I Thought I Was Just Tired—But I Was Actually Done

I was approaching a milestone birthday.
The big 4-0. And while life looked fine on the outside, something deep within me was starting to stir.

There was this low hum of dissatisfaction that wouldn’t go away.
I was beginning to feel the first tremors of what I now know was a midlife awareness moment.
Not a crisis.
Not chaos.
But definitely a reckoning.

Had I done what I came here to do?
Had I accomplished the things I said I would?
Had I built the kind of life I could feel proud of?

And then the thought hit me:
“I never got my doctorate.”

That was it. That was the thing I decided would fix everything.

I Didn’t Need a Doctorate—I Needed a Hug

Looking back, I can laugh. But at the time?
It felt logical.

I was still carrying the shame of my financial hit from years before. The real estate losses. The properties that didn’t go the way I’d planned. The silence I had sat in for years trying to rebuild myself quietly.

I wanted a win.
I needed a win.
I wanted something that felt like proof that I was still powerful, still brilliant, still capable.

So instead of resting, I decided to apply to a doctoral program.
Because that’s what I knew how to do—achieve.

I got accepted easily. School has always been my jam.
Bachelor’s degree? Check.
Two master’s degrees? Check and check.
So a fourth degree? Easy.

Except this time… it wasn’t.

I Wasn’t Studying—I Was Escaping

I thought I was enrolling in something noble.
Something important.
Another way to better myself.

But what I was really doing was trying to outrun myself.
Trying to achieve my way out of burnout.
Trying to perform my way out of pain.

What I actually needed was a hug.
What I needed was a nap.
What I needed was to sit down, cry, and give myself permission to be still.

But instead, I signed up for another mountain.
And halfway up that mountain, everything in me gave out.

The Closet Breakdown

I had made it through almost a full year of coursework.
And then one day, I found myself in my prayer closet—sobbing.
Full body sobs.
Not little tears. Not a quiet release.

I broke.
And not in a sweet, cinematic way.
I broke like a woman who had been holding it all together for too long with duct tape and determination.

I was sad.
I was tired.
I was angry at God for not “fixing it” faster.
I was confused about why I couldn’t get my joy back.
I was drowning, and I didn’t know how to stop performing long enough to save myself.

And I realized in that moment…
I wasn’t just tired. I was done.

The Cost of Not Pausing

The cost of that “just push through” season was high.

I had paid off my student loans years before. No debt.
But now? I had taken on thousands more in student loan debt for a degree I didn’t even need.
I was emotionally tapped out.
My joy was on E.
I had stretched my soul too far, trying to chase a version of success that wasn’t even mine anymore.

I didn’t need another goal.
I needed recovery.
I needed peace.
I needed softness.

I needed the version of me I had never had time to meet.

The Turning Point: Fatigue

This wasn’t burnout. This was bone-deep fatigue.

It wasn’t just “you’ve been working too hard.”
It was “you’ve been performing for too long.”

I had never taken a break.
From high school to college.
From bachelor’s degree to two master’s degrees.
From teaching to becoming a principal.
From career to marriage.
From building a life to fixing what broke.
It never stopped.

And I was so used to being “the strong one,”
So used to moving, fixing, helping, performing, creating…
I didn’t even realize I had never truly stopped to rest.

Not vacation.
Not brunch.
Not a spa day.

Rest.

Like… true rest.
The kind that doesn’t ask for anything in return.
The kind that allows you to unravel and be rebuilt.
The kind that gives you back you.

The Shift That Saved Me

That breakdown in the closet?
It broke me open.

It was the beginning of therapy.
The beginning of healing.
The beginning of slowing down—for real this time.

And the last 10 years?

Whew. A masterpiece.

Not because I’ve been perfect.
But because I finally stopped using goals to silence my soul.

I’m still building.
Still creating.
Still dreaming.

But now, I move from overflow.
From rest.
From clarity.
From softness.

And when I’m tired, I don’t reach for another mountain.
I reach for my blanket. My journal. My peace.

Because sometimes… you’re not just tired.
You’re done.
And that’s okay.

Let’s Talk About It

What have you been calling “tired” that might actually be “done”?
Where are you still pushing out of habit instead of healing?

You don’t have to prove anything.
You don’t have to keep climbing.
You can stop.
You can rest.
You can be done with what no longer serves you.

And if you need a space to figure out what that new life could look like, come sit with us inside Wealthy Women Conversations on Facebook. We’re choosing peace and letting softness lead.

#SlowerWealthierHappier
#SoftLivingIsSuccess
#BlackWomenDeserveEase
#ThisLifeFeelsLikeMe
#RestIsAWinToo

Slower, Wealthier, Happier