Remembering Myself

Groggy, achy, and exhausted, I woke up the next morning and realized that I did it again. 

I overcommitted myself.

“Why didn’t I just say yes when help was offered?” I thought. My answer was the usual. Because I should be able to do it. 

And besides, it was my job. I hosted. I did the work. Isn’t that the way it should be? 

I lay there replaying it all in my head. 

If I just gave myself more time.
If I had planned better.
If I had started earlier.

It wasn’t the first time I’d woken up feeling exhausted and frustrated with myself. And if I was being honest, it wasn’t the first time someone had pointed it out either.

I thought about my friend who had been bending my ear for months about this very thing. She knew this pain. And she learned—the hard way—that she was doing it to herself. 

But for months, it had fallen on deaf ears. I was so offended when she suggested that my exhaustion might be self-imposed. 

As if I signed myself up for resentment, stress, and running on empty. 

I felt like she just didn’t understand. I was different from her.

But on this particular morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things she said. And for the first time, I wondered if she might be right.

That afternoon, we met for lunch. I told her how I had felt when I woke up that morning. 

The exhaustion and frustration.
The way I felt about myself when I couldn’t keep up.
The way I felt about other people when I was stretched too thin.

She listened quietly and nodded. 

The more we talked, the harder it became to argue with what was right in front of me. Somehow, I kept ending up in the same place.

For years, I thought the problem was time. That if I could just get more organized, plan better, or get ahead of things, I would finally stop feeling this way.

But sitting there across from her, I started wondering if time had never really been the issue. 

Maybe it was me. Maybe it was what I stepped up for, said yes to, or created for myself when something didn’t actually need to be done. 

The more I thought about it, the more examples came to mind.

If my phone rang, I answered.
If someone at work needed help, I dropped what I was doing.
If someone needed something, I was there.

Every. Time.

Sitting there at lunch, I realized that what she had been telling me all along was exactly what I needed to hear. I just wasn’t ready to hear it before.
I wasn't ready to admit that I was doing too much. That something needed to change.

For the first time, I was willing to look honestly at my own role in it. Over the next several weeks, we talked often. 

About what I was doing, how I had really been feeling.

What it might look like to do things differently.

I wouldn’t say I’ve figured it all out. In fact, I’ve had to learn how to do almost the opposite of what came naturally. 

Because letting myself be human meant allowing myself to be imperfect. 

Asking for help when I needed it.
Letting other people help when they offered.
Deciding when I was actually available to help someone else.

Not overcommitting myself to life.

And here’s the kicker—no
one noticed. 

The people I cared about didn’t pull away.
My coworkers didn’t think less of me.
My family didn’t stop needing me.

I was still a good friend, a good coworker, and a good support to my family.

The difference was that I had finally started deciding when and how I could show up.

And I was so much less exhausted.