I Wasn't Just Tired

I used to call it fatigue, I thought I was just weak,
undisciplined, burnt out from doing too much.
But the truth was sharper: I was surviving and didn't know it.

Before the crash, I wore exhaustion like a badge.
Push through, keep going, don't be seen falling apart.
Rest was a luxury, vulnerability was a liability.

Survival has a cost–you can't outrun what's inside you.

I remember the first real collapse, not dramatic, just quiet.
My limbs wouldn't move the way I asked, brain fogged over.
I felt like a ghost of myself and I told myself it was just stress.
Just sleep debt, just needing to push harder.

I see now, my body was waving the white flag, before I even noticed.
There's grief in that realization, but there's grace too.
Because what broke down, that wasn't failure.
It was the truth finally catching up.

Like a dried creekbed after the drought,
I wasn't empty, I was just buried.
Life was still there, waiting for room to flow again.

→ Previous: 2.2 - The Body Keeps Walking
→ Next: 2.4 - What the Nervous System Never Forgot

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*Peer reflection, not therapy advice. Your healing journey is uniquely yours.*