Your Exhaustion Is Not Your Fault
Sure you should probably stop scrolling and go to bed earlier but there's something bigger that is causing your fatigue.
This essay was inspired by my rising frustrations and newfound insights as a new mother while my partner and I navigate the capitalistic beast that dares us to find a new way to thrive. It’s wild out here and we shouldn’t be doing this thing called life alone and definitely not while exhausted.
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If you are tired—bone-deep, soul-level tired—please know this: your exhaustion is not your fault.
We live in a world that constantly demands more of us. More productivity. More resilience. More quiet endurance. We are assaulted with heartbreaking headlines, rising costs, and a relentless pace of life that if you're not careful, doesn’t leave much room to just breathe. But perhaps most damaging of all is the detrimental loss of something we once had easy access to: community. The village. The Tribe. Your Peoples. The net that once held us, supported us, reminded us we’re not meant to do this alone was taken from us.
My late father first-handedly experienced this in the midwest. His thriving, middle class black community where everybody knew every body was turned on its head when crack was introduced, systematically by the Government, to destroy his prosperous environment along with too many other black communities, historically. He lost friends. He lost brothers. His loss became my loss; his brothers should have had children that I would grow up with; allowing our children to then grow up with each other.
As a new mother I see it clearer than ever before. This form of isolation is by design.
I knew from young that if ever I had a child, staying home was the only way I wanted to parent. My mother influenced this decision as she stayed home with me and my sister and later homeschooled us. I feel deeply grateful to have this sacred time with my daughter. I adore mothering my baby and am blessed that I get to mother the way I envisioned. In many ways, I feel like I’m quietly resisting a system that thrives off of control and separation.
But even in the sweetness of my bond with my little one, there are moments when the overwhelm of parenting catches up to me—after a night of cluster feeding or when her nap I’d counted on shifts into her needing to sleep on me, taking with it my prospective “free time.”
Like right now as she snuggles in to sleep, breastfeeding in my left arm while I type this with the fingers of my right. At times I feel helpless, and then I remember to surrender. I remind myself that it’s all fleeting and actually quite beautiful; a prayer answered to get to hold the human I carried in the comfort of my arms. And perhaps it’s also my baby telling me to go slow today, mama.
And. I still feel the ache of what’s missing. The absence of an aunt, a cousin, a grandparent—someone close by and trusted, someone I could call without hesitation. Someone who isn’t also lacking community; consumed by the demands of capitalism, too busy with too little time to spare. Someone who already loves her. Someone who already loves me. That kind of sacred support. I grieve the idea of it.
Sometimes in those moments of isolation, I hear a soft voice whisper: This can’t be how it’s meant to be. This can’t be healthy. The lack of hands and hearts nearby.
My partner’s mother lives an hour away and while having her involved would be lovely, it requires more energy and coordination than I currently have. Baby girl and I are finally finding some semblance of a routine and a long car ride feels disruptive but perhaps it will be surprisingly easy…one day (maybe soon?). For now, it’s just us and her Papa—doing our best to be a village of three. I’m honestly proud of how we are holding it down..
What helps sustain me while living abroad are the steady streams of connection: staying in regular communication with my family and close friends back in the States—those consistent texts, voice notes, and video calls give me a sense of being held. Reuniting with old friends who also have new babies and who also lack community. I’m not alone in this.
Being kind to myself has also been crucial. Eating fortifying whole foods. Moving my body. Staying hydrated. Staying organized. Envisioning—always—with my partner about the life we are building and the family legacy we are creating. And being insanely present with our baby girl. All of my practices have led me here.
Lately I’ve been dreaming up a virtual community rooted in support and softness, specifically for mothers. I even have the name picked out.
Because the truth is, our culture was never designed to support us. The nuclear family model isolates. It separates. It tells us we should be able to manage everything on our own. And often when we struggle, we do so silently—as if the perceived failure is ours, not the system’s.
But what if we began to see our exhaustion not as a personal failing, but as a signal? A gentle reminder that something essential is missing—something deeply human and necessary for our wellbeing. And what if, even in our fatigue, we dared to dream of and demand something different?
I’m dreaming of and praying for community. Reimagining the village not as a thing of the past, but a hope for the future. A place wrapped in trust and honor where we hold one another through the hard days and celebrate the beautiful ones. A safe space where no one carries the weight alone.
This isn’t just a dream—it’s a quiet revolution. A return to what we were always meant to have access to; a village. It’s a human right stolen.
Your exhaustion is not your fault. But your dreams of a better way of doing this thing called life—it just might help us all find our way back to each other.
Affirmation:
