You are not falling apart. You are just out of battery.

It doesn’t look like exhaustion, at first. It looks like snapping at a Whatsapp message. It looks like standing in the kitchen with your jaw locked and your fists clenched because someone left the sponge in the sink again. It looks like doom-scrolling and sighing loudly. Or rewriting the same sentence four times and still hating how it sounds. It looks like wondering—seriously—if this is the day everything finally breaks. But here’s what’s actually happening: you’re tired. That’s all.

You’ve been running on low battery for longer than you realise. You’ve been holding more than you’re wired to carry—without pausing to notice what that’s doing to your ability to respond like a sane, whole human.

You didn’t climb a mountain. You didn’t run a marathon. You just lived a normal day. A normal day that probably included poor sleep, unread emails, one too many decisions, a blurry meeting, a sugar crash, someone’s slightly passive-aggressive tone, and the subtle shame of knowing your to-do list is still quietly laughing at you from across the room.

And now you’re standing in your home—or your office, or your head—and thinking that maybe your life needs a full reset. It doesn’t. You just need a nap. Or a bath. Or to lie on the floor with your eyes closed for eleven minutes. You need space. And you need to stop believing every thought your brain is offering up right now. Because when we’re tired, everything feels heavier. The small things get sharp. The invisible things start to sting. We catastrophize because we’ve run out of resources to process calmly. What looks like a crisis might just be a depletion.

Try this:

Next time you feel the inner spiral picking up speed, pause. Say it aloud, quietly: “My brain is tired. That’s all.” It’s not weakness. It’s data. You don’t need to justify it. Just use it as a reason to stop—before you say the thing you don’t mean, or spiral into a plan you’ll regret by morning.

There’s a version of you that’s clear, kind, capable, and thoughtful. You’ve been that version many times before. And you’ll return there. Just not right now. Not before rest. Not before recovery. We forget that fatigue doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it whispers. It shows up as irritation, poor judgment, or strange fixation. We convince ourselves that everything is broken—when really, we’re just overdue for doing nothing.

Sometimes the kindest thing we can do for ourselves—and everyone around us—is to log off, lie down, and make no big decisions after 8pm. Because the most dangerous thing isn’t what happened today. It’s what happens when we keep pushing through without flagging to anyone—especially ourselves—that we’re out of reserves.

So show your love by disappearing early. Don’t try to explain. Just go. Run a bath. Say no. Cancel something. Turn off your brain and get under a blanket. You don’t need to fix your life tonight. You just need to stop trying to live it while your mind is barely upright.

Let the day go. Let the silence in. Let the smallest comforts speak louder than your inner critic. And tomorrow—after rest—you can try again.

From a place that doesn’t feel like survival.