When Nothing Works Anymore

The Season No One Prepares You For....

A global pandemic. One hundred–hour, high-stress workweeks. Caring for and moving my dad and renovating his house of nearly 45 years....from a distance. Years of self-abuse disguised as discipline: lack of sleep, poor diet, no boundaries.

I was lost long before I knew it. Then, almost instantly, I went from 120 MPH to zero.

At first, I told myself this was normal. This is what happens when you lose a parent, right? Of course you’re sad. Of course you’re disoriented. Of course, you feel lost.

What’s the appropriate amount of time to feel like yourself again?

Weeks passed. Then months.

My biggest daily accomplishment was a shower. I slept eleven hours a night—easily. I took naps. I ate whatever was put in front of me. I barely spoke, and only when necessary. Forming sentences felt like lifting something far heavier than it should have been.

My brain, which had spent years on overdrive, went dark. Not tired. Not foggy. Dark. And it scared the crap out of me.

I had to consciously “start” my thinking, like you start a lawnmower. I barely remember this time. Now I understand that it is not a memory loss; it is a form of protection.

Thankfully, I was surrounded by people who loved me. I came to accept that I was not only grieving the loss of my parents. I was also recovering from years of sustained, high-stakes stress.

You don’t sleep that off in a week’s vacation. One massage doesn’t cure that level of exhaustion.

What I didn’t know then (which I’m grateful for) was that I had erased my identity. The identity of the high performer. The problem solver. An achiever. One who could handle anything, often (usually…) at the expense of her own wellbeing.

My self-worth had been deeply tied to my work, my title, and frankly, my paycheck. I only understand the magnitude of that now. I was not capable of that awareness at the time.

Months passed, and slowly, something began to wake up inside me.

I refinished an antique piece of furniture, something I had never done before and haven’t done since. It gave me a single point of focus. It allowed me to live in the micro and turn down the noise. I was outside for days with podcasts in my ear. It was the perfect gift: quiet, fresh air, a creative act, and a low-stakes way to turn something ugly into something beautiful. I remember thinking “this is what I want more of in my life”.

Slowly, I began to do puzzles, paint by numbers, and small projects. Quiet things.

What I remember most from that season is how exhausted I felt after going out to eat, how sensitive I was to light and sound, and how overwhelming large public spaces felt. It took nearly ten months for me to feel human again.

Not productive. Just human.

I chose not to rush back to work. I knew I wasn’t ready. I knew that going back would be like plugging myself back into the socket. That was no longer an option.

I learned that I wouldn’t die from the stimulation of busy airports. I saw friends who had no idea what I had been moving through, and I began to share pieces of my experience. For the first time, I had to find words for what I had been going through.

Colors became brighter. Smells sharper. My brain slowly emerged from hibernation.

Wise people talk about awakening. It’s real. I awoke from years of over functioning and met an entirely new Dianne. One I am still getting to know actually.

Don’t get me wrong – I am still a high achiever, and I can over function with the best of them! But it has a time and a place. It is a tool, not my identity. When chaos is high, it serves me well. It has been lifeline. Yet it is no longer the only tool in my toolbox.

Nearly four years later, that tool still comes out more than I’d like. Awareness has changed everything…. because it no longer consumes me. Or at least I try not to let it.

If you have read this far, thank you. This is not easy for me to talk about.

If you recognize yourself anywhere in this, you’re not alone. And if over functioning has ever felt like a strength you couldn’t afford to set down, I’m curious. What might change if you stopped wearing it as an identity and began treating it as a tool you can choose to use?