A Letter For You I Know You Smile, Yet I Know You're Burnt Out (Not from the Gym, but from Life)

 

Dear You, Wherever You Are,

I see you.

You smile at strangers. You laugh at jokes. You nod through video calls. You carry yourself with grace and strength—but beneath that calm surface, I know you’re exhausted. Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix. Not the kind of fatigue you can shake off with coffee or a walk.

No, this tiredness runs deeper.

It’s the kind that lives in your bones,

that weighs down your chest,

that makes your heart whisper, “I can’t keep doing this.”

You are burnt out—not from workouts or marathons—but from surviving a chaotic, loud, demanding world. From waking up to another day of stretching yourself thin, giving more than you receive, and hiding how much it hurts.

You’ve become so good at keeping it together.

At showing up.

At being “fine.”

But I want to say something to you—loud and clear:

You do not have to earn rest. You do not have to apologize for your limits. You are allowed to break down. You are allowed to pause.

Because I know the truth: You are not weak. You are tired of being strong all the time.

I know life keeps asking more of you than it gives. I know you carry responsibilities no one sees. I know you cry in silence, scream internally, and then go back to washing the dishes or answering emails.

But your soul is not a machine.

Your heart is not an inbox to be cleared.

You are not lazy. You are overwhelmed.

You are not broken. You are bruised by the noise of this world.

And I want you to know—I’m here.

Not to fix you. Not to judge you.

But to simply say:

I hear you.

I see the storm behind your smile.

And I believe you deserve peace—not just survival.

So tonight, or whenever you read this—close your eyes.

Breathe deeply.

Drop your shoulders.

Place your hand on your heart.

And tell yourself gently, “I’m doing my best. And that’s enough today.”

The world may keep spinning, but your soul is allowed to rest.

You don’t have to do this alone.

Someone, somewhere—you may not see them, but they exist—is rooting for you.

And maybe, in this moment, that someone is me.

With warmth, care, and solidarity across every time zone,

—A Voice That Sees You