You don’t see it yet.
You still think you’re just tired. A bit overwhelmed.Maybe just need a long weekend, a good cry, or a slightly better pillow.
You’ve told yourself this at least 147 times.
“I just need a break. I’ll be fine.”
Spoiler: you are not fine.
And I wish I could gently (or not so gently) shake your shoulders and say this:
You are not weak.
But you are also absolutely not okay.
You’re still showing up, of course. Still being the “reliable one.” Still saving everyone else. Still doing that weird customer service voice when you’re on the brink of tears.
But something’s shifting. And not in the spiritual awakening kind of way. In the “why am I crying in the loo because someone asked me how I am?” kind of way.
Your patience? Gone.
Your energy? MIA.
You’ve stopped replying to texts, not because you hate your friends—because your social battery is being run on fumes and false hope.
And yet, you keep going.
Another shift.
Another late.
Another weekend.
You say “I’m good thanks, you?” with the kind of smile that could win a BAFTA.
But let’s be honest: under the uniform, the fake calm, and the glazed-over professionalism…
You’re wrecked.
Not “bit tired.”
Not “needs a nap.”
I mean spiritual asystole.
And no—it’s not your fault.
You’ve been praised for it, haven’t you?
For pushing through.
For being “so strong.”
For going “above and beyond” when you should’ve gone to bed.
So of course, you thought this was the deal.
Burn yourself to the ground and call it resilience.
But here’s the inconvenient truth:
At some point—and it will come—you’ll crack.
Maybe it’ll be subtle.
Maybe it’ll be dramatic and involve tears in a hospital car park and an awkward nod from a porter who’s seen it all.
Whatever form it takes, that moment will feel terrifying.
But also… honest.
Like your nervous system finally getting the last word.
And that? That moment isn’t the end.
It’s the start.
The start of saying “no” without needing a PowerPoint presentation.
The start of realising you’re more than what you do for other people.
The start of healing—not in a soft-focus, wellness-influencer way—but in the messy, real, “I just stayed in bed and didn’t feel guilty about it” kind of way.
But you know what…?
You don’t need to prove your worth by falling apart quietly and still making it to handover.
You don’t need to wait until the breakdown is fully underway to deserve care.
You’re allowed to rest.
You’re allowed to stop.
You’re allowed to be soft, slow, supported.
Even when you forget it—you still deserve it.
With love,
The You Who Finally Said “No Thanks” to Complete Collapse
– Duty of Care
Duty of Care 
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