I’M TIRED

To say I’m tired would be an understatement. I’m tired in so many ways at this moment in my life that I feel the need to explain in detail all of the ways I’m exhausted. Physically drained, mentally fatigued, and spiritually spent—I am beyond tired.

Allow me to explain!

Navigating the complexities of physical challenges, if you can relate, you understand the weariness that comes with it. In my mid-40s, my energy levels no longer mirror those of two decades ago. Compounded by the daily battles of Type 1 Diabetes and Stage 3 / 4 kidney disease, the reasons to feel tired at day’s end are plentiful. Despite working every day, maintaining a tidy home, and caring for my family and two dogs, life’s demands take their toll. By 8:30 pm, having clocked a 14-hour day between work and home, fatigue sets in.

Beyond the Surface:

In the quiet moments when we gather for a family movie, my eyelids surrender within five minutes of the opening credits. It frustrates them, and I feel the weight of their disappointment, questioning my role as a parent and spouse. But it’s beyond my control. My body wages a relentless war against itself, 24/7, amidst the chaos of home and career. To some, it might sound like “just diabetes,” but to me, it’s an exhaustion that runs bone-deep.

The tumultuous dance of glucose highs and lows, the mental toll of navigating kidney health, and the constant fear of relapsing into an eating disorder form a relentless circus in the arena of my well-being. Some days, it’s more than I can bear.

Yet, I stay silent. Others face worse struggles, or at least that’s how it feels. I’m “sick,” but not “sick enough” to voice my complaints. Diabetes, a prolonged battle with no cure, becomes a daily struggle, occasionally kicking me right in the gut.

Complaining feels futile. People don’t want to hear problems 24/7. Everyone has their battles, so why burden them with the weariness of my disease when life wears them out, too? A dismissive comment once stung: “Well, at least you don’t have cancer.” While it could be worse, it angered me to downplay the reality and threat of my two diseases. They are honest, they are life-threatening, and they matter profoundly to me.

Let me paint a picture of a typical “high/low” day in the life of a Type 1 Diabetic. While all days are not like these, the days I’m about to explain to you are the days that make me want to give up.

2:24 am: My eyes snap open, my heart racing, and I’m drenched in sweat. I stumble into the kitchen, feeling disoriented like I’ve had one too many drinks. The blood sugar monitor delivers a staggering 28 mg/dl—far below the normal 80 to 100 mg/dl range. Unable to muster a clear voice, I clumsily reach for juice and sugar-loaded candies, desperately racing against a potential collapse. Usually, it’s my daughter or husband who hears the commotion and rushes to assist. Eat. Drink. Retest. Wait. The questions come: How much insulin did I take? Did I miscalculate earlier? I try to explain, but sometimes, there are no clear answers, and it’s challenging to convey to those who haven’t experienced it.

3:30 am: Crawling back into bed, I shiver from the earlier cold sweat. Oddly, the sleep following a middle-of-the-night low is the most restful. Buried under layers of blankets, I drift back to sleep, knowing what the morning holds.

6:00 am: Extracting myself from the cocoon of covers, I drag myself to the kitchen to check my sugar. Dry mouth, aching body, throbbing head, and swollen eyes from sleep deprivation—all indicators of a tumultuous night. The meter reads 387 mg/dl—the aftermath of the low. Balancing diabetes becomes a delicate dance. At 387, I anticipate three thirsty hours ahead. My body, once again, is at war with itself. I administer insulin to normalize glucose levels and muster the energy to prepare for work, pretending that I feel fine.

10:15 am: Sugars continue to drop from the morning high, no real drama. Lunch: Sugar normalizes, signaling the need to eat and prevent an afternoon low. The challenge? I’m still not hungry from the overnight sugar binge. Despite this, I manage to take mealtime insulin and eat a little. Dinner: No real appetite. It takes a day or two to return to a normal eating routine after a severe low. I eat dinner, adjusting my insulin to avoid another low. After

Dinner: Sugar runs high. Administer insulin and prepare for the nightly cycle to repeat.

Diabetes and the Unyielding Grip of Kidney Disease:

Navigating Type I Diabetes is no walk in the park, and it’s high time we strip away the gloss and get real. Forget the sugar-coated diet and exercise narratives blaring from the television. For us Type I diabetics, life is a constant juggling act where diet, exercise, stress, mental health, hormones, weather, other illnesses, injuries, and a cocktail of medications all throw punches at our blood sugar levels. And let’s not forget, sometimes diabetes throws a wild card, going rogue and doing whatever the heck it pleases. So, let’s set the record straight—no matter what it may seem like, these fluctuations aren’t always a result of something I did.

Now, throw into the mix my relentless companion: stage 3 / 4 Kidney Disease. This brings a whole new set of problems, a relentless barrage of challenges that I face head-on. Every two weeks, I subject myself to lab work, a persistent reminder of my body’s battle. Hemoglobin levels become the battleground, determining if I need a Procrit injection to lift them. And let me tell you, low Hemoglobin levels aren’t just numbers on a chart—they’re a one-way ticket to an exhaustion more profound than the Mariana Trench. Can you feel my frustration yet? Sure, I acknowledge I played a part in this during my dark days of anorexia and bulimia, but haven’t I paid my dues? Even prisoners get parole, yet here I am, wrestling with the consequences of my past, yearning for a break that seems elusive.

Walking Through the Shadows:

Beneath the physical weariness that clings to me like a relentless shadow, there’s a mental fatigue, a heaviness that digs deep into the recesses of my soul. Our family has weathered a storm of grief, and it’s left an indelible mark on my husband’s mental landscape. The loss of both parents, a best friend, and a cousin who felt like a daughter—all in five years—has etched lines of sorrow on his face. While he grapples with the weight of his grief, I become the perennial cheerleader, the one who attempts to keep the world spinning, hearts smiling, and feet moving forward. It’s a role I willingly embrace, but it comes at a cost. I can’t mend his grief; I can only stand beside him as he navigates its tumultuous waves.

Frustration simmers within me because I ache to see him happy again, a desire that time alone can fulfill. Despite my efforts, there are wounds only time can heal. I worry, knowing the actual consequences of depression and grief. Some days are victories, others are not, but in my relentless pursuit to fix everything, I strive to tip the balance in favor of good days. It’s mentally taxing because, in the face of his pain, my powerlessness becomes glaring. I can’t resurrect his loved ones or erase his sorrow. Progress is made, only to crumble on a down day. It’s exhausting for him, and in turn, it drains me, for I cannot ease his burden, no matter how fiercely I try.

Mental exhaustion extends its grip when I contemplate our daughter’s role. I refuse to burden her with the responsibility of fixing our health and our grief, yet she, like me, possesses an innate desire to mend. As our only child, she lacks a confidant to guide her through the complexities we face. It’s unfair, and I feel the weight of imposing health scares and worries on her young shoulders.

With just a year left in college, I’m scrambling to savor every moment with her before she embarks on her journey. Even in my efforts, doubt creeps in. The delicate dance between expressing enough love and fearing overkill leaves me walking a tightrope of uncertainty. Am I doing too much, or perhaps not enough? The exhaustion sets in as I grapple with the internal debate, questioning whether I am a good enough parent or spouse on those days when uncertainty shrouds everything.

From Spiritual Fatigue to Renewed Hope:

Around six months ago, I hit a spiritual fatigue, yearning for more depth in my worship. I craved lessons that would pierce through, offering guidance, warnings, and a pathway to a richer connection with God. The routine stories and lessons had grown stale; I needed a fresh perspective and a revitalized approach to my worship. I felt drained, as if I had collided with an impenetrable wall. Aware of my wrongdoings, I longed to hear it addressed in a sermon. Equally, I needed the assurance of forgiveness, a concept I struggled to accept.

Although the Bible declares Jesus’ sacrifice for our sins and the promise of forgiveness, a lingering doubt persisted as if this grace applied to everyone but me.

The battle to forgive myself waged within, progress almost within reach, only to slip three steps back. Spiritually exhausted from the relentless internal tug-of-war.

Enter the series of lessons at our current church, aptly titled “This is Our Story.” In these narratives, I found echoes of people just like me—tired, scared, sick, sad, and sinners. A revelation unfolded—God had a plan for all of them and, by extension, for me too.

Perhaps this blog is a fragment of that divine plan. If you, too, feel tired, understand that you are not alone. Acknowledge that there are days when surrender seems tempting, but remember, giving up is not an option. Each morning, God wakes us up, a testament that He has not given up on us. In return, we cannot abandon His plan for us either.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

If I offend you by being tired, know I am honestly doing the best I can most days, just like we all are.