pressure us to stick to the script: from how constant strivings towards achievement equates to worthiness, to how we must appear genuine but collected in front of classmates, even friends.

Moreover, how honest should we be? If we want to protect our privacy, it’s possible others won’t believe cookie-cutter explanations; I think of the “my grandparent died” excuse that professors may not trust, or acquaintances that seem suspicious when I say I need to reschedule. Yet being too honest may risk our semblance of trustworthiness or professionalism; I think of universities forcing college students to leave for serious mental health issues.

While I don’t have the answer, I hope we can start engendering honesty through even small challengings of these norms. For instance, when acquaintances ask “How are you?”, they’re often surprised when I don’t answer affirmatively; in our day-to-day, perhaps we should invite, offer, and expect honesty, to create a more genuinely empathetic culture.

Also, our professors can proactively invite openness and offer flexible policies (which I’m lucky to have had!). And, to be (literally) honest, I decided to be vulnerable about my well-being with friends, project teammates, and Crimson staff, requesting rest, and they’ve all been kind and receptive.

While I still get guilty for not “doing enough” — as a student, friend, what-have-you — I’ve made strides towards my hopes for success and joy. In the same way that we hopefully don’t regret what we choose to do, maybe we shouldn’t regret what we choose not to do either.

Vanessa B. Hu ’23-’24 is a junior in Currier House studying Computer Science. Her column, “Hopes and Hypocrisies,” runs on alternate Mondays.