You’re exhausted

You wake up already drained. Sleep doesn’t come easy, and when it finally does, your mind keeps running through everything you said, did, or didn’t do. By morning, you feel on edge. Every small thing, spilled coffee, a text from work, a forgotten lunch, hits harder than it should. You snooze your alarm for a little more rest, but it only makes you groggier.

You keep going, but everything feels heavy. The little things that used to come naturally now take so much effort. You find yourself quick to anger with your partner and kids. The connection you used to feel with your spouse feels strained, like you’re speaking different languages. You want to be present, to enjoy the moments that matter, but instead it feels like one long list of things you have to do to keep everyone else okay.

At work, frustration simmers beneath the surface. You notice how often you hold your breath, how your shoulders never seem to drop. The small talk that used to feel easy now feels pointless. Even simple interactions feel like too much.

And underneath it all, there’s the exhaustion of holding everything together. You’re the glue that keeps your family, work, and life from falling apart. But you can feel yourself cracking. You think, I need a break. I need something to change.

You’ve carried so much for so long. Maybe your childhood was difficult. Maybe you’ve lived through things that most people couldn’t imagine. You learned to keep secrets, to stay strong, to survive. But those old patterns are still running the show, even now. Your body stays tense, waiting for the next bad thing to happen. You want peace, but instead you live in constant readiness. You tell yourself to push through, but inside, you’re longing for rest, for hope, for something to finally feel safe again.

You imagine a life where you wake up rested, your body calm instead of wired for danger. You want to laugh easily and enjoy the people you love. You want to believe that life can be kind again.