There is a specific kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones, where your to-do list has turned into a Choose Your Own Adventure—but every ending is “crash on the couch and eat cold leftovers straight from the container.”
This week, I have been functioning. I do not mean thriving, flourishing, or leaning into joy. I mean, dragging myself out of bed with the same energy I used to save for hangovers in my twenties, except now there is no fun night before. Just emails. And appointments. And trying to keep a dozen living things alive.
I am not burnt out in a cute, overachiever way. I am burnt out in a functional chaos kind of way. The kind where you open the fridge, forget why you are there, stare at half a cucumber and a container of almond milk, and just… close the door. Where self-care is remembering to refill your medication before you run out and giving yourself credit for washing your face.
I know I am not alone. So many of us are running on fumes, pouring ourselves into jobs, caregiving, obligations, and the expectations of people who have no idea what we are juggling. But here’s the thing: I may be too tired to care, but I am way too stubborn to quit.
That stubbornness? It is my superpower. It is what gets the trash to the curb and the dog walked. It is what shows up for work meetings. It is what reminds me that I do not need to be a hero. I just need to be here and take the next small step, even if it is not the right one.
So, if you’re reading this and feeling the same way, here is your permission slip:
You are allowed to be tired.
You are allowed to not have a five-year plan right now.
You are allowed to call cereal “dinner” if that is what you can manage.
You are also allowed to say, “I am not okay,” and still keep going, just at your own damn pace.
Because we are not quitting. We are just pacing ourselves. Fiercely. Imperfectly. Stubbornly.
From Here to Me 