Why I Feel Mentally and Physically Exhausted (Yes, It’s a Lot)

I used to think loneliness meant sitting in an empty room.

A quiet kitchen. An untouched phone. Maybe some tragic backlighting and a mug that says #blessed even though you’re crying into a gluten-free crumpet.

But no. Real adult loneliness? It’s less obvious than that.

It’s sitting in a room full of people who don’t get it.

It’s speaking, properly speaking, and being met with a shrug. A platitude. A well-meaning but completely useless “It’ll all work out.” which, to be honest, feels like I'm being emotionally ghosted.

Because it's not instant, like being slapped.

It's not meant with malice or laced with bitterness in any way.

It's just...

It is just.

You see, last week, I tried.

My daughter, sweet and anxious, and quite possibly the only human alive who can panic over someone else’s voicemail tone, had spiralled after a few days out in the sunshine and crowds. It overwhelmed her completely. And we ended up at the GP’s surgery because she was physically hurting from the sheer emotional overload.

Meanwhile, my son, who juggles Autism, ADHD, and developmental delays like a political circus act, is still waiting on medical scans that I’ve requested so many times that I’m now on a first-name basis with the NHS on hold music.

And me?

I’m here, mentally and physically exhausted. Crying in emotionally repressed bursts between parenting shifts, Googling things like “how to demand medical attention without sounding like a psycho,” and taking therapy sessions with the orange-flavoured cat, mainly because he's too stupid to judge me.

Anyway, last week I did what all the leaflets tell unstable adults to do - I tried to share.

To speak to my husband.

To offload.

To be seen. To express how useless I feel. To share the waves of guilt I carry for not getting things right.

And he calmly replied with, “Well, that’s just parenting, isn’t it?”

Only, no. No, it isn't. Now I'm not slating the man I threaten to bury under the carpark at least 3 times a week, but this isn’t just “he won’t eat peas anymore" parenting. No.

This is “my son still needs nappies and the only thing I’m qualified to do at this point is scream into a pillow while watching re-runs of Big Bang Theory” parenting.

This is “my child jokes about her broken heart because she has a leaking valve we only discovered earlier this year” parenting.

This is “I’m not sleeping because I'm mentally writing letters to the NHS and having imaginary arguments in the shower” parenting.

But I didn’t say any of that. I just nodded. Turned away. Pretended I was fine and made the 3rd cup of coffee that I had no intention of drinking that day.

I then reached out to a friend, someone who's known my kids for years.

Their reply? “It’ll all be worth it in the end.” which is great, except the end feels like a black hole, probably created by some idiot who microwaved tinfoil-covered beans and took us all down with them.

And so the cycle continues...

Try.

Share.

Get a response that feels like 4.59pm customer service resentment.

Retreat.

Stop sharing.

Smile vaguely at people who don’t ask twice.

Make jokes to cover the ache.

And that, right there, is the loneliest part of adulthood. Of my adulthood.

Not the absence of people, but the absence of being understood by them.

Now, I’m not looking for someone to swoop in with a cape and a care plan. I don’t need a motivational mug or a group chat full of pastel affirmations. I just want someone to say:

“Yeah, that’s a lot. You’re carrying too much. And no, it’s not just parenting.”

Because that in itself is not validation, but acceptance, respect, and the kind of soul-soothing understanding that we all need from time to time. Not for attention. Not for ego. Just because this is hard.

This joy ride of a life? It’s really flipping hard, additional needs kiddos or not.

Maybe that makes sense. Maybe it doesn’t.

But if you’ve been quietly nodding along to this, reading between meltdowns (yours or theirs), hiding in the bathroom with your fourth invisible breakdown of the week, or just wondering why everything feels so heavy when you're technically not alone...

Hi - I see you.

I don't have any solutions.

No tidy bow.

Just this messy, mildly inappropriate blog post to say:

You’re not weird. Or dramatic. Or doing it wrong.

You’re just emotionally maxed out, mentally and physically exhausted, surrounded by people… and still doing this alone.

But not entirely alone.

Because now I’ve said it out loud.

And maybe next time, you will too.

Or maybe you won’t, and that’s also ok.

Some days, just knowing someone else gets it is enough, even if it’s just a stranger on the internet who talks to her cat and cries into gluten-free crumpets.

P.S. If this post made you feel just a little bit more human, you can find more of that in my book. Grab a copy over on Amazon, or if you'd prefer a signed edition, just drop me a message.

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 "The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself."

Michel de Montaigne