Dear Strong One: It’s Okay to Be Tired

 

Journaling saved me more than once. Not because it handed me answers wrapped neatly in a bow, but because it gave me space, a page that didn’t talk back, didn’t judge, didn’t ask me to be okay when I wasn’t. It was where I could throw down the weight I couldn’t carry in silence anymore.

Not the polished kind of journaling you see on Pinterest boards. Not the perfect handwriting with washi tape and pastel pens. Mine was messy, raw, tear-stained, sometimes smudged with cigarette ash and spilled coffee. Half the time, I couldn’t even read my own writing after. But it didn’t matter. Because it wasn’t about what the words looked like. It was about what they held.

When you’re tired and I mean bone-deep tired, the kind that no nap or vacation fixes, writing can be the only way to make sense of it. Or at least, the only way to not drown in it.

Sitting With the Ache

For years, I lived in autopilot mode. Work, deadlines, relationships that didn’t go anywhere, responsibilities I didn’t sign up for but carried anyway. On the outside, I looked like I had it together. Inside, I was cracking.

The page became my quiet rebellion. Every time I wrote “I’m tired,” I was admitting what I couldn’t say out loud. Every time I scribbled questions that had no answers, I was giving myself permission to be human.

And here’s the thing: that practice didn’t erase the ache. It didn’t magically fix the exhaustion. But it gave the ache a place to exist. And sometimes, that’s enough. Because not all pain needs to be turned into productivity. Not all grief needs to be wrapped in meaning. Sometimes, it just needs to be felt.

(Captured by Wahyu Mahkota Rama at Waroeng Adji Ubud)

The Turning Point

Somewhere in the middle of one of those long nights, you know, the kind where sleep just won’t come, no matter how many pills, podcasts, or prayers you throw at it, I realized something.

I wasn’t just writing to vent. I was writing to understand myself. To trace my own patterns. To see the cycles I kept repeating. To spot the lies I was telling myself. The page wasn’t just a dumping ground for my pain. It was a mirror.

That realization changed everything. Because if this messy, imperfect habit could help me hold myself together, even when I felt like I was falling apart, maybe it could help someone else too.

What’s Inside

No bullshit. No fake positivity. Just space and prompts to help you sit with yourself honestly.

• Journal prompts when you feel numb and don’t know what to write.

• Reflections that remind you: you’re allowed to be tired.

• Pages that don’t ask you to be productive, just present.

This isn’t about pretty journaling. It’s about survival journaling. Reflection journaling. Messy, real, “I’m barely holding on, but I’m still here” journaling.

If you’ve been running on fumes, this is for you.

If you’ve been carrying more than anyone knows, this is for you.

If you’ve been craving a space that doesn’t ask you to be inspiring or perfect or even okay, this is for you.

You don’t need to earn rest. You don’t need to justify your exhaustion. You don’t need to fix everything today. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is admit you’re tired, and let that be enough.

To the Strong Ones

I called it Dear Strong One for a reason. Because too often, people like us are the ones who keep going no matter what. We’re the fixers, the reliable ones, the “she’s got it handled” ones. Until we don’t. Until we crash.

This is my reminder, and maybe yours too, that it’s okay to put the weight down. It’s okay to not be the strong one for everyone else all the time.

I’m not here to sell you a miracle. I’m here to offer you a page. If this resonates, if you’re tired in a way that words alone can’t explain, maybe Achework Vol. 1 can hold some of that for you.

Get your copy here. Maybe it’ll be the page where you finally let your shoulders drop and just breathe.