A Letter to Those who are Strong but Tired

You might be reading this in the small space between things.
Between one responsibility and the next.
Between finishing what everyone needs and trying to remember what you need.

You are capable. You show up. You carry it.
You keep life moving. At work, at home, for your kids, for the people who rely on you.

And still… you’re tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix.

Not because you’re doing it wrong.
Not because you’re not grateful.
Not because you’re not strong.

But because you’re holding so much, much of it invisible.

It’s the constant mental tabs open in your mind.
The planning, the anticipating, the don’t forget, the make sure, the what if.
The feeling of being on-duty even when you’re technically off.

The kind of weight that keeps your mind busy even when the house is quiet.
The kind that makes being present feel like something you should be better at by now.

The strange ache of loving your life
and still feeling like you’re missing it while you live it.

Many high-functioning people learn to survive by staying busy.
Busy keeps things moving. Busy keeps things numb. Busy keeps the deeper questions at bay.

Until one day, busy stops working.

And what’s underneath isn’t failure, it’s grief, fatigue, longing, and a quiet hope that maybe life doesn’t have to feel this heavy.

If this is you, I need you to hear something plainly:

You’re not alone.

More people feel this than we admit.
We just don’t always have words for it.
When people ask how we are, we no longer say “fine.” We say “busy.” We shrug. We keep going.

But underneath that word is often something deeper
a quiet disconnection.
From ourselves.
From the moment we’re in.
From the people we love.
Sometimes even from God.

There is another way.
Not a perfect way.
Not a life where nothing is hard.
Not a version of you who suddenly becomes superhuman.

A better way that starts with something simpler:
Not by doing more.
But by allowing yourself to put some of the weight down.

Sometimes the most loving thing you can do
is stop trying to carry your whole life alone.

By creating a little structure.
Asking for a little support.
Making room for a little margin.

Not to optimize your days
but to make room for presence again.

If this letter made you feel seen, please share it with someone you love.

We may not know that someone who looks fine, feels frayed. That someone who keeps showing up, is quietly running on fumes.
You may be surprised how many people needed to know they weren’t alone.

May our words light a candle to spread some light.
And may it be an open seat at the table for those of us who yearn to enjoy the simple things again.