When You Don’t Even Know You’re Tired

The slow kill of being burnt out doing the things you love

I didn’t know I was tired.

I was still waking up at 5 plus am.
Still replying to emails.
Still posting content. Still showing up.
Still smiling at events.

But something had changed.
I couldn’t enjoy the things I used to.
I couldn’t even laugh (or cry) properly.
And when people asked how I was, I didn’t even know what to say apart from “Alhamdulillah”.
I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t “great”. I wasn’t…anything.

Just—there.

Have you ever felt like that?

You wake up one day, and the colours are a little more muted.
You open your phone, but nothing excites you.
You see people, but you feel like a background character.
You go through the motions, and convince yourself this is just part of adulting.

Or part of being “responsible”.

Or part of what you signed up for.

But what if it’s not?

What if you’ve been tired for so long… you’ve forgotten what it feels like to be alive?

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There’s a word for this.
Not a medical term.
A concept from Japan that I read about: Karoshi (過労死) — death by overwork.

Scary huh.

In extreme cases, it actually refers to literal death.
But in daily life, it reflects a slow dying.
A loss of presence. Of wonder. Of vitality.

Not from trauma. Not from heartbreak.

But from quiet, constant pressure.

Pressure to keep producing.
To stay relevant.
To respond fast.
To look like you have it together.

Even when you're slowly falling apart.

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Our beloved Prophet Muhammad ﷺ once said:

"Your body has a right over you."
(Sahih al-Bukhari)

Not your boss.
Not your phone.
Not even your audacious goals and ambitions.

Your body.
Your heart.
Your soul.

They have a right to rest. To recover.
To be acknowledged when they whisper: I’m not okay.

Because burnout rarely shows up as a dramatic collapse.
More often, it arrives as silence.
Numbness. Apathy.
A delay in replying. A forced smile. A subtle flinch when someone asks,

"How are you?"

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For me, it came in the form of endless planning for the next event.
One weekend, I’d be hosting a 2-day retreat.
By Monday, I’d already be scheduling speaker briefings for the next seminar.
Week after week. Year after year.
Fifteen years of non-stop events — without truly letting my nervous system recover.

And in between?
Content creation. Social media campaigns — not just for myself, but for clients too.
Always thinking. Always scripting. Always switching hats.
I didn’t realise that just because I could handle it, didn’t mean I should.

---

A few months ago, I noticed something.

I couldn’t read a full page of a book without drifting.
I couldn’t remember the last meaningful conversation I had that didn’t involve logistics and itineraries.
I couldn’t recall the last time I laughed without effort.

I was still functioning — but I wasn’t feeling.

I told myself, "This is just a phase."
But phases have endings.
This started to feel kinda permanent.

Until I stopped and asked myself the question:

“What if I’m not just busy… I’m unwell?”

---

You don’t need to collapse to realise you’re burnt out.
You don’t need a breakdown to justify slowing down.

All you need is a moment of honesty.
A willingness to admit: This version of me isn’t sustainable.

Because what we suppress, the body expresses.
In headaches. In insomnia. In irritability. In forgetting things.
In losing interest in everything you once loved.

The 80/20 Rule — often used for productivity — says 80% of results come from 20% of your actions.

But what if we flipped it?

What if 80% of your exhaustion is coming from just 20% of your habits?

Saying yes when you mean no.
Checking your phone the first 10 seconds after waking up.
Overcommitting to things that already drain you.
Refusing to rest because you don’t feel like you’ve earned it yet.

---

So here’s a thought:

Instead of pushing through another week,
Can you honour the version of you that’s asking for rest?

Not the retreat-in-the-mountains kind of rest.
Just the “put your phone down, take a breath, and be honest with yourself” kind of rest.

The “I need help” kind.
The “I don’t want to talk right now but I’d love your company” kind.
The “I’m tired of being everything for everyone” kind.

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The Qur'an says:

"And We have certainly created man and We know what his soul whispers to him..."
Surah Qaf (50:16)

Allah knows the whispers your soul has been making.
The tiredness behind your smile.
The weight you carry in silence.

You don’t need to explain it to anyone else if you don’t want to.
But you do need to acknowledge it to yourself.

That’s where healing begins.

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So if today’s newsletter felt like it was written just for you — maybe it was.

Not because I know exactly what you’re going through.
But because I’ve felt the numbness too.
I’ve smiled through board meetings, delivered client campaigns, travelled for talks,
and still felt like I was quietly flickering out inside.

So today, I want you to consider one thing:

Are you tired, or are you depleted?
And what would happen if you chose, just this once, to pause — before your body makes the decision for you?

Your heart is worth listening to.
Even when it's quiet.
Especially then.

—

Until next Monday,
Mizi Wahid
To the Weary Heart