Dear Exhausted Me: The Mental Weight of Caring Too Much

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Have you ever had to deal with the mental exhaustion of caring too much?

You’re tired.

Angry.

Frustrated.

And maybe even afraid that one more thing will happen and you will finally snap.

That has been my day.

When Something Feels Off

I woke up this morning, and everything seemed normal.

I slept well last night.

For some reason, though, I felt extremely tired.

My stomach felt a little off, but I did not feel sick.

I kept trying to convince myself not to go to work.

But I got up.

I got dressed.

And I went.

The drive to work was fine.

Still, I was in my head.

Something felt wrong, but I could not articulate it.

I could not put my finger on it.

I did not know what it was.

A Good Day Can Still Feel Heavy

I continued to work.

I arrived, and everything was fine.

But again, something felt off.

While I was at work, I received a phone call regarding fostering.

The conversation was fine.

I did not think anything of it.

Then I received another call.

I think that was when the bad feeling really started to settle in.

But once again, everything appeared to be fine.

So I continued with my morning.

I hung out with one of the kids.

We went to breakfast and had a really good time.

I talked to some of the waitresses about what they wanted to accomplish in their lives and offered to help.

I showed them my journal and asked what they thought about it.

They both loved the concept.

I had a good day.

And yet, there was still a feeling I could not explain.

Something heavy was sitting on my chest.

Drowning in Worry

On my drive home, I called my husband.

I explained everything that was happening.

These are the moving pieces.

These are the things we are waiting on.

This is where everything currently stands.

He said okay.

Then he started talking about playing poker, editing videos, and other things.

That was not necessarily a problem.

He is very good at compartmentalizing.

For him, there was nothing we could do at that moment, so there was no reason to keep worrying.

I understood that.

But for me, I was drowning in fear.

I was drowning in worry.

And I was exhausted by it.

I could not explain all the ins and outs of what I was feeling.

I just knew the day felt heavy.

When Someone Else’s Pain Becomes Yours

When I got home, I received a message from one of my baby girls.

She asked how my day had been.

I told her it had been long.

It had been heavy.

Then she told me about her day.

Her day had also been long and heavy.

But she would never say that.

She would look me in the eyes and tell me she was fine when I knew she was not.

That is not because she is afraid to talk to me.

Life has simply been so hard for her that she is used to disappointment.

She is used to being hurt.

She has learned how to say she is fine even when she is anything but fine.

Logistics Do Not Account for Feelings

She explained what had made her day so difficult.

I became angry.

Not at her.

I became angry with the people surrounding the situation.

I understand that there are reasons things happen the way they do.

I understand rules.

I understand procedures.

I understand logistics.

But logistics do not always account for feelings.

And feelings are important.

She needed someone to hold her.

She needed to cry.

She needed to release everything she had been carrying.

I could listen to her over the phone, but I could not physically be there.

So I encouraged her to speak to another safe adult who was nearby.

She did.

And the response she received made me angry.

It felt as though what she said was simply rushed past.

I hope there was more to the conversation after she got off the phone with me.

I hope someone sat with her.

I hope someone acknowledged what she was feeling.

But I do not know that.

How Do You Ignore Someone’s Pain?

I could not understand how someone could hear what she said and not respond.

How do you look at a child who is clearly hurting and not acknowledge it?

How do you hear the sadness in someone’s voice and continue as though nothing important was said?

Then I realized that it seems to happen all the time.

Those of us who have been forced to be extra strong and extra brave are often believed when we say we are fine.

It is okay that this happened.

It is okay that they left.

It is okay that they did not choose me.

It is okay that someone who was supposed to love me is no longer part of my life.

Except it is not okay.

It does not feel okay.

Losing a War You Never Expected to Fight

Inside, it can feel like you are losing a war you were never prepared to fight.

You did not know who you would be fighting.

You did not know the people who were supposed to love you would become part of the battle.

I never imagined that one of my battles would involve my mother.

I never thought I would have to explain to people that she does not talk to me.

That she is not part of my life.

I never thought I would have to repeatedly explain to myself that her absence does not mean I am unwanted.

It does not mean I am unloved.

Maybe she is busy.

Maybe she has other things happening.

Maybe she has a lot on her plate.

And maybe those things are true.

But sometimes the explanations do not make the pain disappear.

I Am Exhausted for the Children

I am exhausted.

I am exhausted for myself.

And I am exhausted for every child I have watched move through the system.

I have watched children struggle while telling everyone:

It is okay.

I wish I could change it for them.

I want to fix it.

But I cannot.

I cannot fix everything.

I cannot change every situation.

Sometimes I can only be angry.

Sometimes I can only be exhausted.

Children Are Allowed to Be Angry

People say that not every parent is emotionally capable of showing up for their children.

I understand that.

Not everyone is in the right mental or emotional place.

Some parents genuinely did the best they could.

But children are still allowed to be angry about what that best did to them.

As children, we do not care that our parents were incapable of giving us what we needed.

We are still suffering.

We are still hurting.

We are still angry.

We are still sad.

But people tell us:

They did the best they could.

Get over it.

Understanding why someone hurt you does not erase the hurt.

Pretending Everything Is Okay

I am exhausted from pretending I am okay when I am not okay.

I am exhausted from watching children go through terrible situations because the adults responsible for them will not do what they need to do.

My kids are teenagers.

Some of them may never return home.

They have to live with the belief that there is some shortcoming inside them that makes them unwanted.

I cannot make that better for them.

Everything in me wants to change a world that is obviously broken.

But I am one person.

There is only so much I can do.

Being Someone’s Safe Person

I can talk to them.

I can listen.

I can love them through it.

I know she told me what happened because I am her safe person.

She knew I would understand.

She knew I would not judge her for begging her mother to let her come home.

She knew I would not judge her for still wanting to go home.

Yes, she is almost an adult.

But she is still a child who wants her mother.

She gets very little say in what happens.

She gets very little choice.

Her feelings are valid.

And still, they often go ignored.

Feeling Someone Else’s Pain

I care about people deeply.

When I watch them hurt, I feel it.

As she sat on the phone with me, I could see her pain.

She told me she was tired.

Her stomach hurt.

Her body was in pain.

All I could think was:

Honey, your emotional pain is becoming physical.

But how do you say that?

How do you sit back and watch someone you love hurt?

Because that is what I have to do.

I have to watch her hurt.

I cannot save her from every painful moment.

I cannot change the situation.

She knows I love her.

She knows I will always be there.

And yet, I still have to watch the people she desperately wants to love her cause her pain.

Being the Adult Who Shows Up

It is exhausting being the adult for children who should have other adults showing up for them.

Maybe I am projecting.

Maybe I see my younger self in them.

Maybe I am placing my experiences beside theirs.

I could be wrong about parts of what they feel.

But I know what they tell me.

I know what I see.

I know what it feels like to say you are fine because you do not believe anyone is prepared to hear the real answer.

We Expect Too Much From Hurting Children

I will be forty-three in September.

And I am mentally exhausted.

I cannot imagine being ten, twelve, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, or eighteen and trying to carry these emotions.

Yet we still expect these children to do everything they are supposed to do.

Go to school.

Go to work.

Follow the rules.

Show up.

Do not be depressed.

Do not be angry.

Do not be upset.

Things are not that bad.

But maybe things really are that bad for them.

Maybe the adults around them simply cannot see the weight they are carrying.

They Will Always Be My Babies

If I had my way, I would save all the babies.

And they are all babies to me.

They do not have to be toddlers or infants.

One of my girls will be eighteen soon.

She will always be my baby.

My sixteen-year-old will always be my baby.

I cannot imagine not loving them the way I do.

I cannot understand how parents walk away.

I am not pretending that raising children is easy.

It is not.

No one ever said it would be.

But we also cannot pretend that our actions do not affect them.

We can acknowledge that something was missing.

We can acknowledge that it is exhausting to hide your feelings, ignore your feelings, and pretend to be okay.

What I Do When I Am Exhausted

When I am exhausted, I throw myself into work.

I find something else to do so I do not have to think about my feelings.

Tonight will probably be no different.

I will finish my podcast.

I will work on my journal.

I will try to get everything set up and ready.

I will stay awake later than I should because I need my brain to finally shut off.

Then I will be exhausted physically and mentally.

Loving Is Hard

Loving is hard.

Caring is hard.

Not because I cannot do it.

Not because I am incapable of loving people.

It is hard because I have to watch the people I love hurt.

And sometimes I cannot do anything to stop it.

I could see how badly she was hurting.

I did not let my anger show.

I did not make the conversation about my feelings.

I listened.

That was what she needed.

She needed an adult to show up and say:

I am still here for you.

I will always be here.

Talk to the People You Love

Talk to your kids.

Talk to your loved ones.

Talk to your mothers.

Your fathers.

Your sisters.

Your brothers.

There is a world full of exhausted people.

We do not know because we accept their answer when they say they are okay.

Yesterday, I spoke to my brother.

I did not realize how exhausted he was.

My heart is heavy.

My head is full.

I do not mean to be judgmental.

I do not mean to be rude.

But this is my journal.

This is where I am allowed to acknowledge what I feel.

I hurt for them.

Young me hurts.

Present-day me hurts.

And I hurt for every child who has learned to hide their pain.

Dear Exhausted Me

If you find yourself emotionally exhausted from carrying your own feelings and the feelings of the people you love, I am with you.

We may not have the perfect solution yet.

But we will keep trying to find one.

I am determined to learn how to care for people without losing myself.

I am learning how to love without believing I must fix everything.

I am learning that showing up does not always look pretty.

But the people we love are worth trying for.

And so are we.

My Bite of Pie

My bite of pie today was showing up when I did not want to.

I went to work.

I asked people what they thought about my journal, even though I was afraid they would hate it.

I talked to a child who was hurting.

I processed my own emotions.

I chose to love her.

And I chose to love myself anyway.

Life is hard enough.

I hope your day went well.

I hope you felt something other than exhaustion.

I hope you were able to smile.

To play.

To love.

And to laugh.

But maybe you were not.

Maybe today was simply heavy.

That happens too.

Not every page is happy, shiny, and filled with rainbows.

Today is another page in the story.

It does not have to be perfect.

It just has to be written.

Before you close your journal tonight, ask yourself:

What was your bite of pie today?

Until tomorrow,

Love you loud.