Exhausted

By, Alisa Yardley

I wrote this piece, approximately two years ago as part of my healing journey. I'm sharing it now because I'm learning to find my voice again, to unapologetically step back into the authenticity of who I am, and who I was before trauma altered my perceptions. The ocean ebbs and flows. The same thing happens when you are healing. Emotions ebb and flow. Some days are bright and full of hope. Some days aren't, and that's ok. It's all part of the process. When we exercise hard, our muscles get sore, and we see that as growth. The same is true in the mental realm. Some exercises hurt. But the growth we experience as a result of the effort is worth the momentary pain of facing hard truths, in my opinion.

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A little bit about my experiences and for anyone who can relate… 

Sometimes when you are the strong one people around you expect you to hold that space indefinitely. Being strong can be a gift and a curse. Sometimes when you are the strong one they forget you need comfort too. They think that because you smile through your pain that you aren’t in fact feeling it as deeply as you are. They don’t see the cost of those smiles. They don’t see you slip away to take Advil so you can keep standing, bending and lifting, with a spine that is degenerating. They don’t understand how much it really hurts. All. Day. Long. Everyday. They don’t feel the multiple nerve impingements that occur from something as simple as wearing a necklace, or a bra, or being bumped from the side. They don’t hear the cries, because you hold them in so no one else will have to be uncomfortable. 

They don’t see how much you wish they would be there for you, when you lose a mother figure to a sudden heart attack, an ex-lover to suicide, a best friend to sexual abuse charges, and your dad to cancer, even after years of being there for them. They say they are too busy to offer a kind word. But they always find time for slander. They say, “You’re strong; you’ll get through.” And you do, because you have no other choice. But it depletes you more every time. 

They don’t see the years it takes off your life. They don’t see the mounting illnesses. They don’t hear one doctor after another advising you that you need more support or you will die from stress related illnesses. They don’t know the agony of 75% body surface covered in severe eczema, or know the fear when your heart rate spontaneously jumps to 200 beats a minute while you’re at work and not at liberty to even sit down for a moment. They leave you alone and scared in the ER while you are hooked up to machines waiting to find out what is happening. 

They say they are too busy to send even one text. But they are not too busy to drive for two hours to get what they want and then go. “Sorry to run,” they say, “But… I'm busy.” And they’ve been busy for seven years. And you are left feeling like a fool, because in your starvation, you eat the crumb.

They accuse. They blame. They manipulate. They lie. And when you finally speak up because it all becomes too much, people say, “They’re just jealous.” And you want to scream from the bottom of your lungs that you are suffering all the time! Why would anyone be jealous of that?

They tell you, "Because you are the strong one.” 

When you are the strong one, they let you work yourself to the bone in their presence never seeing what it does to you in private. They don’t see the years of living pass you by while you look after everyone else and no one is looking after you. They don’t see your dreams covered in dust because those dreams and goals always seem to find their way to last priority.

They say, "You're stuck on survive” after you experience so many traumas in a row that you really are fighting to survive, and it is real. It is visceral. You are not pretending. You are fighting for your life, and they minimize your reality, while blaming you for minimizing their complaints over a vacation they didn’t enjoy. 

They don’t see the pain; The constant bone-wearying pain. And even when they do, they applaud you for being the person who keeps getting up no matter how many times you fall, never understanding you need to stop being knocked down. Not understanding, that the only other option is not an option. You keep wishing someone would see how badly you are losing the fight, and throw in the towel to stop it. 

They watch without lifting a finger to help. Then they ask you to help them instead. Your cup is dry, with a ring of evaporation around the bottom, but they want you to give more. Do more. Be more. 

Who are they? 

The invalidators. The abusers. The enablers. The misinformed. The ignorant. They are the ones you’re supposed to be able to trust. Family. Partners. Practitioners. Friends. They are anyone who refuses to see, even when you show them. They are anyone who says, “It’s not that bad” when it is that bad. 

So in the end, strangers become your comfort. A kind word from someone you don’t even know, becomes the balm you rub into your cracked and dry skin. And if you’ve ever rubbed cream on dry skin you know it stings even as it helps. You’re so used to being put down, a genuine kindness can bring tears to your eyes. Yet, you are grateful because those words remind you that there are good people in the world. And you need that reminder. 

In the end, being the strong one, is what I want for myself. But not at this cost. I don’t want to carry the bag for people who are strong enough to carry their own. I don’t want to be used. I don’t want to be taken advantage of. I don’t want them to watch me fall like spectators at a boxing match. 

I want equality. I want acceptance. I want safety. I want peace. And I want to be able to use my strength for things that matter to me. I want to use my strength to be a good role model for my two adult kids. I want to use my strength to help other people like me who have been standing for too long without reprieve. 

I want to write. And sing. And I want to laugh again without feeling instant agony over the fear that my joy will somehow make me a target for more bullying, more unkindness and more ostracizing. I don’t want to be afraid that speaking truth will bring more criticism, more judgement, more ridicule, or more being told what to do different or better. 

I want to be heard and understood. 

I want to be ok. 

I am exhausted. 

But I am strong.