Perhaps you wake up tired.
Not the kind of tired that a good night's sleep should completely solve.
A deeper tiredness.
The sort where you open your eyes in the morning and already feel as though you've been doing things all day.
And perhaps your first thought is:
Why am I so tired?
You might have gone to bed at a reasonable time.
You may even have slept reasonably well.
Nothing particularly dramatic happened yesterday.
And yet you wake up feeling as though you have very little left to give.
You get up anyway.
You shower.
You get dressed.
You answer the messages.
You go to work.
You organise things.
You remember what everyone else needs.
You carry on.
Because that's what you do.
And perhaps this is what makes the tiredness so difficult to understand.
You are still functioning.
So why does everything feel harder?
When tiredness isn't just about sleep
We often think of tiredness as something physical.
We haven't slept enough.
We've been busy.
We've had a late night.
We need a holiday.
Sometimes that is exactly what is happening.
But there is another kind of tiredness that can be much harder to explain.
The tiredness that comes from being switched on for too long.
Thinking ahead.
Anticipating.
Managing.
Remembering.
Caring.
Holding things together.
Trying not to disappoint people.
Trying to keep everyone else comfortable.
Making decisions.
Containing your own reactions while responding to everybody else's.
None of these things necessarily looks exhausting from the outside.
But they require something from you.
And when you've been doing them for years, you may not even notice how much energy they take.
They have simply become part of who you are.
The dependable one.
The capable one.
The person who gets things done.
The person who doesn't make a fuss.
The person everyone knows they can rely on.
Until one day, you realise that being that person is becoming harder.
Perhaps you aren't lazy. Perhaps you are carrying too much.
There is something particularly uncomfortable about feeling tired when you believe you should be able to cope.
You might look at your life and think:
Other people have it much harder.
I've got nothing to complain about.
Why can't I just get on with things?
I used to manage all of this.
And so the tiredness becomes something you judge yourself for.
Rather than something you become curious about.
But what if your tiredness isn't evidence that you are failing?
What if it is information?
Your body doesn't always speak in neat sentences.
Sometimes it speaks through exhaustion.
Irritability.
Poor concentration.
Feeling overwhelmed by small things.
Wanting to withdraw.
Finding ordinary decisions strangely difficult.
Needing more time alone.
Feeling as though you have nothing left after giving so much to everyone else.
These things can be clues.
Not proof that something is wrong with you.
Clues that something may need your attention.
The woman who is tired of being the strong one
Perhaps you've been strong for a very long time.
Maybe you had to grow up quickly.
Maybe you became the person who kept things steady when other people weren't.
Maybe being needed became part of your identity.
Maybe you learned that there wasn't much room for your own needs.
Or perhaps nothing dramatic happened at all.
Perhaps it was simply years of adapting.
Work.
Relationships.
Parenting.
Loss.
Responsibility.
Change.
Caring for other people.
Life transitions.
The gradual accumulation of things you managed because, at the time, there didn't seem to be another option.
We become very good at coping.
And sometimes we become so good at it that we don't notice what coping is costing us.
Until our capacity changes.
Why does everything feel harder than it used to?
This is a question I hear in different forms.
Why can't I handle things like I used to?
Why am I so easily overwhelmed?
Why do I need more time to recover?
Why don't I have the same energy anymore?
There may be many reasons.
Our circumstances change.
Our bodies change.
Our relationships change.
Our responsibilities change.
And sometimes the strategies that helped us through one period of life simply aren't serving us in the same way anymore.
That doesn't mean you have become weaker.
It may mean that something needs to change.
Perhaps the question isn't:
“How do I get myself back to how I was?”
Perhaps it is:
“What is my tiredness trying to tell me?”
What has shaped the way you cope?
This is where I think understanding can be more useful than self-criticism.
Rather than asking:
What's wrong with me?
We can begin to ask:
What has shaped me?
What taught you to keep going?
What taught you to put yourself last?
What made being capable feel safer than admitting you needed help?
What experiences taught you to stay alert?
What relationships influenced the way you respond to other people's needs?
What have you been carrying for longer than you realised?
These questions don't exist to create blame.
They create context.
And when we understand the context, our reactions can begin to make more sense.
You don't have to wait until everything falls apart
Perhaps you're reading this thinking:
But I'm managing.
And you probably are.
This isn't about convincing you that you're unwell because you're tired.
It is about taking your experience seriously before you reach the point where you can no longer ignore it.
You don't have to wait until you are completely overwhelmed.
You don't have to have a diagnosis.
You don't have to be able to explain exactly what is wrong.
Sometimes the first sign that something needs attention is simply this:
Life doesn't feel quite the way it used to.
And you don't quite feel like yourself within it.
That is worth listening to.
Because perhaps the answer isn't to push yourself harder.
Perhaps it is to understand yourself more deeply.
To notice what you have been carrying.
To recognise what has shaped the way you live, cope, respond and recover.
And perhaps, instead of asking:
“Why am I so tired?”
you might eventually find yourself asking a different question.
“What have I been carrying for so long that I no longer notice the weight?”
Sometimes that is where a very different conversation begins.