In July, I suddenly came to a halt. I lost all motivation and all desire to do anything. I was just tired. At first, I did not understand why I felt this way. I could sense that deep, complex emotions were surfacing, but I could not name them.
Looking back, I can see that this tiredness was not just physical fatigue. It was a deeper kind of exhaustion. Even small requests felt overwhelming. I now understand that it was the product of an old psychological pattern that began when I was nine years old.
When I moved to New Zealand at that age, everything was disorienting. I had to navigate a completely new culture and education system without speaking the language. I experienced racial discrimination and felt like I did not fit in anywhere. At that age, I did not have the emotional vocabulary or the support to process these challenges. On the rare occasions I expressed my struggles to my parents, the message I received, either directly or indirectly, was that my difficulties were my own fault. If I was struggling, it meant I had not tried hard enough.
Without guidance on what to actually do differently, I internalised the belief that any hardship was the result of personal failure. This created a self-reinforcing loop: whenever I faced difficulties, I assumed it was due to my own inadequacy, which drove me to push myself harder while ignoring my own limits.
What I truly needed as that nine-year-old was warmth, support, understanding, and acceptance of what I was feeling and experiencing. Instead, my parents were cold, and I was left to believe that I was to blame for my own hardship. I told myself that if I had just been better, I would not be in that situation. All I really needed was love, a warm gaze, and acknowledgment of my pain.
For many years, my career became the place where I tried to prove I was good enough. Every step forward felt like validation, so I poured all of my energy into it. By my early to mid-30s, however, no matter how hard I pushed, I could not advance in the way I hoped. The constant effort without progress drained me. Eventually, I gave up, I lost all hope, not because I stopped caring, but because years of striving without reward had burned me out. Looking back, it was not just about the career; it was the collapse of a lifelong pattern of seeking worth through relentless effort.
By my late 30s, this July, I had done an almost overwhelming amount of healing in just over a year. I thought I was ready to move forward. But then, without warning, I lost all motivation and drive. Even my spiritual practice, which had always grounded me, no longer held any interest. I did not want to go anywhere or do anything. I was tired of keeping up, tired of pushing myself, tired of constantly striving to improve. I was simply tired.
I felt angry at anyone who tried to push me to do better or “teach” me how I should think or feel. Even the smallest requests for help felt like too much, as though one more thing would tip me over the edge. Going to work, coming home, feeding myself, and cleaning up took all my energy. There was nothing left for anything else. It felt as if I had finally reached my absolute limit—psychologically, physically, and emotionally—after a lifetime of running on overdrive.
Then, one day while driving home from work, I had a realisation. I had always known that I did not truly love myself and that I was incredibly harsh with myself (until recently), but this time it hit differently. I could see the full extent of it: the coldness in my own gaze toward myself, the sharp and unkind way I spoke to myself in my mind. This was not just an attitude. It had seeped into every corner of my life, shaping my choices, my presence, and how I existed in the world.
I saw that I had been looking at myself through harsh, glaring eyes, especially when life did not feel perfect. And because life rarely feels perfect, I often saw myself with eyes filled with disgust, convinced that I had failed to do whatever was necessary to prevent my current reality.
In that moment, I felt a deep sorrow for the way I had treated myself all these years. I had been so cold and so mean to myself without even realising it. A wave of compassion rose up for the version of me that had lived like this unknowingly. I also understood instinctively that the way out of this heavy fog, this lack of motivation and will, was not to push myself harder. It was to see myself with warmth, acceptance, respect, and unconditional love.
Instead of driving myself relentlessly out of fear of suffering or imperfection, I needed to embrace myself exactly as I am, wholly and completely. I needed to meet my struggles with a gentle warm gaze, with understanding, and with kindness.
Now I see that this tiredness is not laziness. It is the burnout from decades of carrying the weight of impossible self-expectations. The way out is not through more pushing, but by releasing every expectation I have placed on myself and embracing who I am entirely. It is about giving myself the same warmth, support, understanding, and acceptance that I had always longed for as a child.