When the Weight Never Quite Leaves

A friend of mine told me a story about a time in her life right after college, and it stayed with me longer than I expected.

It reminded me of how many people are carrying a kind of background weight —

• not loud enough to be a crisis,
• but heavy enough to shape every day.

I thought it might help to say this part out loud.

The Invisible Exhaustion

There’s a particular kind of exhaustion that doesn’t announce itself.

It doesn’t knock you flat or stop you from showing up. You still work, still reply, still move through your routines. From the outside, things might even look fine.

But underneath, there’s a constant background score of effort. A low, steady hum of holding it together.

People describe it differently, but the feeling is familiar:

• a heaviness in the chest that won’t fully lift,
• a tightness that stays even on good days,
• a sense that rest doesn’t quite restore anything.

It’s not always sadness. It’s not always anxiety. Sometimes it’s just weight.

The Paradox of Functioning

What makes this especially confusing is that many people living with it are still trying. They’re not giving up entirely. They go outside for sunlight. They keep themselves busy. They reach for distractions, routines, small comforts — not because they think it will fix everything, but because it helps keep them from sliding somewhere darker.

And at the same time, there’s often another truth sitting right beside that effort:

A part that has quietly stopped believing things will really change.

That combination can be hard to admit. It can feel contradictory or shameful — like you’re doing something wrong by being both tired and still trying.

But that split actually makes a lot of sense.

Staying busy in this state isn’t necessarily avoidance. Often, it’s regulation. Movement, noise, structure, light — these aren’t distractions so much as anchors. When stillness feels heavy or even frightening, activity can be what keeps the day bearable.

Why “Letting Go” Feels Dangerous

For some people, slowing down doesn’t feel neutral. It feels risky.

That’s why the idea of “letting go” can be scary in a very physical way. Not metaphorically — physically. The body tightens. The chest gets heavier. There’s a sense that if you stop holding on, something might collapse.

This isn’t weakness.

It’s a nervous system that’s been carrying something for a long time.

The chest is often where this shows up because it’s where breath, vigilance, and emotion intersect. When something has required long-term effort — even quiet effort — the body doesn’t just forget that. It keeps a kind of guard up, even when the original reason for it isn’t clear anymore.

That’s why people can feel exhausted even when nothing “bad” is happening.

That’s why rest can feel uncomfortable instead of relieving.

That’s why you can function all day and still feel like you’re dragging something invisible behind you.

The Fear of Stopping

There’s also often fear mixed into this — fear of what might surface if the effort stops. Fear that the heaviness would become unbearable if you weren’t actively managing it. Fear that the numbness would turn into something sharper.

That fear isn’t irrational. It’s protective.

When something has been holding you together, even imperfectly, the idea of loosening your grip can feel dangerous. The body doesn’t know yet whether it’s safe to rest.

So people do what they can. They keep going. They try small things. They don’t spiral — not because they’re thriving, but because they’re surviving in a quiet, competent way.

Named and Validated

This is the part that often goes unnamed.

• Because it doesn’t fit clean categories.
• Because it doesn’t look dramatic.
• Because it doesn’t come with a clear solution.

But unnamed doesn’t mean unreal.

If you recognize yourself in this — the background heaviness, the chest that won’t quite soften, the mix of effort and resignation — you’re not strange for feeling it this way. And you’re not failing for still needing small strategies just to stay upright.

This isn’t a sign that you’re broken. It’s a sign that something has been carried for a long time.

And if any of this feels familiar, you’re not late. You’re not behind. You’re not wrong for still trying in the only ways that feel available right now.

Sometimes the most helpful thing isn’t a solution.

It’s simply hearing your experience described accurately — and realizing you’re not alone in it.

If you want help with this — gently, without forcing — I offer single 1:1 sessions.

One session. No obligation to continue.

It’s a calm, structured EFT session where we work with what’s most present for you, at your pace. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is pushed.

Book a private session here

If you’re unsure, that’s okay too. There’s no rush. And if you don’t want to talk to me, my bot is always around to give support. Look for the chat icon in the lower left corner. Choose the “Try a Tapping session”. Sometimes, I’m even surprised at how effective it is. Give it a shot. It might just be the thing you’ve been waiting for.