This is for the tired one,
The one who's been holding it together for longer than anyone knows,
The one who's tried everything,
Who's done the protocols,
The journaling,
The detoxes,
Mindset work,
And who still wakes up tired,
Still hurting,
Still wondering if anything will ever truly change.
This is for the part of you that doesn't need more tools right now,
Doesn't need another plan,
Just needs space to stop.
To breathe and maybe to cry.
Because sometimes you can't keep trying.
Not yet,
Not today,
Because under all the fixing,
There's grief.
Grief for the life you thought you'd be living by now.
Grief for how much you've had to carry just to get through each day.
Grief for the way your body has become something to manage instead of something to live in.
And maybe no one sees that.
Maybe they think you're strong.
Maybe they say you're doing amazing,
And you are,
But you're also so tired.
Let yourself feel that now.
Let yourself lay down all the doing,
And the trying,
And the seeking,
And the fixing.
Let the sadness that's been waiting behind your eyes finally feel seen.
Not judged,
Not analyzed,
Just seen.
No one else has to understand.
This moment is for you.
You don't have to explain why it's so hard.
You don't have to justify the exhaustion.
You've been surviving a long time.
And surviving takes so much more energy than anyone tells you.
So if you are here,
If you are still breathing,
That's already a kind of miracle to celebrate.
Let that land.
Let yourself soften into it.
Soften into the fact that you're still here,
Even if the pain is still here,
Even if the story hasn't changed,
Even if you don't know how to be okay.
This is still a moment of peace right here,
Right now.
Not because you fixed anything,
But because you stopped trying just for this moment.
Just long enough to meet yourself in the truth of all the overwhelm.
There is so much tenderness here,
So much that has never gotten to be felt.
You are grieving,
You are human,
You are trying to find your way back to something that feels like aliveness,
Not just endurance.
And I want you to know,
You are not alone in this ache.
There is nothing wrong with you for being tired.
And there is nothing wrong with you for wondering how long this will last.
You get to grieve the losses that no one has validated.
You get to say,
This is not the life I wanted.
And you get to not know what comes next.
And even in the hollow places,
Even in the ache that doesn't end,
There is still a quiet kind of hope.
Not the kind that demands a miracle,
But the kind that whispers,
You are still here.
And you don't have to do anything right now,
But be.
Let that be enough.
Let yourself be enough.
Allow yourself to truly rest.
You don't have to prove your strength right now.
You don't have to smile and you don't have to fix this.
You can just feel what you feel.
You can let the tears come if they do.
You can rest and just breathe.
This moment doesn't require anything from you.
It's giving something instead.
Space.
Permission.
Compassion.
Understanding.
This moment is holding you so that you can take a break,
So that you don't have to hold yourself right now,
So you can just rest.
When you are ready,
Let your breath gently return to your body.
Let your awareness come back to the room around you and bring this softness with you,
This knowing you are not alone.
You are not wrong for feeling how you feel.
You are still and you are still quietly and profoundly alive.
