“Do either of you just feel physically and mentally drained?” a friend asked the other day in our long-standing three-way text.
“Yep. And emotionally,” I replied. Check, check, and check.
We’re nearing the one month mark since life came to a screeching halt for most of us, and while I still can’t really pinpoint how I feel about the whole thing, I do know this:
I. Am. Exhausted.
Stick a fork in me, I am D-O-N-E.
RELATED: Dear God, I’m Just So Tired
I’m no stranger to tired. I still get up a few times a night with our one-year-old daughter. I’ve come to expect pointy things like knees and elbows jabbing me in the ribs at 3 o’clock in the morning as our sons climb into bed beside me. I usually work until midnight or beyond while the house is quiet enough to hear myself think. Sleep and I are acquaintances, at best.
I’m USED to being tired. But not like this.
Not this bone-aching, heavy, overwhelming exhaustion that has engulfed me these past few weeks.
Not this can’t keep my eyes open but can’t fall asleep kind of tired.
Not this too many scary tabs open in my brain kind of tired.
I feel depleted in just about every possible way.
RELATED: In Times Like These, It’s OK To Cry
I’m physically exhausted from tossing and turning all night. From caring for kids around the clock. From staying up way too late Googling symptoms and reading news stories I have no business reading—because for as level-headed as I feel during the day, all bets are off once my head hits the pillow and my mind starts to race.
I’m mentally exhausted from the worry that hangs over even the sweetest moments. From the waiting game that we’re stuck in. From coming up with new ways to keep my kids entertained even though I myself am bored out of my mind from the monotony.
I’m emotionally exhausted from mustering every little bit of patience I can. From the heartache of missing loved ones whom I likely won’t get to hug for months. From the strain of interacting with people who are on their own emotional rollercoasters. From navigating the highs of “everything is going to be OK” to the lows of “the sky is falling” . . . and going back and forth between the two several times a day.
I’m just tired.
Of stressing.
Of bleak headlines.
Of not being able to find balance no matter how hard I try.
Of waiting—although I’m not really even sure what it is I’m waiting for.
Of putting on a brave face for kids who don’t understand what’s going on.
Of not feeling in control.
I am just so tired of being tired.
RELATED: This is the New Mental Load of Motherhood
I’m in a perpetual state of wanting to climb back into bed and pull the covers over my head. Someone please wake me up when this is all over and not a moment sooner, I’d like to request—but that’s not an option, so I just push on.
I keep getting out of bed in the morning, even when I can barely open my eyes.
I keep answering the same questions for the fiftymillionth time, because this pandemic has only made my kids more curious.
I keep showing up for my responsibilities—my family, my job, my housework (OK, so I’m not showing up for that one as much as I probably should).
I keep on keeping on, because there’s really no alternative.
The exhaustion of living during a global pandemic is more than I ever imagined, but it won’t always be this way. Logically, I know that.
One day, things will settle down. We’ll shake off this baggage we’ve been carrying and breathe a sigh of relief at how light we suddenly feel. We’ll have a chance to recharge the batteries of our bodies, hearts, and minds.
But for now—yes, friend, I am drained in ALL the ways. And I know you are, too.
There aren’t enough cups of coffee or 20-minute power naps in the world to even put a dent in this kind of exhaustion, but you better believe me and my 20oz. mug aren’t giving up just yet.
P.S. These are strange, TOUGH times. We love this shirt in the Her View From Home Shop as a reminder that no matter what we go through, He is stronger.
by Alison Brooks 
by Abigail Hofland 
by Kristyna Moore 
by Chelsi Cacciatore 
by Krystal Sieben 
