When I was tired of being tired

There was a time in my life when I was tired of being tired.

So tired that even wanting comfort felt embarrassing.

Like I was asking for too much.

I remember thinking,

why can’t I just handle this like everyone else?

People around me kept saying the same things.

“You’re strong.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“You always manage.”

They thought they were helping.

But what I wanted—what I needed—felt almost childish.

I wanted someone to pull me close.

To let me cry without fixing me.

To say,

you don’t have to hold it together today.

No one did.

So I learned to keep going.

Even when I was empty.

Especially when I was empty.

That learning stayed in my body.

Years later, it showed up in a moment so small

I almost missed it.

My child was struggling with something simple.

Taking too long.

Getting overwhelmed.

Almost crying.

And something in me snapped—not loudly,

just enough.

I thought,

why are you making this so hard?

why can’t you just do it?

I didn’t shout.

I didn’t say anything cruel.

I corrected.

I guided.

I rushed.

And for a split second,

I felt powerful.

Relieved.

Like things were back under control.

Then I saw their face.

Not fear.

Not defiance.

That familiar shutting down.

The same one I used to wear so well.

And it hit me.

I wasn’t reacting to my child.

I was reacting to the part of me

that was never allowed to slow down.

No one stayed with my overwhelm.

So now I struggle to stay with theirs.

No one held me when I was tired of being tired.

So urgency became my version of love.

Not because I don’t care.

But because tenderness still feels unsafe in my body.

I stood there longer than necessary.

Didn’t apologise.

Didn’t explain.

Just felt the grief of recognising myself

on the other side of the room.

Nothing needed to be fixed in that moment.

Only noticed.

How quickly love turns into urgency

when slowing down was never made safe.

And how different it might feel

to stay.

A little longer.

PS.

I work with people who don’t need more tools,

only a safer pace.

If that sentence stayed with you longer than the rest,

you already know why

.