I don't really know how to explain how I've been feeling lately.
That's probably the most frustrating part. I know something feels off, but I can't always put my finger on what it is. I'm not necessarily upset about one particular thing. There isn't always a specific event I can point to and say, "That's why I'm feeling this way." Sometimes I just wake up feeling heavy. Sometimes I want to cry but can't. Sometimes the smallest things feel like the biggest responsibilities, and I find myself getting frustrated with everyone around me, including myself.
And then I feel guilty for feeling that way.
Because my life isn't terrible, I have a job, I have goals, I have people who care about me, and I have things to look forward to. I'm building a life…so why are there days when I feel like I'm barely holding everything together?
I think that's something we don't talk about enough when it comes to mental health. You don't have to lose everything to feel lost. You don't have to be at rock bottom to be struggling. Sometimes you can be doing all the things you're supposed to do and still feel like something inside you is falling apart.
And sometimes, the hardest part is pretending that it isn't.
The emotional exhaustion nobody sees
I think I'm tired.
Not necessarily physically tired, although being a high school teacher certainly doesn't help with that. I'm talking about the kind of tired that comes from constantly thinking, worrying, anticipating, and trying to make sure everyone around you is okay.
I'm tired of feeling like I have to be everything to everyone.
I'm a teacher. I'm a friend. I'm a daughter. I'm a coworker. I'm someone who wants to build meaningful relationships, maintain friendships, pursue a career, continue my education, and somehow still have a life outside of all those responsibilities.
There are always emails, messages, plans, expectations, and people who need something. And I genuinely want to show up for the people in my life. I want to be dependable. I want people to know they can count on me.
But sometimes I wonder when I became so afraid of disappointing people that I started disappointing myself.
I catch myself saying yes when I want to say no. I overthink how someone might interpret a message. I worry about whether I've upset someone, whether I've done enough, whether someone is pulling away, or whether I've somehow made someone feel like they don't matter.
And sometimes I put myself in completely different directions trying to make sure everyone else is happy.
I think part of it comes from being afraid of losing people.
When you've experienced heartbreak, loss, or relationships that have made you question your worth, you can start approaching new relationships differently. You become more careful. You start paying attention to every little change in someone's behavior. You wonder whether you're being too much, not enough, too available, or not available enough.
You try to be the person everyone wants you to be because, somewhere along the way, you start believing that if you're good enough, helpful enough, understanding enough, and accommodating enough, maybe people won't leave.
But that's an exhausting way to live.
And the hardest realization is that you can spend so much time trying not to lose people that you slowly lose yourself.
When your mind doesn't give you a break
Mental health is strange because sometimes you can recognize what's happening and still struggle to make it stop.
You can know that you're overthinking and still overthink. You can know that you're being too hard on yourself and still struggle to give yourself grace. You can understand that a situation isn't the end of the world and still feel completely overwhelmed by it.
I've been trying to understand that about myself.
I know I have anxiety and depression. I've sought help. I've gone to therapy, worked with a psychiatrist, and taken medication because I want to feel better. I want to enjoy my life. I want to wake up without feeling like I have a hundred different thoughts competing for my attention.
And sometimes I do feel better. Sometimes I have really good days, weeks, and stretches of time when I feel like myself again.
But then there are days when those familiar feelings creep back in.
And I think that's one of the most discouraging parts of dealing with mental health. You start to wonder whether you're actually getting better or whether you've just gotten better at managing the difficult days.
I sometimes get frustrated with myself because I thought this was what getting help was supposed to prevent. I thought that once I started taking care of my mental health, I wouldn't have to feel this way again.
But I'm learning that getting help doesn't mean you'll never struggle. Medication isn't a promise that you'll never feel sad, anxious, overwhelmed, or depressed again. And having a difficult day doesn't mean all the work you've done has disappeared.
Still, knowing that doesn't make the feelings any easier when they're happening.
Sometimes I just want my brain to be quiet.
When the season brings everything back
I've noticed that certain times of the year are harder for me than others.
This season brings back memories of one of the darkest periods of my life. It was a time when I was grieving, going through heartbreak, and struggling with my mental health in ways that I didn't always know how to communicate.
I was dealing with changes that made me question my future, my relationships, and sometimes even my reason for being here.
At one point, I didn't want to live anymore.
I don't say that lightly, and I don't share it for sympathy. It's simply part of my story, and pretending it never happened doesn't make it any less real.
I remember how dark things felt during that period. I remember feeling overwhelmed by life and not knowing how to make those feelings stop. I remember wanting to escape everything.
And although I'm in a different place now, I think certain memories are still attached to this season.
Sometimes I find myself missing my ex-boyfriend, which can be confusing because I know I don't want that relationship back. I don't miss what happened. I don't wish I could return to that version of my life.
But I think sometimes you miss familiarity. You miss having someone there. You miss the person you were before certain experiences changed you. You miss the version of life you thought you were going to have.
And sometimes you don't even know what you're missing. You just know that something feels heavy.
I think we underestimate how much our bodies and minds remember. A certain month, a holiday, a song, or even a change in the weather can bring back feelings we thought we had moved beyond.
And when that happens, it's easy to become frustrated with yourself, but I don't want to keep living as though every difficult season is something I have to survive alone.
The fear of not being enough
I think underneath a lot of these feelings is a fear that I'm not enough.
Not enough for a relationship. Not enough as a friend. Not enough as a daughter. Not enough professionally. Not enough for the people I care about.
And I know that sounds dramatic when I write it out, but I think a lot of people understand that feeling.
It's the feeling that you have to keep proving yourself. That you have to be useful, successful, attractive, funny, available, understanding, and easy to be around.
You worry that if you aren't those things, people might lose interest. You worry that if you express how you're actually feeling, you'll become a burden. You worry that if you ask for too much, someone will decide it's easier to walk away.
So you keep things to yourself.
You smile when you're having a hard day. You say you're fine because explaining everything feels exhausting. You convince yourself that you'll deal with your feelings later because right now someone else needs you.
And eventually, later never comes.
I don't want to keep doing that.
I don't want to feel like I have to earn my place in people's lives by constantly making myself available. I don't want to measure my worth by how much I can do for other people. And I don't want to be so afraid of losing someone that I forget I deserve relationships where I can be honest about how I'm feeling, too.
I want to be able to say I'm having a bad day without feeling like I've disappointed someone.
I want to be able to say no without writing an entire explanation in my head.
I want to be able to ask for help without feeling guilty.
And I want to believe that the people who genuinely care about me won't need me to be a perfect version of myself every single day.
You don't have to be okay all the time
And well, that's what I'm trying to learn.
That I don't have to be everything to everyone. That I can be a good person and still have boundaries. That I can love people without making their happiness my responsibility. That I can be independent and still need support.
I don't have to answer every message immediately. I don't have to accept every invitation. I don't have to take on every responsibility just because someone asks me to.
And I certainly don't have to pretend I'm okay when I'm not.
I think there's so much pressure to make our twenties look exciting. We're supposed to be building careers, dating, making friends, traveling, finding ourselves, and enjoying our independence. And while all of those things can be wonderful, there's another side that doesn't always make it into the pictures.
The loneliness. The anxiety. The uncertainty. The days when you don't recognize yourself. The nights when you replay conversations and wonder whether you've said the wrong thing. The moments when you feel like everyone is moving forward and you're just trying to get through the week.
I wish we talked about that side more.
I wish we made it easier to tell someone we're struggling without feeling like we're making things uncomfortable. I wish asking for help didn't feel like admitting defeat. And I wish more people understood that someone can look completely fine and still be fighting battles nobody else knows about.
If you're reading this and you're experiencing something similar, I want you to know that you're not a burden for having feelings. You're not weak for needing help. You're not failing because you have to take a step back.
And if things are getting darker than you know how to handle, please tell someone. A friend, a family member, a therapist, a doctor, or someone who can help you through that moment. You don't have to wait until you're at your breaking point to deserve support.
I'm still learning how to do that myself.
I don't have some perfect conclusion about mental health. I don't have a magical solution for anxiety, depression, grief, or the pressure of growing up.
Some days I feel strong. Other days I feel like I have absolutely nothing left to give.
But I'm trying to remind myself that a difficult day isn't a failed life. That I can ask for help. That I can take up space. That I don't have to make myself smaller or stretch myself thinner just to make sure everyone else stays happy.
I want to get better at showing up for myself the way I show up for everyone else.
And maybe that's where I need to start.
Not by having everything figured out. Not by making everyone happy. Not by pretending that nothing hurts.
Just by allowing myself to be human.
Because I'm tired of pretending I'm okay when sometimes I'm really not.
