I Can't Pretend This Is Fine Anymore 🌿
By Sage Robinson-Miller – Growth Coach – Growing Sage
For years, people told me they didn't know how I did it.
Looking back, I think they were asking a much better question than I realized.
The real question wasn't:
"How are you doing all of this?"
The real question was:
"Why are you doing all of this?"
Because if I'm being completely honest, I shouldn't have been. 🤣
Not for twenty-five years.
For most of my adult life, I worked two full-time careers. On paper, it sounded impressive. In reality, it was a logistical disaster that somehow became my normal. Athletic training isn't exactly a nine-to-five profession. Teaching isn't either. Yet somehow I convinced myself that stacking both on top of each other was a reasonable life plan. Looking back, I honestly don't know if I was ambitious, stubborn, committed, slightly insane, or some combination of all four. 🤣
People would look at my schedule and shake their heads. Coaches. Teachers. Parents. Friends. Family. Complete strangers. Some version of "I don't know how you do it"Â came up over and over again. At the time, I usually took it as a compliment. Looking back, I think they were expressing concern.
The truth is, I became incredibly good at carrying things. Responsibilities. Expectations. Workloads. Commitments. Stress. Pain. I could smile, show up, help people, solve problems, and keep moving long after most people would've tapped out. Somewhere along the way, I started wearing that ability like a badge of honor. I thought it meant I was strong. I thought it meant I was dedicated. I thought it meant I was making a difference.
What I didn't realize was that I was slowly teaching myself that my own needs always came last.
The strange part is that almost nobody knew what was happening behind the scenes. My husband knew pieces of it. A few close friends knew pieces of it. But the overwhelming majority of people I worked with had absolutely no idea. They didn't know about the fatigue, the inflammation, the digestive issues, the stress, or the constant feeling that my body was trying to get my attention. They didn't know because I never told them. I showed up. I smiled. I helped people. I solved problems. I got the job done. That was my identity.
Looking back, it's almost comical how far I would go to avoid taking time off. I worked with fevers over one hundred degrees. I worked through migraines. I worked through grief when my dog died. I worked through periods where my mental and emotional health were hanging on by a thread. I worked when my right knee was so swollen I couldn't jog onto the football field. In twenty-five years, I missed exactly two games, and both of those happened during the serious COVID years when leaving the house wasn't exactly encouraged. Honestly, if COVID hadn't come with government instructions, I probably would've convinced myself to be standing on the sideline in a hazmat suit asking athletes if they had any symptoms. 🤣
At the time, I called all of this dedication. I thought it meant I was dependable. I thought it meant I was strong. I thought it meant I was proving my commitment. The problem is that when you spend enough years overriding your own needs, you stop recognizing that you're doing it. The behavior becomes normal. The sacrifice becomes expected. The exhaustion becomes part of your personality.
I remember occasionally mentioning my health struggles to the handful of people closest to me. I'd tell them my energy was low. I'd tell them my digestive system was acting up. I'd mention another symptom, another flare-up, another warning sign. And every single time I said something, I felt guilty. I felt like I was whining.
Which is absurd when I look back on it now.
My body was essentially pulling the fire alarm.
And I was apologizing for the noise. 🤣
The complicated part is that I genuinely loved what I was doing. That's what makes this story different from a typical burnout story. I wasn't trapped in a career I hated. I loved the athletes. I loved the students. I loved the coaches. I loved helping people. I loved feeling useful. I loved knowing I was making a difference. Because I loved it so much, I kept convincing myself that the sacrifices were justified.
The missed weddings were justified.
The missed anniversaries were justified.
The missed vacations were justified.
The missed friendships were justified.
The missed holidays were justified.
The lack of hobbies, free time, rest, and relationships were justified.
At least that's what I told myself.
The problem is that temporary sacrifices have a funny way of becoming permanent lifestyles.
What I thought would be a short season of pushing hard eventually stretched into twenty-five years. 🤣 Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking whether the trade was worth it and started assuming that this was simply how life worked.
One of the hardest realizations of my life was recognizing that I had confused service with sacrifice. For years, I believed sacrifice was proof that I cared. The more I gave, the more committed I was. The more exhausted I became, the more dedicated I must be. The more I ignored myself, the more noble the whole thing seemed.
Except that's not actually service.
That's self-abandonment.
And those two things are not the same.
Service comes from love. Self-abandonment comes from repeatedly deciding that everyone else's needs matter more than your own. One creates fulfillment. The other creates resentment, exhaustion, illness, and burnout. Unfortunately, I learned that lesson the hard way.
There came a point where I could no longer pretend this lifestyle was sustainable. I could feel where the road was leading, and I didn't like the destination. In fact, I reached a point where everything in me knew that if I didn't make a major change, something serious was going to happen.Â
I could actually smell death coming.Â
Not in a dramatic, movie-scene kind of way. In a very real, very sobering way. I genuinely believed that if I continued pushing at the pace I had been pushing for another couple of years, I was heading toward a major disease, a major health crisis, or some kind of life-altering event that was going to stop me whether I was ready or not.
That might sound dramatic to some people.
It didn't feel dramatic to me.
It felt obvious.
I was watching my health decline.
I was watching my energy disappear.
I was watching my nervous system wave every warning flag it had.
Looking back, I don't think my body was betraying me.
I think it was trying to save me.
And eventually I reached a point where I couldn't unknow what I knew. I couldn't unsee what I was seeing. I couldn't keep telling myself that success automatically meant sustainability. For the first time in my life, I stopped asking:
"How much longer can I do this?"
And started asking:
"Why would I?"
That question changed everything.
Because once I asked it honestly, there was no going back.
The strongest mask I ever wore wasn't strength. It wasn't competence. It wasn't responsibility. It was pretending everything was sustainable. Pretending everything was fine. Pretending there wouldn't be consequences for continually overriding my own needs. There were consequences. There always are.
And eventually I realized something I wish more people understood.
Helping others should never require abandoning yourself.
You should not have to destroy your health to prove your dedication.
You should not have to sacrifice every relationship to prove your commitment.
You should not have to ignore your body to prove your worth.
Those are terrible trades.
Trust me.
I've made them. 🤣
These days, I still care deeply. I still help people. I still show up. But I don't pretend anymore. Not about my health. Not about my energy. Not about my needs. Not about my limits. The irony is that I'm actually more helpful to other people now because I'm finally willing to be honest with myself.
Because there comes a point when pretending you're okay costs more than admitting you're not.
For me, that point arrived when I realized my body had been telling me the truth for years.
I just wasn't ready to listen.
Now I am. ❤️
Reflection Questions
🌿 Where in my life am I pretending something is sustainable when it isn't?
🔥 Have I confused service with sacrifice?
🕯️ What truth has my body been trying to tell me that I've been ignoring?
Thank You for Growing w/Me.
With Love,
– Sage 🌿
Comments