Tired of Being Tired: Life, Chronic Illness, and the Weight of Keeping Up

Some days it feels like walking up the tiniest incline is Everest. Forget lifting anything heavier than my coffee cup — that can leave me breathless too. When I’m cooking, there are moments where curling up on the kitchen floor beside the stove sounds more inviting than the meal I’m making. But I don’t. I push through. I keep going until it feels like my muscles are ready to peel off my bones and stage a nap without me.

I’m older now, and I feel it in my bones — and my lungs. Two lung collapses and the surgery that followed four years ago left their mark. These days, I’m less the man hiking, biking, swimming, and cooking with boundless energy and more the guy eyeing a rocking chair, wondering if maybe it’s time to sit still and just watch the world go by.

Eighteen years have passed since I was told I had five years to live. Eighteen. And I know how blessed that is. I know it, even on the days when I’m bone-deep tired. I still cherish every minute on this planet — even the minutes that feel heavy. But living as someone who’s always been in motion, who’s defined himself by activity, I’m tired of being tired.

What’s even harder is the performance of it all. Putting on the face of energy when I have none. Pretending I’m fine when just standing upright feels like a feat. Sometimes it takes more effort to look like I have energy than to actually have it. God, I’m exhausted.

And what words of encouragement do I have for this post? None. Not for you, not for me. Today, I’m just too tired. But maybe that’s its own kind of honesty — and maybe that’s enough.

If you’ve ever felt this bone-deep fatigue — whether from chronic illness, life, or just being human — I’d love to hear your story. Drop a comment, or if you’re too tired for that (believe me, I get it), hit subscribe so we can be tired together.