You're Not Falling Apart. You're Carrying Too Much.

When It Feels Like You Can't Catch a Break

Have you ever had one of those seasons where everything feels like too much? Just when you finally get one stressful thing handled, something else pops up, like a relentless game of whack-a-mole. You're already dealing with something at work, a mistake, a difficult boss, a problem that landed in your lap uninvited, and then you and your partner have a fight that feels like it comes out of nowhere, leaving you both feeling frustrated and misunderstood.

Just when the work situation starts to feel more manageable, an unexpected tax bill shows up, or your pet needs an emergency vet visit that wipes out what little breathing room you had. Or maybe your child is being bullied, your parent has a crisis, the car won't start, and now the smoke alarm is going off at 3:00 a.m.?! And sometimes it is not a tax bill or a sprained ankle. Sometimes it is a phone call that changes everything. A diagnosis. A decline. A loss. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, your body starts sending mysterious signals, fatigue, pain, symptoms you can't quite explain, leaving you feeling unwell and confused about what is even happening.

Really? C'mon, life. Give me a break already.

Some seasons of life feel relentless, painful, and at times genuinely intolerable. When life feels this way, it's easy to start asking, why me? Why now? It can feel frustrating, unfair, exhausting, and at times, slowly defeating. It's not always one thing that gets us. Sometimes it's just too many things, arriving too close together, before we've had any real chance to heal. Your nervous system barely has time to settle before the ground shifts again.

If you recognized yourself anywhere in that opening, this post is for you.

I am Anne James, a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in San Marcos, California, and these are exactly the kind of struggles I work with. We are going to talk about what happens inside us when life keeps coming, why the things we tell ourselves to feel better often make us feel worse, and what it actually means to offer yourself the kind of presence that helps. Along the way, we will spend some time with a shame researcher, a grieving theologian, and a self-compassion scientist, all of whom have something important to say about what it means to be human in a hard season. There is a short reflection towards the end. I hope you will take a few minutes with it. You are worth it.

The Stories We Tell Ourselves When Things Get Hard

When we're overwhelmed, many of us try to "help" ourselves by minimizing or outright bullying ourselves about what we're going through.

We tell ourselves things like:

• Other people have it so much worse

• I'm making a big deal out of nothing

• Why am I so bad at handling these things?

• I probably deserve this

• It's weak to ask for help

• Why am I being such a baby about this

Knowing others have it harder doesn't make your hard feel any easier. And that inner critic, the one calling you a baby and telling you that you deserve this, is not keeping you in line or motivating you to do better. It is carving out neuropathways in your brain that make it easier to believe the worst about yourself quicker the next time.

Imagine calling a close friend and telling them you are really struggling. And instead of sitting with you in it, they say something like "I think you are making a big deal out of nothing" or "you probably deserve this" or, "I mean, it could be so much worse." Most of us would hang up that phone feeling worse than before, not seen, not heard, and a little ashamed for reaching out at all. So why do we imagine it will feel any different when we say those same things to ourselves?

The Difference Between Distance and Presence

You may know Brené Brown from her wildly popular TED talk, her books like The Gifts of Imperfection and Daring Greatly, or her HBO series Atlas of the Heart. She is a shame researcher and storyteller who has a gift for making complex emotional concepts land simply and clearly. One of the things she captures better than almost anyone is why trying to talk ourselves or others out of pain they are experiencing usually makes things worse. She has a short animated video on the difference between sympathy and empathy that illustrates it perfectly. You can watch it here. (link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZBTYViDPlQ)

Simply stated, sympathy often creates distance. Empathy creates connection. Sympathy can sound like, "Well, at least…" Empathy sounds more like, "That sounds really hard." One tries to move us away from discomfort too quickly. The other stays with us in it.

That distinction, between moving someone away from their pain and staying with them in it, is at the heart of what I want to talk about next. Because nobody has said it better than a grieving father I want to introduce you to.

Theologian Nicholas Wolterstorff wrote one of the most honest books about grief I have

ever encountered, Lament for a Son, after losing his son Eric in a climbing accident. Though the book is about the most profound kind of loss, what Wolterstorff says about comfort and presence reaches far beyond grief. He writes about the people who try to fix or minimize pain from a safe distance, and the ones who are willing to do something harder: come close.

What makes Lament for a Son so extraordinary is not just the rawness of Wolterstorff's grief but his precision about what actually helps when someone is suffering. He is not writing a self help book. He is not offering a framework or a five step process. He is writing from inside the worst thing that ever happened to him, and what he says from that place about presence, about distance, about what it means to truly comfort another human being, is something I have carried with me since I first encountered it.

There are passages you read once and carry with you forever. This is one of them:

"What I need to hear from you is that you recognize how painful it is. I need to hear from you that you are with me in my desperation. To comfort me, you have to come close. Come sit by me on my mourning bench. If you think your task as comforter is to convince me that really, all things considered, it's not so bad, you do not sit with me in my grief but place yourself off in the distance away from me. Over there, you are of no help."

The same is true of how we treat ourselves. We can stand at a distance from our own pain, offering explanations and silver linings, or we can come close. We can sit with ourselves on the mourning bench, even if it feels strange or unfamiliar, even if we were never taught how, even if no one ever sat with us that way when we needed it most. Sitting with yourself on that mourning bench means showing up for your whole self, including the part that has been absorbing the weight of all of this in ways you may not even realize yet. Because while you have been managing and pushing through, your body has been quietly keeping track of every hard season.

Your Nervous System Has Been Paying Attention

The human body was not designed to absorb an endless barrage of stress without consequence. Your nervous system is always responding, always tracking. It is always learning from your experiences and predicting what might come next, trying to keep you safe. And at some point, when you have been doing it all alone because somewhere along the way you learned that needing help is weakness, the effects start to accumulate and spill over into the body in ways that can catch you completely off guard, chronic pain, illness, panic attacks, fatigue, hair loss, weight changes, itching, sleepless nights, and a whole range of physical responses that may feel bewildering or unrelated to stress at all.

And it doesn't stop at the physical, though sometimes that's where we finally notice it. For others the emotional world starts to fray before the body does, and for many it's both at once, each amplifying the other. Things that might normally feel manageable can suddenly feel overwhelming. Small frustrations feel bigger. Patience gets shorter. Tears come faster. Or sometimes we stop feeling much of anything at all and just go numb.

The nervous system was built to handle stress and return to baseline. The problem is the returning to baseline part, which requires something most of us in these seasons are not getting nearly enough of: time, rest, safety, joy, and repair.

Your body and your emotions are not betraying you. They are pleading with you. Are you listening?

What Coming Close Looks Like

So what does it actually look like to come close to yourself rather than standing at a distance from your own pain? It means making space for honesty and compassion at the same time. Instead of dismissing or criticizing yourself, try placing a hand gently over your heart, a small act that signals safety to the nervous system, and see if you can say something

like:

This is a lot right now. I am feeling overwhelmed, and that makes sense.

I don't like this, and I don't have to silver line it.

This season feels hard, and I can get through it.

That is what coming close can look like.

Simple, honest, and kinder than anything your inner critic has been offering.

Why Being Hard on Yourself Isn't Helping

This can feel especially hard if you grew up with criticism, emotional neglect, or the message that being hard on yourself is what keeps you functional and worthwhile. Researcher Kristin Neff, whose work you can explore further at self-compassion.org, describes self-compassion as offering ourselves the same kindness we would offer a good friend. Her research has shown that self-compassion is actually more effective than self-esteem as a foundation for wellbeing, because self-esteem depends on how we are performing and whether things are going well. Self-compassion is available regardless. It doesn't require the season to be going your way. It just requires a willingness to treat yourself as you would treat someone you genuinely care about.

And it turns out that being on your own side is not just emotionally helpful, it is physiologically helpful too. When we are caught in self criticism, the nervous system responds as though we are under threat, which amplifies physical pain and makes it harder to think clearly, make decisions, or find our footing again.

Self-compassion is not a luxury or a reward for when things are going well. It is what makes recovery possible. In my work using EMDR, Emotionally Focused Therapy, and parts informed approaches, I see this every day.

A Moment Before You Go

We have talked about coming close. Now I want to invite you to actually try it, right here, right now, for just a few minutes.

If you can, find a comfortable place to sit or lie down.

Let your body settle.

Take a few slow breaths and see if you can make your exhales just a little longer than your inhales.

Notice what feels tight or heavy, and see if you can breathe a little air into those places, softening just slightly with each exhale.

Take a few more breaths and let yourself land in the moment.

What came up for you while you were reading this?

Did you recognize yourself?

What felt new, and what felt like something you already knew somewhere deep down?

What is your body telling you right now, in this moment?

You might notice a conflict inside you right now.

One part pulling you back to your to do list, back to managing, back to holding it all together.

And another part, quieter, that has been waiting for you to finally turn inward.

Try to notice that without judgment.

What do you need in this moment?

Comfort? Rest? Permission to cry? Reassurance? Space? To be seen?

You are worth the time it takes to slow down and give yourself what you actually need.

You Don't Have to Do This Alone

If you recognized yourself anywhere in this post, you don't have to keep navigating it alone. Sometimes we need someone to sit with us on the mourning bench, someone who can help us move through the hard stuff rather than around it, get to know the parts of ourselves that have been carrying the most weight, and begin to gently rewire the patterns that have been running the show.

That is the kind of therapy I practice, showing up fully, coming close, and doing the work alongside you. I work with adults and couples in exactly these kinds of seasons, the ones that feel relentless and overwhelming, where the body is asking for attention and the nervous system is running on empty. I bring both clinical training and lived experience to this work, and I genuinely believe that change is possible, that these patterns can shift, and that you do not have to carry this by yourself. If you are curious about how chronic stress affects your relationship specifically, I have written about that too.

(https://www.myriadtherapy.com/post/why-couples-fight-about-the-same-things-over-and-over-and-how-to-finally-stop)

If you are ready to take a first step, I invite you to reach out for a free 20-minute consultation. We will talk about what is going on, what you are hoping for, and whether working together feels like a good fit. No pressure, no obligation, just a conversation.

I am based in San Marcos, California, serving clients throughout San Diego County and statewide via telehealth.

And if all of this feels too big or scary to sit with alone, that is what I am here for: to sit with you on your mourning bench.

References

Neff, K. (2011). Self Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself. William Morrow.

Wolterstorff, N. (1987). Lament for a Son. Eerdmans Publishing.

Brown, B. (2010). The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You're Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are. Hazelden Publishing.