You Can’t Outrun Kudzu: A Mississippi Reflection on Burnout

One thing I forgot about while living in the UK was kudzu. That creeping green mess wasn’t in my life for years, and I didn’t even notice its absence until we came back to Mississippi. Last year, I noticed it a little—on the side of the road—but this year, it’s everywhere. Or, for some reason, I’m noticing it everywhere.

There’s a spot on that road where I walk where the vine has finally started spilling in, inch by inch. I know it wasn’t there last year, but now it is. It won’t be long before it reaches the edge of the pavement, then the center. I know how this goes. And the other day it hit me—not just what I was seeing, but what it felt like:

Burnout.

Kudzu, like burnout, didn’t show up all at once, for me. It didn’tslam into my life with the horn blaring. But, in my experience, burnout creeps in. It whispers. It takes one inch of your energy, then one more, until you can’t see the edges of yourself anymore. That’s how it happened for me.

The Slow Obstruction

There’s an author who says burnout shows up in three signs: exhaustion, cynicism, and the sense that you’re not making a difference anymore. That’s a good summary, I guess, but it was messier for me. Somewhere along the line I stopped being able to tell the difference between my work and my worth. I just kept doing the same things over and over again, hoping something would change. Spoiler: it didn’t.

Eventually depression and anxiety showed up, too. I'm no expert in diagnosing all that, but I know what it felt like. I ignored the signs. I just kept my head down, believing that maybe a vacation would fix it. Maybe next season would be better. Maybe I just needed to push harder. I wore “pressing forward” like a badge of honor—even as I was falling apart.

So, Kristina and I ended up taking a pilgrimage to the UK, hoping to clear my head and cure my ‘burnout,’ though I didn’t have a name for it at the time. We disconnected from our phones and email accounts, and only stayed connected via video calls with our children at home. When we landed in Manchester, something in me let go. The place felt oddly like home. We didn’t know then that we’d end up living there, but that trip was the first time in a long time I could breathe. And you know what I didn’t see in England?

Kudzu.

The Myth of Clearing It

Now, to be fair, I’ve never tried to clear kudzu myself. But everyone around here has a story or an opinion on it. You either burn it, spray it with something strong enough to melt your boots, or get a small herd of goats and hope for the best. It grows fast and stubborn.

Growing up playing baseball, if you lost a ball in the kudzu, you didn’t go looking. It was gone. That was the rule. There was something eerie about it—even as a kid. You never knew what was under there. Snakes? An old Coke bottle? Something dead? Kudzu covers, hides, and consumes everything in its path, even if you aren’t on its path. And burnout’s the same way. Once you’re under it, it’s hard to see daylight. But here’s what I’ve come to believe:

Getting rid of it may feel impossible. But getting out of it is not.

You might not be able to kill every vine that’s grown over your life. But you can step away. You can reclaim the trail. You can stop walking through it. And once you’ve stepped out, you can observe it from a distance. Learn how it grows. Learn what it likes to cling to. You can catch it early next time.

Returning to the Life-Giver

These days, when I feel the kudzu creeping again, I come back to one practice: I remind myself that my identity is not in my career. If my work is choking who I am to the people I love—my wife, my kids—then it’s time to cut the vine and step away. Because I’ll be with them for the rest of my life, not my résumé.(I don’t feel that way at all in my current vocation, nor do I anticipate it.)

That may sound simple, but it isn’t. I still wrestle with it. I’ve also been chewing on something a British psychotherapist named Neville Symington wrote. He says we have to “return to the life-giver.” I think what he means is that we have to learn to love ourselves—not perform for love, not prove our worth, just be. I’m not there yet, but I’m getting closer.

The Mississippi Way

I don’t know how most folks in Mississippi deal with burnout. My guess is that we mostly ignore it. Call it life. Grit our teeth. Work through it. If we say anything, we say we’re tired. But then we wake up and do it again. And again. And again. Now look—I believe in grit. I believe in working hard. But not if it costs your soul. Not if the person your kids get is a hollowed-out version of who you used to be.

So here’s my word for whoever needs it:If life is getting overtaken by kudzu, it’s time to cut the vine and step away and live. Otherwise, it’ll bury you. No one will see you. They’ll wonder where you are, but they won’t know how to find you.

But there’s still a way out. You just have to look down, admit what’s creeping in, and choose to walk a different road. Don’t walk it alone, either. I’m happy to walk with you. Contact me if that’s something you’d like: a friend to walk alongside you.

Cheers