07/01/2026
Fatigue isn’t always a physical failure. Sometimes it’s a response to pressure.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived with fatigue.
Not the kind where you’re just tired and need an early night — but the kind that keeps you in bed, or threatens to. The kind where no amount of sleep restores you. “Refreshed” was never a word I could relate to. I’m still not entirely sure I can.
Doctors couldn’t find anything wrong. Health practitioners didn’t know what to do with me. This was long before I had any understanding that my nervous system might simply work differently.
Years later, I moved cities and started a new life. That included rebuilding my dance business from scratch — something I loved deeply — but the fatigue followed me. If anything, the move intensified it. By then, severe social anxiety had joined the picture, amplifying everything.
I wanted to start teaching again. Dance is where I feel most at home.
But I could barely leave the house, let alone imagine holding space for a room full of people.
One day my partner said, “If you want to start your classes again, I’m all in to help — but you need to book the hall soon before it’s gone.”
That pressure — the same pressure I’d been putting on myself — hit hard. I burst into tears. For the first time, I truly told him how fatigued I was. How overwhelmed. How impossible it felt.
He listened quietly and then said something that changed everything:
“Well… if that’s the case, you know you don’t have to do this.”
He sat with me while my body softened. The tightness dropped. The tears stopped. And in that moment, something became crystal clear.
It wasn’t dance that was draining me.
It was pressure.
The self-imposed expectations. The cornering. The internal voice telling me I should be able to cope, that something was wrong with me for struggling.
As soon as the pressure lifted, the fatigue eased — dramatically.
That very same day, I chose a date, booked a hall, and started planning my classes. The social anxiety was still there, but it felt workable. It had space.
What I learned was this:
Fatigue is deeply tied to our emotional and nervous-system state.
How we speak to ourselves. The standards we force onto ourselves. The way we judge, shame, or compare ourselves — all of it can amplify fatigue far beyond what the body alone is doing.
So I changed one thing.
I stopped treating myself the way I would never treat another human being.
I removed pressure.
I offered myself kindness.
I stopped seeing fatigue as a flaw — and started seeing it as information.
When the judgment went, the fatigue became manageable.
Today, I teach my classes. I do far more with my time and energy than I ever could before. And while I still support my body in many ways, this shift was the key that changed everything.
If you are neurodivergent in any way — ADHD, autistic, AuDHD — or if you live with chronic fatigue, please hear this:
The worst thing you can do is punish yourself for something your body is trying to protect you from.
Fatigue often exists to stop us from burning ourselves into years-long burnout.
When you accept it, respect it, and meet it with compassion, it loosens its grip.
Be as kind to yourself as you would be to anyone you love.
Your nervous system is listening.
(Photo: My partner and myself a few years ago)