There’s a kind of tiredness that sleep doesn’t fix. A quiet buzz beneath the skin, a breath you can’t quite exhale. Lately, I’ve been noticing that I’m not just physically exhausted—I’m systemically overwhelmed. Like my body has been holding its breath for years.
And the truth is: it has.
I’m learning now that this isn’t just anxiety. It’s not just stress. It’s the echo of survival mode—years of pushing through, holding it together, showing up, smiling, managing, and absorbing. My nervous system has been doing everything it can to protect me, and now it’s tired.
I’m not broken.
But I am being called back to wholeness.
For the first time, I’m not trying to fix myself. I’m listening. I’m giving space to the trembling. I’m giving softness to the parts of me that never got to rest. I’m choosing to build a relationship with my body, not just use it as a vehicle to “get through the day.”
This is sacred work.
It is small.
It is slow.
And it is enough.
I’m not doing it perfectly. Some days I forget. Some days I still try to outrun the stillness. But more and more, I’m learning to breathe on purpose. To notice where I am. To whisper, “You’re safe now,” to my chest. To recognize when joy shows up—no matter how brief—and let it sit beside me without guilt.
Nervous system healing isn’t glamorous.
It doesn’t happen on the surface.
It’s an internal unfolding—a return to truth.
If you’re here too, beginning this work… I see you.
Let’s not rush this. Let’s not demand that it look like progress.
Let’s just promise to return—again and again—to ourselves.
This is the new practice:
Safety. Slowness. Self-trust.
We’re not just surviving anymore.
We’re rebuilding a home inside our bodies.
Stephanie