Your Schedule as Sacred Space
Working in the helping field means offering genuine presence, active listening — and often, a piece of yourself. As drama therapists, we know how deep and expressive our emotional engagement can be — and how easily it can deplete us when our own reserves are running low.
For quite some time now, I’ve been juggling many roles: a part-time job, building my private practice, developing Inner Mouvement, parenting, navigating polyamorous relationships, and continuing my healing process after experiencing difficulties at work. Each sphere brings meaning and richness — but also its share of weight and responsibility.
Amid all of this, one thing keeps showing up: the appointment I make with myself is almost always the first one I cancel. I promise myself I’ll take it, I plan it… then I give it up for an urgent email, a last-minute meeting, a family need. And slowly, I fade from my own calendar.
This text comes from that realization. It’s for my fellow drama therapists, therapists, and helping professionals who, like me, give deeply — sometimes to the point of self-forgetting. It’s an invitation to reimagine our schedules as spaces that put us at the center, without guilt. Schedules that respect our rhythms, limits, and needs — so we can keep showing up for others, without losing ourselves in the process.
Empathic Burnout: Seeing and Naming the Signs
In our kind of work, presence and creativity are our main tools. We resonate with others, listen through our skin, hold, embody, contain. This way of being — as noble and necessary as it is — draws directly from our emotional energy. And when that energy isn’t replenished, we quietly slip into what’s often called empathic burnout.
Unlike classic burnout, empathic burnout doesn’t always come from too many tasks — but from carrying too much emotional weight. It’s the kind of fatigue that comes from absorbing stories of pain, holding heavy silences, staying deeply engaged in therapeutic relationships — all while trying to maintain presence in our own lives.
For a long time, I ignored the signs. I pushed through. Stretched my limits. I noticed less joy in my work, less patience with my kids, emptiness after sessions, more forgetfulness. I told myself it was temporary — that I just needed to “hold on.” But this isn’t about endurance. It’s a signal. A call to realign.
Recognizing empathic burnout means accepting that we can’t always give at the same intensity, and that passion doesn’t have to mean self-erasure. It also means letting go of the idea that we must always be available — to clients, colleagues, friends, loved ones — at the expense of our own balance.
It’s not failure.
It’s a sign worth listening to — maybe even before it starts to shout.
Designing a Schedule with Care: Saying “I Matter”
For a long time, I treated my schedule like a game of Tetris. Any “free time” quickly became buffer space — for others, for last-minute requests, for whatever felt urgent. I always added something: a dinner, groceries, a coffee, an email.
But somewhere in the middle of that busy mosaic — between full-time work, private practice, Mouvement Intérieur, parenting, polyamory, and recovery — I realized: I can’t keep living like this forever.
So I asked myself: What if my schedule could become sacred space?
A form of self-care in itself?
Like many people in caring professions, I grew up seeing rest as optional. In my previous community work settings, I rarely saw colleagues take real breaks — it was almost frowned upon. Appointments with myself were always the first to go. I had learned, consciously or not, that others come first. That my fatigue can wait. That I must stay available. Present. Solid.
That my fatigue can wait.
That my fatigue can stretch.
That my fatigue can wait again, and again.
But by cancelling my own time over and over, I was putting myself on hold. And eventually, there was nothing left to give — not to my clients, my loved ones, or myself.
Now, I try to plan my self-care with the same commitment I give to my work:
- A set time for yoga, movement, watercolor, or stress-release exercises (personally, discovering TRE – Tension & Trauma Releasing Exercises has been life-changing).
- One evening where I’m not available for anyone else. In our family, we take turns having “off” nights (I’m lucky to co-parent). We also try to plan one date night a month, just us — no kids.
- A creative journal where I write, paint, or collage when I feel the need — about dreams, grief, emotions, intentions. I often use the full moon as a ritual check-in, to realign with my goals and wishes.
- As someone with a uterus and hormonal cycle, I now plan more rest during my lower-energy phases — and let my loved ones know when I need extra gentleness or quiet.
And most importantly: I try not to cancel these moments unless there’s a real emergency — not just because I could “be productive” instead. That’s the hardest part. It takes practice, unlearning, and many do-overs.
But every time I skip that time, I feel it — in my energy, my patience, my emotional balance.
Creating a caring schedule isn’t just about planning. It’s a posture — a way of saying: I matter.
And if I want to keep showing up with presence and integrity, I need to give myself space to land too.
A Gentle Reminder
Before I close, I want to name something important: self-care should never become another kind of performance.
It’s not about checking boxes on a “wellness” to-do list or achieving some peaceful perfection.
It’s about learning to listen to yourself, a little more each day, at your own pace.
Some days, self-care is a hot bath or a quiet walk.
Other days, it’s giving yourself permission to rest, to cry, to not be at your best.
The goal isn’t to do better — it’s to be closer to yourself.