You're Not Lazy. You're Carrying Something Heavy

It's time to give yourself some credit

Photo by Federico Vecchi on Unsplash

Have you ever found yourself lying awake at night, feeling exhausted to the bone, and yet somehow still thinking, “I should be over this by now”?

If the answer is yes, chances are you’ve experienced something painful. Something that shook you to your core—maybe it was loss, betrayal, heartbreak. Or maybe it was ‘just’ the weight of constant, unresolved stress that slowly chipped away at your sense of peace, leaving you in a state of overwhelm you couldn’t name, let alone fix.

You look around and see people going about their lives, thriving, being productive, and normal. They go to work, take care of their families, chase their dreams. Meanwhile, you feel stuck—like the world keeps spinning, but you’re standing still, knee-deep in an emotional mess you can’t quite clean up or climb out of.

But what if you're not behind at all? What if the reason you feel like you have nothing left is because your energy isn't missing—it's just being spent somewhere no one can see?

What if you're not broken… you're just in the middle of processing something deep and real and important?

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You’re not lazy. You’re carrying something heavy.

We’re conditioned to confuse emotional exhaustion with weakness or laziness.

From an early age, we’re taught to value visible effort—the kind you can measure with results, productivity, checklists, and output. If you’re working hard, it should look like something: long hours, fast movement, constant doing.

So when your energy disappears but there’s nothing on the outside to “show” for it—no broken bones, no obvious crisis—it’s easy to turn inward and assume something must be wrong with you. We start calling ourselves lazy. Unmotivated. Undisciplined. We get frustrated that we can’t power through like we used to, and we quietly shame ourselves for needing rest instead of rallying.

But the truth is, this isn’t a lack of strength—it’s what strength looks like in its softest, most necessary form.

Because when you’ve been through something painful—especially something that lingers and seeps into every part of your life — it doesn't just disappear when the moment passes. The impact sticks. Your mind replays it. Your body holds onto it. And without realizing it, you're living every day while also doing the internal work of trying to make sense of something that changed you.

We underestimate just how much energy that takes.

The kind of effort it demands isn’t loud or obvious—it’s quiet, invisible, and constant. It drains you beneath the surface while you keep showing up, smiling when needed, answering emails, making dinner. It’s no wonder you’re exhausted. You’re doing two lives at once: the one the world sees, and the one where you’re still trying to find your way back to yourself.

That kind of endurance deserves acknowledgment. And yet, instead of giving ourselves credit, we criticize ourselves for not doing more. We feel behind in life. We watch others seemingly move forward while we’re frozen in place, and the shame quietly builds. Why can’t I just be normal again? Why can’t I function like I used to?

But what we forget is that emotional recovery is just as valid—and often more complex—than physical recovery. You wouldn’t expect someone with a broken leg to run a marathon. So why do we expect ourselves to perform at full capacity with broken hearts, anxious minds, and exhausted spirits?

The truth is, there’s nothing wrong with us—we’re just in a season.

Life has seasons. Some are vibrant and full of motion, while others are slow, quiet, and heavy. And when you’re in a season of deep emotional processing, everything feels slower. Your motivation dips. Your capacity shrinks. You find yourself needing more rest, more quiet, more space.

That’s not you being lazy. That’s your nervous system doing the hard work of recalibration. That’s your body saying, “We’re not okay yet, but we’re working on it”. It’s not visible on the outside, but it’s powerful, essential work.

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Sometimes, your body and your heart are doing the hardest work of your life—the invisible work of healing—and that kind of work takes everything.

It may not look like thriving right now. It may not look like achievement or momentum. But it looks like grit. It looks like survival. It looks like a quiet kind of strength that deserves to be honored just as loudly as any outward success.

So if you’re tired, if you’re struggling, if you feel like you just can’t seem to “get it together”—maybe you don’t need to push harder. Maybe you need to recognize just how much you’ve already carried. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to give yourself some credit for that.

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Thank you for reading 🫶🏼

I hope my words offered you a little clarity, a little comfort, or simply reminded you that you're not alone in what you're feeling.

If you’re new here, welcome to Consciously! I’m Patricia. My goal with this space on Substack is to help you feel seen, safe, and a little less lonely on your healing journey. Everything I write comes from my own lived experience — the wounds I’ve had to heal, the emotional patterns I’ve had to unlearn, and the self-compassion I’m still learning to practice. I do my best to publish consistently, though like most things in life, it ebbs and flows depending on where I’m at emotionally.

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With love,
Patricia