They Keep Us Tired for a Reason

I’ve been tired for a long time.
Not just physically.
But soul-tired.

Burned out before I ever even got the chance to live.

Some of us don’t remember what it’s like not to be in survival mode.
We’ve been coasting since we were kids. Not because we were lazy, but because life asked too much of us too early.

You can only carry that kind of weight for so long before your body starts breaking down just from holding on.

For years, I was trying to find my way out of that fog.
I went to therapist after therapist. Ten years.
So many different faces, different offices, different methods.

And yeah, some of it helped.
But I always felt like I was still missing something.

The real shift didn’t come until I was diagnosed with C-PTSD.

And even then, my first thought was:
"How could I have PTSD? Isn’t that something soldiers get?"

I didn’t think my pain was valid.
I didn’t think my story counted.

But here’s the truth:
Trauma doesn’t need a warzone.

Sometimes, the war is your childhood.
Sometimes, the battlefield is your home.
Or your body.
Or your mind.

And trauma looks different for everyone.

The world doesn’t tell you that.
It tells you to suck it up.
To work harder.
To keep pushing.

And some of us do.
Because we have to.

You can wreck your car and still show up to work,
because your bills won’t wait.
Because missing a shift means missing rent.
Because your nervous system doesn’t know how to stop.

And sometimes it’s not bravery.
It’s not strength.

It’s conditioning.
It’s survival.

And they know that.

This system?
It’s not broken.
It’s built this way.

It runs better when we’re too tired to question it.
Too overwhelmed to organize.
Too burnt out to even feel what’s wrong.

So we keep coasting.
Keep coping.
Keep scrolling for answers to a pain we can’t name.

Looking outward for something to finally fix us,
when what we really need is permission to rest.

But rest isn’t easy when you’ve only ever known pressure.
And healing doesn’t come with a manual when all you’ve been taught is how to endure.

I used to think tiredness was weakness.
Now I see it for what it really is:

Proof.
Proof that I’ve been surviving a system
that was never built for people like me to thrive.

And while we’re on it—there’s something else that needs to be said.

I grew up hearing people—middle class folks, my own family—say things like:
"Those people are just playing the system."

Usually aimed at the lower class.
People on food stamps.
People getting help.

And yeah, sometimes people do play the system.
But so do middle class folks.
So do the rich.
So do corporations who write off their yachts and private jets.

When we’re too busy pointing fingers at people beneath us,
we forget to look at the system itself.

There will always be bad actors.
But the more we fight with each other
the more we stay tired, bitter, and blind
the more we harm ourselves as a whole.

This system thrives on division.
It feeds on jealousy, shame, and class resentment.

But we’re not enemies.
We’re neighbors.
We’re workers.
We’re survivors.

And most of us? We’re just trying to make it.

What if we stopped playing into their game?
What if we stopped measuring worth by tax brackets and started listening instead?

Because the truth is—when we get quiet enough to see through the noise,
we start to realize:

We’ve got more in common than we were ever taught to believe.