The Exhaustion I Didn’t Want to Admit
I’m feeling overwhelmed today—like my body is locked in fight-or-flight and can’t quite find its way out. My latest tests came back inconclusive, and now there’s another round ahead. I walked into the house afterward only to find water in the basement again. It’s not the first time, and of course the symbolism hits me right in the chest: the foundation of our home flooding as I’m being called to look at my own foundations.
I’m angry that I have to do this work… and yet I know it’s a choice. I chose this path of inner truth and healing. Still, there’s a part of me that wishes I could set it all down for a moment—the healthcare system that feels like it’s failing me, the insurance that covers nothing, the weight of knowing exactly how broken it all is because I worked in it. I’m tired.
I’m raising kids outside the system, and some days it feels like the odds are stacked so high against me. My mind keeps looping: Just send them into the matrix. You’d have more time for yourself. Your body could rest.
But my heart knows that’s not the way. Not for us.
Still—my body is tired.
I’m tired.
And I find myself asking, Guides, what am I not seeing? Please… help me.
Then my awareness shifts outward to the collective, to the others walking through similar thresholds. How do we create change when we’re all so exhausted? Is this level of overwhelm normal, or have we been conditioned to believe it is? Are the answers actually simple, and it’s our minds that tangle everything into knots? I don’t know. I don’t have any answers right now, and the not-knowing feels heavy.
But beneath that… I can feel the faintest hum of truth in my body: It’s all going to be okay.
And in that quiet knowing, I remember what’s real. I’m blessed with an incredible husband who stands as the divine masculine in our home—steady, grounded, unwavering. While I spiral into the unknown and unravel what’s no longer mine to carry, he holds me. He creates the safety for me to fall apart and rebuild.
Today, that is my glimmer of light—his presence. His groundedness. His love that reminds me I don’t have to do this alone.
In Peace, Love and Service,
Rebecca
