I complain about being tired, but not in a lazy way. In a WAY that feels inherited. I complain about time. About how there’s never enough of it for rest, only for responsibility. About how we’re expected to want more, do more, be more, while our bodies are quietly asking for less. I complain about systems that call exhaustion “discipline” and softness “weakness”. About how needing rest is treated like a flaw instead of evidence. Mostly, I complain about how much we’re asked to carry–and how little space there is to put it down.
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