Invisible work and the emotional labor of launching a project

There's something that no one is talking about: the things you can't see behind everything that's visible in the world. A whole lot goes into the making of something that looks relatively simple and straight forward. The reality is that it's a whole lot of small decisions and choices to get to that point. Simple solutions tend to be the best, but there's the mantra, "simple, not easy" that rings true here.

It's quite deceptive, because some of the biggest moments of exhaustion and burnout can come even after we have years of experience under our belt. We are theoretically experts in our domain and know what we're doing. We can even look to other examples from our own work, and from others, so we’re not starting from scratch. We are not reinventing the wheel, yet, whether we're doing something brand new or something that's a continuation of what we already know and can do in our sleep, the inevitable truth we struggle to acknowledge is that despite what we know, it's still going to take a lot out of us.

Translation: it's exhausting, even if we don’t want to admit it.

I find it rings most true with self-employed business owners who are bridging the gap online. I've seen it happen with photographers, designers, chefs, coaches, and yes, with myself, but I suspect this exists across domains and levels.

However, rather than acknowledging and accepting that this is a reality of any work—because no one talks about it—we can feel like it's only us.

The way I see it, there are a several things at play here, so let's break it down:

There's a misconception that because something is happening online it's less work, not more.

More often than not, the opposite is true. We're still learning how to navigate online worlds. Platforms may help us accomplish one task, but we may need to incorporate another platform to help us achieve what we're striving to do. They're not necessarily integrated, and we have to know something exists in order to use it, so it's easy to get lost in the research rabbit hole trying to find the "perfect" tool.

Every task therefore is made up of even more tasks that we can’t always see at first. (This is true offline too.)

Connecting platforms, looks easy, but there's a lot of dot connecting and integration that happens behind the scenes. There are so many great platforms that exist now, but rarely does one do it all, so we have to connect them. Throw in social media, and you have to think about profiles, links, and promoting across social platforms too. Even these updates need updating at some point. (Like when the NEW offer isn't so new any more.)

Platforms tend to be designed for the output, not the input. As I've learned—the hard way—so many platforms have considered well designed experiences for users, but not necessarily for the person doing the work behind the scenes. This is not something you discover until you're deep into it. It can nearly make one feel crazy when the simple thing you need to do. There's a learning curve, and it all takes time. (And that doesn’t even include product updates and new features (that you never asked for) that you have to learn to navigate.)

Even when something is "done" there is a lot of invisible work behind the scenes.

Once you create or build something new you also have to promote it. It's no longer a world of "if you build it, they will come." It takes promotion—and selling—to get the word out. People have to know what you're working on exists in a world competing for our attention.

We also underestimate the time it takes for upkeep and maintenance. This is one of the biggest invisible areas. When our house gets dirty we can see it. Meanwhile, our digital clutter can accumulate behind the scenes.

Short term there's less impact, but the longer you're in business, the more invisible pieces you add to the mix, and projects and processes may need upkeep. From managing to maintenance, digital housekeeping is a real step we under-estimate. (I now find it more overwhelming than cleaning my own home.)

Even something as simple as emails require effort. Emails don't just write themselves. Someone has to write them. To be succinct is harder than being verbose. Did you get all the key points across? In a way that people will read it (and retain it)? Is it clear? A shorter email is deceptively harder to write than a long one.

This ALL takes time. Writing the simplest of emails can often take me a solid hour—or more—to write. They're not particularly hard to write, or challenging subjects. Yet they take time. This is not only when launching something new, it's for things that are ongoing. It's so easy to under-estimate just how much time anything we do will take.

Gear switching is exhausting.

This work we do to promote or maintain a project feels different than the work we've done to create an offer. We switch gears in the process, often jumping between different aspects of a project or projects. This all takes mental effort and code switching.

Any time we task switch, it takes mental energy. Add in Zoom and a pandemic and life and it takes a lot. I intentionally don't juggle many projects at once, but even with a personal project and a client project I can feel the difference. (Even thinking about my friends juggling more with full-time jobs gives me anxiety, although they do have the bonus of stability.)

No one acknowledges that life is a full time job. Feeding ourselves, going to the grocery store, doing dishes, going to the doctor, running errands. Yes, the online world has made it so things are at our finger tips, and there is delivery, but often that time you saves gets filtered so you fill with more work, rather than more of doing nothing. (It's my own philosophy to deal with the inconveniences of life—like going and getting groceries and carrying them home—to help ensure that I'm in control of things.)

There is also a learning curve for every new thing we do. It takes energy and brain power. Learning is awesome and exciting. But it also takes energy. I'm always amazed every time I have a big learning day how big my appetite. I think it takes more out of us than we'd like to admit. Simple things are not always so simple.

We can feel inadequate when we feel tired or unmotivated.

When you're self-employed we beat up ourselves, comparing ourselves to the output of others. We don't have the boss or teammate who needs something, but we find our own ways to add "the pressures of society" where we tend to value performance and output more than process. We think we must be working an 8+ hour day because that is the behavior we’ve seen modeled.

We're our own worst critic. We think that we've been doing this for awhile, we're smart, there's something wrong with me that this is taking effort, or the procrastination that inevitably ensues. We can fall in the trap of comparing ourselves to others.

Even if we did have a boss they wouldn't understand; so much is invisible. Part of the problem is that when we're good at something we make it look easy to the outside world. Easy doesn't mean there wasn't effort along the way—that's something we often forget to give ourselves credit for.

Procrastination adds to the guilt. "I'm just/only doing X, why am I avoiding it?" Oh yeah, because it's far more work than we expected, and so many tiny steps that I didn’t realize. And we are likely juggling more things than we realize. On top of it we may doing sides of work that are outside of our core strengths. We're not scared of working hard, but it can easily become overwhelming because we struggle to recognize all the considerations, factors, and decisions that go into making something happen when we only celebrate the finished product.

You also don't always know all the steps are until you're in it and doing it. Hence, I always recommend starting rather than getting lost thinking about it. You will gain so much clarity through doing and trying, even if you make mistakes along the way. Mistakes are inevitable; we are all human. (No one teaches us to forgive ourselves.)

We struggle to realize that every task is made up of smaller tasks. When we break down what we're working on into smaller steps, something like launching a workshop is actually composed of hundreds of small actions and tasks we need to do along the way. Even when we think we know exactly what we need to do, chances are there are many more steps we didn't anticipate, or can't see. It can be overwhelming to think of every little step, and we never want to admit we can’t do it all.

No wonder you're exhausted.

If you're wondering why you feel exhausted and drained when you put a project out into the world, this is why. You've been doing far more than you think. And far more than you give yourself credit for.

We live in a culture we're we celebrate strength and finished projects, but we tend to forget to celebrate the journey to get there

When things are hard we fail to give ourselves credit for all the forward progress we have made. “Failure” may expose us as an imposter (which I don’t think is always a bad thing), rather than looking through the lens of all that we’ve overcome.

We’ve created a monster where we care so much about outcome and output that we can’t even pause to acknowledge that we are also human. (And we don’t have to do it all.)

It wasn't until I started having open, intentional conversations with friends who are fellow business owners that I realized they felt so much of the emotional labor that no one talks about. "Burnout" has entered the mainstream conversation, but we tend to think it's something that is abstract and will affect others rather than ourselves. We also haven't trained ourselves to see the clues that it's coming on (here’s a list from the Mayo Clinic FYI). We're too busy pushing through.

Build in a buffer.

I for one know that no matter how much cushion I build into my projects, after the intense focus of any big project I'm working on, there's going to be a crash afterwards. I used to think a day or two would be enough. Now I know that often I need a week. Guilting myself into keeping going isn't serving anything either. Now I give myself permission to SLOW DOWN.

It's hard to train ourselves to be forgiving of ourselves in a go-go-go culture that rewards output more than input, and celebrates the visible rather than the invisible. It's also why I wanted to write this post. It's not something that is being talked about. Not only is it very real, but it's getting heightened and intensified with time.

The way we're working and living is not sustainable in the long run. A blog post like this only brings it into our awareness. It doesn't change the output or outcome until we make intentional changes.

But what does intentional change look like to protect yourself from the grind?

For me, it means continuing to shift my outlook on work and re-wiring “how things are done”.

It's not about working a certain amount of days, hours, or time. It's about knowing some periods are going to be more intense, and others are for coasting and doing the least amount of work possible. It means properly valuing the work I do do. It means that worth isn't necessarily counted in hours, but in expertise and access to me.

For me, it means doing work that I find enriching, and keeps me growing and learning. It means a mix of projects, and duration. Some lasting an hour or two, others a day, others week, and others spanning across months. It means managing energy and expectations—both for myself and for others. Sometimes this may mean putting on the breaks and asking questions to see why we’re doing something a certain way.

This way of working is also designed to continue to foster my own development, personally and professionally. It allows for time for personal projects and explorations. It allows for making progress towards long term projects, rather than instant outcomes.

Overall, my vision for work looks like "working" as little as possible, with the biggest return. This is not being lazy, it’s how I can bring my best self to my clients and be present. I can read a book or go for a walk in the middle of the day without feeling guilt, knowing it’s all part of my continual growth and development even if it doesn’t look like “work”. It means looking for “leaders” who are leading by example for how I want to live my life, not how society tells me I should.

This is my vision of the future of my work, but what does it look like for you? What has your experience been with invisible work, burnout, and emotional labor? Share your experiences in the comments below so we can all learn.


Anne S. Ditmeyer is a creative coach and creative workshop facilitator. She works with clients 1:1 to help them get on the path they want to be as well as facilitating creative workshops. Sign up for her Connect the Dots newsletter for a dose of weekly inspiration and new workshop dates.