Sometimes caregivers are tired.
Not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep fixes.
The kind that settles into your shoulders.
The kind that lingers behind your eyes.
The kind that comes from holding space for others, day after day.
We plan.
We anticipate.
We adapt.
We encourage.
We sit beside.
We stand behind.
We carry more than most people see.
And sometimes, at the end of it all, we are simply… tired.
The other evening, I found myself sitting at the table. Not because I had a plan. Not because I was inspired. Not because something needed to be finished.
I sat down because I was tired.
The table was there, as it always is. Marked from use. Scratched in places. Familiar. It did not ask what I had accomplished that day. It did not require energy I didn’t have. It simply offered space.
So I stayed.
I let my hands move without expectation. No grand project. No pressure to produce something meaningful. Just a few quiet moments of doing something small.
And something shifted.
Not dramatically. Not magically. But gently. My breathing slowed. My shoulders dropped. My thoughts softened. I didn’t leave the table fully restored, but I left a little lighter — and I allowed the unfinished business of the day to wait.
Caregivers deserve that.
We are so often the ones setting the table, making sure everyone has what they need, adjusting chairs so others can participate comfortably. We ensure there is room for everyone else.
But there is room for us, too.
Fatigue is not failure. It is not weakness. It is often evidence of how much we care. Of how much we give. Of how deeply we show up.
February often reminds us to think about the heart. We talk about love and kindness and connection. But heart is not only something we give away. It is something we tend to within ourselves. Sometimes tending to our own heart looks like pulling up a chair and allowing a few quiet moments to restore what constant caring has gently worn down.
And sometimes the most restorative thing we can do is pull up a chair — even if we are tired.
Not to fix.
Not to plan.
Not to give more.
Just to sit.
Just to breathe.
Just to allow our hands and hearts a few quiet moments.
If you are tired, know this: you are not alone. There is space for you at the table. Even a few small moments there might offer more energy than you expect.
It did for me.