The Weight I’m Carrying (And Why I Can’t Get Out of Bed)

There’s something happening in my body that I can’t keep brushing off anymore.

It’s not laziness. It’s not “being tired.” It’s something heavier. Denser. A gravity that feels like it’s pinning me to the mattress and whispering, you’re not going anywhere, babe. And I’m not. I can’t.

I’m not really a napper. I usually have too much buzzing in my brain—too many ideas, feelings, visions, grocery lists, existential questions, and dog hair floating in the air. But the past few days? I’ve crashed. Like full shutdown. Four-hour naps, and then back in bed for another two hours, in and out of sleep, barely able to lift my arm let alone my entire life.

My body is so heavy right now. Not emotionally—I mean, yes emotionally, but also literally. Like something has settled into my bones. Like my muscles are waterlogged. I feel like I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. And that’s terrifying, especially for someone who’s always fighting to keep going.

The stress lately has been brutal. Not the kind of stress that can be fixed with a candlelit bath and some lavender. I’m talking about nervous system overload. My body is in full-blown survival mode, and my soul is waving a little white flag saying, can we please just rest? please?

So I’m listening. I’m resting.

But I want to say this loud and clear: resting is not weakness. Resting is what we do when we’re carrying too much and the body finally says, that’s enough. It’s not dramatic. It’s not defeat. It’s wisdom.

This isn’t about needing more sleep. It’s about needing less everything else.

If you’re feeling this too—this soul-tired, bone-deep exhaustion—I see you. I get it. It’s not all in your head. It’s in your chest and your spine and your eyelids and your breath. It’s real.

I don’t have a solution today. I’m still in the thick of it. But I wanted to name it. To say it out loud. Because sometimes just admitting that we’re not okay is the strongest, bravest, most revolutionary thing we can do.

So I’m here. Horizontal. Healing. Heavy.

But still here.

With Love,

Dana & Nicky