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 I didn't know it.

Before the crash, I wore exhaustion like a badge.
Push through. Keep going.
Don't let anyone see you fall apart.
Rest was a luxury.
Vulnerability was a liability.

But 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.
My brain fogged over.
I felt like a ghost of myself.

And still, I told myself it was just stress.
Just sleep debt.
Just needing to push harder.

I see it clearly now:
my body was waving the white flag, long before I 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.

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