Moving forward during resilience fatigue can feel overwhelming, especially when we are facing complicated problems without clear solutions. Self-compassion, mindfulness, and one small moment of joy can help soften the edges of our difficult times.
I’m Tired of Being Resilient
Dear Jennifer,
I’m so tired of life feeling so hard. It feels like one bad thing happens after another. Then, once I finally finished dealing with one bad thing, another surfaces.
In 18 months, my dog died, my fiancé and I split up, my job got restructured and my position eliminated, and I started a new job that I don’t even like very much. Just when I thought things might be picking up, my dad got diagnosed with early-stage dementia and doesn’t want to stop driving or leave his house that really isn’t safe anymore. It takes all I have to get through work and be pleasant and cooperative…and then I come home and start worrying about my dad and what I’m going to do as his disease worsens. I’m an only child and my parents divorced a long time ago.
Tired and Worn Out
Dear Tired and Worn Out,
I hear you, fellow traveler. My goodness. You have been through a lot of big life losses—pet loss, major relationship loss, job loss—without much time in between to fully recover. Your father’s illness—another type of loss—brings a lot of uncertainty about what comes next and what decisions will need to be made. It likely feels overwhelming when you are still trying to recover from what you lived through in the last 18 months.
Your letter reminded me of a blog that I wrote several years ago. Let’s revisit it.
Dessert by Lantern Light
“Hey, Mom?” I looked across the living room at my twelve-year-old son and raised my eyebrows. “Could we go to the store and get some dessert?”
A winter storm had blown through Austin the previous week, taking down mighty trees and taking out power via tossing ice-laden limbs onto the lines. On the night of Giovanni’s question, we had lived six days without electricity, had had it restored for approximately 17 hours (just long enough for me to clean out and restock the refrigerator), and were once again living in the dark because the power had gone out that afternoon.
The only light came from battery-operated lanterns, and the house was quiet without the noise that characterizes typical family life with tween-aged boys. There were no screaming YouTubers playing Minecraft, no beeps of iPad games, no alerts signaling incoming messages from friends. Even the dogs seemed subdued.
I heard the fatigue in his voice and noticed the manifestation of it in his dejected posture, the frown on his face, the deep sigh, and the heavy sadness around his eyes. I noticed how weary he looked and my response was simple.
“Yes. Great idea. Let’s go.”
“What’s the hardest part right now?” I asked as we pulled from the driveway.
“We still don’t have power.”
“I get that. It’s almost harder that we finally got it back and then lost it again, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He looked out the window. “All day I was excited about going home after school and watching my show and sitting on the couch with the dogs.” This, his normal after-school and weekend afternoon routine, hadn’t been part of his daily operations in a week.
I nodded and took a moment to breathe before responding. I knew that how I responded to Giovanni’s big feelings about this life inconvenience mattered. He’s 12, trying to figure out how life works without the innocence of a child or the lived experiences of a grown man. His adult inner voice is forming as his body changes, and this developing inner voice someday will guide his self-talk and decision-making during challenging times.
What do I hope he says to himself when I am no longer there to help him navigate difficult moments and big feelings?
What do I hope self-compassion looks like for him when he is the adult tasked with making decisions, for himself and possibly for others?
How do I hope he handles those moments when his soul is weary and he has fallen to his knees, unsure if he has the wherewithal to rise again and move forward?
After the big questions settled, I responded.
“I get that. I also was excited about being home, comfortable, and having everything feel easy after so many days of having everything feel very hard.” He nodded. “You know that it always won’t feel hard, right?” He nodded again. “And it feels very hard right now and that’s all we have to deal with tonight. Okay?” He looked at me and nodded. “What type of dessert sounds good?”
He shrugged and a bit of his smile emerged at the corners of his mouth.
As we walked into the store, I noted that a tiny bit of 12-year-old swagger had returned, and that his posture was taller and more resilient. He picked out his chosen dessert (pumpkin pie), and added a can of spray whipped cream at my suggestion.
When we got back in the car, he pulled off the plastic piece, removed the cap, and looked at me with raised eyebrows.
I shrugged and said, “No rules tonight.”
He grinned and squirted whipped cream in his mouth. We both laughed. He turned to me and asked if he could have permission to say one curse word. I said okay.
“Mom, it’s really shitty to have no power.”
“You’re right. It is really shitty. It won’t always be, but it sure is right now.”
We had a pumpkin pie picnic, by lantern light.
Did that fix the power loss? No, of course not.
Did allowing him to squirt whipped cream directly into his mouth and say a curse word make it all better? Nope. But it did bring a moment of joy and laughter on a difficult night.
Did knowing that he isn’t navigating this tough time alone make it all feel just a bit easier? Yes.
Did it help to feel heard without judgment and laugh with someone he knows will love him unconditionally until she breathes her final breath? Absolutely.
What to Do When You’re Tired of Being Resilient
Back to you, Tired and Worn Out. Your situation is different from what we were living that night in my home several years ago; however, resilience fatigue is resilience fatigue, whether it’s the result of multiple smaller stressors or a few big ones.
It makes us weary down in our souls. And in our bones.
It wasn’t the straw that broke the infamous camel’s back.
It was the heavy weight that the poor animal had carried over a long period of time that had weakened its muscles and bones and depleted the hope and resilience it needed to keep moving forward.
Similarly, it isn’t the “final straw” life stressor that causes us to fall to our knees and whisper, “I give up.”
Our spirits struggle to rise because of the cumulative effects of carrying heavy weight over long periods of time—especially the mental burdens that have a way of sneaking off with our energy and hope…
The not knowing how much longer or how much further we must carry our burdens before “things get better.”
The social comparisons that distance us from others and push us toward isolation when we need to reach out for support and help (“Everyone else has returned to normal life, except me. Nobody understands how hard it is”).
The divide between how we feel right now (e.g. sad, angry, scared, helpless) and how we want to feel (e.g. inspired, happy, excited, hopeful).
The wanting to feel grateful for what we have, while not yet being ready to find emotional space for gratitude or silver linings because the pain is still too intense.
Self-Compassion When Resilience Is Running Low
We all have moments that make our souls weary and cause us to fall to our knees, unsure if we can take one more step, solve one more problem, tolerate one more frustration, or hear one more piece of disappointing news.
I’ve been there and have used every tool in my box to get off the floor and not give up.
I’ve used shame-based perspective-taking (“Do you realize how lucky you are that this is your biggest struggle right now? Other people have it so much worse and they aren’t on the floor”)
and harsh reality (“Get up. Nobody is going to fix this for you”).
Those two typically motivate me initially, but they often bring me back to my knees later when the next straw appears and brings me down again.
In recent years, I’ve replaced those two strategies with a gentler approach that is based on self-compassion and mindfulness. I handle my big feelings similarly to how I spoke to Giovanni in the car.
I pause, identify my feelings by name, and take deep breaths while reminding myself that this current difficult moment or experience will not last forever.
What I’ve found is that the gentler approach helps me regain my equilibrium and allows me to move forward in a more centered, intentional way. And, perhaps most importantly, it makes me less vulnerable to returning to my knees when the next straw falls on my back.
Finding a Small Polka Dot of Joy
Guess what, Tired and Worn Out? The power came back on. Giovanni’s after-school and weekend routines returned. The refrigerator got cleaned out and filled again. Life kept moving along and brought different challenges our way. All that remains of that experience is a bit of unease that we all fear when the meteorologists predict another ice storm is coming.
I asked now sixteen-year-old Giovanni last night what he remembered about that experience. His response was simple: “It really sucked.”
He didn’t remember the pumpkin pie. Or the whipped cream. Or being able to say a cuss word and have me agree with him.
But I do.
And maybe that’s okay. The goal of the pumpkin pie hadn’t been to teach him a major life lesson that he would carry forever. It was simply to soften the edges of a hard experience and make life feel a little less hard for a moment. It was to give him—and me—a brief respite from resilience fatigue.
Find your pumpkin pie and whipped cream, Tired and Worn Out. Temporarily let go of any rules you have and give yourself a small polka dot of joy, whatever that could look like to you.
It doesn’t have to fix anything.
It doesn’t have to lead you toward a solution.
It just needs to soften the edges of the hard moment you are living.
And give you a break from being resilient.
Then, dear one, when you’re ready, return to the daily life routines that help keep your feet and mind moving forward.
Ubuntu, fellow travelers.
Jennifer
Rest. Reflect. Reimagine.
A guided practice for when we’re tired of being resilient.
Rest…when you’re tired of being resilient.
Allow yourself a moment to pause. Take in a slow, deep breath and release it slowly. Let go of any agenda. Just give the story a moment to settle in.
The goal is simply to notice:
- What thoughts arose for you.
- What emotions you are experiencing.
- How your body is feeling right now.
No fixing.
No judging.
Just making space.
Reflect…when you’re tired of being resilient.
Consider what resonated with you.
- When have you felt tired of being resilient?
- Are you feeling that way right now?
- What have you been carrying that may be contributing to your resilience fatigue?
- What do you need more—or perhaps less—of right now?
Reimagine…when you’re tired of being resilient.
Consider one small moment of joy that might soften the edges of your resilience fatigue.
Not a complete life overhaul that will fix every struggle.
Not the perfect solution for what is causing you to be tired of being resilient.
Just one small choice that could place a polka dot of joy within your overwhelm.
Inhale self-compassion.
Exhale the need to solve everything right now.
Let go of the need to find a perfect solution.
Now move forward imperfectly.
Ubuntu, fellow traveler.
Check Out Previous Still River Reflections
If this reflection resonated with you, you may also enjoy exploring other posts from Still River Reflections, where I write about resilience, self-compassion, mindfulness, life transitions, and finding our way through life’s changing currents.
He Needed Someone to Be Nice to Him
“Dessert by Lantern Light” was first published on Still River Counseling’s Substack page and has been adapted from its original version.
© 2026 Jennifer Ayres, PhD | Still River Counseling, PLLC
Written with care for fellow travelers navigating life’s changing currents.
🌐 StillRiverCounseling.com | 📍 Austin, TX
Gentle Reminder:
The reflections shared here are intended to offer insight and support. They are not a substitute for therapy or professional mental-health care, and reading this blog does not create a therapeutic or doctor–patient relationship.
