I’m 56 years old, married for 39 years, with 2 adult kids, 2 grandkids, a full time job, born with multiple mental disorders, take crazy meds, see my shrink monthly, sober problem drinker, have been working since the age of 15, when I dropped out high school… And honestly… I’m fucking tired.
Every day, millions of people wake up, put on their armor, and show up for everyone else. We work, we provide, we manage households, and we take care of family. On paper, life looks good. But underneath that sturdy exterior, a heavy, silent pressure can build up until it turns into a constant, exhausting hum.
The hardest part isn’t just the fatigue—it’s the invisible grief for the paths you didn’t take, the passions that got buried under responsibility, and the moments when inspiration hits at midnight when your tank is completely empty.
And when you finally reach your breaking point? When you try to be honest and tell the people closest to you how much you are carrying? Too often, it gets brushed off as a “bad mood.” You are told to express yourself, but only if your truth is neat, quiet, and convenient. When it gets messy, you’re suddenly the bad guy.
It is completely valid to feel angry when your autonomy is squeezed out of your schedule. It is normal to want to step off the hamster wheel, vanish for a second, and just be left alone in the silence.
You aren’t a bad person for feeling burnt out. You’re just a human being who has been holding everything together for so long that you forgot what it feels like to breathe.
I love chilling with my two grandkids. Specially when I feel depressed, down, empty and alone and they come over. Every little negative feeling, is lifted off of me as soon as they come running to me yelling GRANDPA! and PAPA!