The cruelest part of being exhausted for no reason is that you start to distrust yourself. If the bloodwork is fine and the sleep is adequate and the schedule isn’t punishing, then the only remaining explanation is that something is wrong with how you’re built. And living inside that suspicion is its own kind of tired.
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The coffee was cold. I was sitting on the porch at six-fifteen on a Tuesday, same chair, same mug, same view of the street I’ve looked at every morning since we moved in. And I was tired. Not the kind of tired you can trace back to something: a bad night, a long drive, a week of grandkids. The kind that just sits there, waiting for you when you wake up, like it never left.
That’s the exhaustion I want to talk about. The kind where the bloodwork comes back clean, the thyroid panel loo
That’s the exhaustion I want to talk about. The kind where the bloodwork comes back clean, the thyroid panel loo
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