You walk into another room to do something and find yourself standing there, looking around. There was a reason you came in. You knew it a few seconds ago. You glance at the bench, open a cupboard, then head back the way you came, hoping the thought will return.
It is a familiar enough moment. On an exhausted, demanding day, it can also bring a sudden awareness of how much has your attention. While walking down the hallway, you have already moved on to the message you need to answer, what to make for dinner and something you promised to organise tomorrow.
If this sounds like you, I wonder what happens when you realise you need a rest. Do you make room for one, or begin negotiating with yourself about what you could finish first?
Stress can make that negotiation feel entirely reasonable. There are responsibilities, people depending on us and consequences to consider. Caring for ourselves has to find a place among those demands. The question is whether our own needs are allowed to influence the arrangements.
When the day is already full
Over the weekend, I saw a book called The Overload Syndrome, by Richard A. Swenson. The title stayed with me. Sometimes a few words name something we have been living with so accurately that we recognise ourselves before we have opened the cover.
Swenson’s related idea of margin offers something useful to consider. It is the room between what life asks of us and the limits of what we have available. That room might be time, physical energy, emotional energy or money. When we arrange our lives right up to those limits, an unexpected demand arrives in a day that is already fully spoken for.
We can picture this in a diary. One appointment finishes as the next begins. Lunch will have to fit somewhere. An errand is added on the way home, and the evening already contains three things we intend to finish. The arrangement works on paper. Then someone needs to talk, a meeting runs over, or we wake after a poor night’s sleep.
How much room have we left for being human within the plan?
The person who keeps things going
For someone accustomed to carrying on, exhaustion can be surprisingly difficult to respond to. We recognise that we feel fatigued, yet continue measuring ourselves against what we usually accomplish. Even sitting down can bring a sense of unfinished business. We are resting our feet while mentally moving through the house, gathering everything that still needs our attention.
Being dependable may have become a valued part of how we see ourselves. We remember, organise and follow through. People trust us. When our capacity changes, it can take time for our expectations to catch up.
This has been relevant to both me and my twin sister, Simone. She is moving house while exhausted, short on sleep and struggling with a sore back. I have had a bad case of vertigo, which I would wish on absolutely nobody. I am still wobbly and sleeping much longer than usual, yet wanting to get on with normal life.
Our circumstances are different, but I recognise the desire to keep participating. We want to enjoy the day, be useful and feel like ourselves. Making allowances for how we feel can bring frustration, especially when there are things we were looking forward to. That disappointment deserves some understanding, alongside the physical need for care.
Where our attention goes when we sit down
Even when we sit down, there may be a phone in our hand or a laptop open beside us. We answer a message, check tomorrow’s weather, follow a link and find ourselves reading something else entirely. It can be enjoyable, useful and absorbing. Meanwhile, the afternoon has changed around us. The light has moved across the room, someone has come home, and the cup of tea beside us has grown cold.
When our attention spends much of the day travelling through a screen, there can be fewer opportunities to notice how we feel. We become aware of stiff shoulders when we stand up, or realise how hungry we are when someone asks about dinner.
There is something inviting about putting the phone down and letting our surroundings have our attention. Opening the door to feel the air, hearing birds outside, or watching someone we love settle into a chair can bring us back into the life happening around us. We may discover that what would feel good now is within reach. A drink of water. Something to eat. A stretch, some company, or the chance to close our eyes and rest.
What is the rush?
A house move has deadlines. Work brings commitments. Children, animals and households need care. Those responsibilities are real, and sometimes the most useful response is to consider how we can share them.
Alongside the practical demands, there may be urgency we have added ourselves. Does the whole room need unpacking today? Could dinner be easier? Would someone else collect the groceries if we asked? Looking a month ahead can bring the afternoon back into proportion.
Will we be grateful that we pushed through? Will we remember which cupboard felt so urgent? Some commitments will still matter. Others will have disappeared into the ordinary business of life.
We might also consider what we hope to feel a month from now. Replenished enough to enjoy a conversation. Interested in going somewhere. Able to sit in the home we have worked so hard to organise and appreciate being there. Those experiences deserve a place in our decisions about today.
Giving care somewhere to fit
Reaching for Panadol or ibuprofen can become part of the bargain we make with ourselves. Ease the discomfort enough to finish what we planned, and attend to our needs afterwards. Used that way, the tablet becomes a Band-Aid over a question we are still postponing. What would caring for ourselves require us to change now?
The answer may involve ordinary needs that have been waiting for attention. Water beside us, and time to drink it. Something nourishing to eat while it is warm. An earlier evening because we are exhausted. Help with a task that is asking too much of us today. Appropriate vitamins or supplements may also form part of how we attend to our individual needs.
Rest and movement can both belong in that care. A manageable walk, time in the garden or gentle yoga might suit the day. On another day, more rest may fit better. Our health and circumstances matter, and persistent or changing symptoms deserve attention so we can understand what support is appropriate.
There can be something revealing about coming to a yoga mat with curiosity. We notice where we are holding ourselves tightly, how hurried our breathing feels, or how much we want to turn even this time into an accomplishment. We can adjust the movement and allow the practice to meet us as we are today.
Meditation can offer another space in which to notice. Sitting for a while, we may discover that our thoughts are still rushing ahead to the next obligation. Returning our attention to the breath, the room and the present moment gives us a chance to consider what would support us now. Time outside, daylight and sunshine when it appears can offer their own welcome change of attention.
Letting someone see that we are tired
Sometimes the difficult part of receiving care is allowing another person to see how much we need it. We may worry about adding to their day, feel uncomfortable watching them do something we usually manage, or find ourselves explaining why we should be able to cope.
An offer of help can also ask us to loosen our hold on how something gets done. The meal may be different from the one we would have made. A task may be completed in someone else’s way. Receiving care involves making room for another person’s contribution, including the affection behind it.
There can be relief in saying, “I am exhausted,” and hearing someone take those words seriously. They stay beside us, listen and ask what would help. We have a moment to give an honest answer. Sometimes that answer arrives with a sense of how long we have been waiting to say it.
When I think about Simone, I think about my sister before I think about the move. I want her to have something nourishing to eat, to sleep deeply and to let someone else take a turn while she rests her sore back. I would love her to feel replenished enough to enjoy the home she is working so hard to move into.
I think about the first morning she might sit with a cup of tea and look around, with enough energy to appreciate being there. The boxes will eventually be unpacked. I want her to have something left for the life she is making room for.
That is the tenderness I find easier to offer someone I love. I am learning to ask what I would offer my sister when she feels fatigued, and whether I could welcome some of that care myself.
The care we give ourselves has to be allowed to change the plan.
I have written before about the difficulty of slowing down. If you have recognised yourself in this piece, there may be one decision waiting for your attention. Something you could move, share or make easier, so the care you need has somewhere to fit.
Imagine allowing yourself to receive what that change offers. Someone else takes over a task, and you sit down while they finish. You eat while the food is warm. You spend time outside and find yourself noticing the garden, rather than mentally working through what comes next.
The impulse to get up and make yourself useful may still arrive. You can notice it and give yourself a few more minutes. Let another person have the pleasure of helping. Let the afternoon contain something you enjoy.
This is what I want for my sister, and what I am learning to welcome for myself. A day with room to respond to how we feel, and enough attention left to notice the people and the life around us.
If you offered yourself the same consideration you would give someone you love, what might the rest of today feel like?
If someone came to mind while reading, you are welcome to share this with them. It might open a conversation about what would support you both.
For those who would value a fuller conversation, my stress and wellbeing coaching offers space to explore the expectations that keep you pushing through, and approaches such as HeartMath that can support greater awareness and steadiness.
Research & Further Reading
Richard A. Swenson. Overload and the importance of reserves of time and energy. The Overload Syndrome and Margin.
Kristin Neff. Warmth towards ourselves alongside practical action to protect our needs. Self-compassion eases work stress and burnout.
The Gottman Institute. Understanding, affection and listening when someone is carrying outside stress. How to Have a Stress-Reducing Conversation.
Joe Dispenza. A perspective on noticing familiar reactions and returning attention to the present. Becoming Conscious: Investing in Your Internal State.
