A Quiet Kind of Exhaustion

First holiday season without my hubby.

Lately, I’ve been getting through days as though I am made of glass, fragile, see-through. I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted in a way that doesn’t flare up loudly but instead lingers like a weight I carry everywhere. It’s not so much that I do not want to care about things… it is just that the energy to care is out of reach. And so I keep trying to show up, smile, nod, say the right words, play the role that everyone expects from me. But inside, I feel hollow, as if I have become some kind of shell wearing the costume of my own life.

I notice myself drifting, discon­necting from things that used to matter. Tasks blur together. Conversations feel far away. It’s like watching my life from behind a foggy window-present but not really in it.

And now the holidays are coming. The season that’s supposed to be warm, festive, full of connection. but instead it feels like pressure. Expectations. Noise. The emotional demand to be merry when I barely have the energy to feel much of anything at all. I’m already tired, and the thought of pretending my way through holiday cheer feels like another performance I’m not sure I can give.

But this is the truth: I’m worn down. I’m overwhelmed. I am doing my best even when that doesn’t look like much. Maybe that’s enough for right now. Maybe honesty is its own kind of care, admitting I’m not okay instead of constantly acting like I am.

I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I don’t even have a plan. But I’m acknowledging the weight. I’m giving myself permission to feel what I feel, even if it’s messy, even if it’s nothing at all.

And today, perhaps that is all I have to do.