A Kind of Tiredness That Gets Into Everything
The moment that finally made me admit it wasn't dramatic at all. Early morning in the home office, I was just sitting in my chair and I said it out loud.
"I'm exhausted. I'm burning out."
Nothing was actively wrong in that particular second. No alarm going off. No argument. No fresh bad news. Just the usual screen glow, a chair I've spent too many hours in, a few tabs open, and that strange hush that sometimes falls in the middle of an ordinary day when your mind stops long enough to catch up with your body.
And what I realized, sitting there, wasn't a feeling so much as a weight. The weight of every small unfinished thing. Every obligation with my name on it. Every text I hadn't answered yet, every errand still waiting, every decision still asking to be made, every part of life that needed some steady portion of me I wasn't sure I had available.
It was one of those moments where the boundaries disappear. Work was in it, yes, but so was the house, the calendar, the relationships, the noise, the constant low-grade management of being a person alive in the world. I remember sitting there and thinking, very plainly, this is heavier than I've been willing to say out loud.

