I’m tired.

Not “I need a nap” tired. The kind of tired that sits in your chest before the day even begins. The kind where time off somehow turns into unpaid labor. Laundry. Yard work. Cleaning. Bills. Emails. Meal planning. Looking at the bank account and mentally calculating how many extra sessions you may need to feel okay this month.

Rest at home rarely feels like rest when your nervous system has learned that stillness means you’re falling behind.

Today, my shitty committee showed up early. They reminded me about rising prices, burnout, imposter syndrome, and the impossible pressure of helping other people heal while trying to hold myself together with caffeine and calendar reminders. I spent 45 minutes reviewing my work schedule for the week, trying to convince myself that exhaustion is sustainable if I organize it well enough.

Spoiler alert: it’s not.

I think many of us are carrying a level of emotional fatigue that we minimize because everyone else seems tired too. But normalization does not equal wellness. Just because burnout has become common doesn’t mean our bodies were designed to live this way.

The shitty committee loves to frame exhaustion as weakness.
“You should be more grateful.”
“You’re lazy.”
“Other people handle more than this.”

But sometimes exhaustion is simply evidence that you’ve been carrying too much for too long.

So today, I’m lowering the bar.
Not abandoning responsibility.
Not giving up.
Just refusing to believe that my worth is tied to constant productivity.

Maybe survival mode doesn’t need another motivational speech.
Maybe it needs permission to rest without guilt.