Thought of the Week: What I Mean When I Say I’m Tired

Have you ever felt so exhausted that even the idea of thinking a single thought feels impossible? That’s the kind of tired I mean when I say, “I’m tired.” It’s not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep can fix or a coffee can chase away. It’s deeper than that every-cell-in-my-body tired. The kind of tired where it feels like my brain and body have run a marathon, except the finish line never comes.

For me, and many other neurodivergent individuals (and those with chronic illnesses), this profound exhaustion often stems from the invisible work of managing our energy in the workplace. Every day is a careful balancing act, deciding where to spend our limited energy and what to hold back on. And let’s be honest, workplaces aren’t exactly designed with neurodivergent energy management in mind. Take meetings, for example. On the surface, they’re just another part of the day. But for me, they can feel like an endurance test. The bright lights of the meeting room, the hum of multiple conversations happening at once, the pressure to contribute in real time, it all adds up. My brain goes into overdrive, processing sensory input, monitoring my tone, and trying to decide if now is the right time to speak or if I’ve missed a social cue. By the time the meeting ends, I’m not just drained — I’m at 0%, the battery is empty.

Then there’s the “human cost” of socialising. Workplace social interactions, from team lunches to coffee chats, are wonderful for building relationships, but they also take a toll. Each interaction feels like a performance, where I’m carefully crafting responses, managing facial expressions, and navigating the often unspoken social rules of the workplace. By the end of the day, I feel like I’ve given everything I have to everyone else, with nothing left for myself.

But what makes this kind of tired so challenging is how hard it is to explain. When I say, “I’m tired,” it doesn’t just mean I need to sleep, it means I’m completely depleted, mentally and emotionally. It’s that new-parent, could-cry-or-scream level of exhaustion. It’s not about laziness or a lack of motivation. It’s about the reality of how much energy it takes to function in a world that often demands more than I have to give. And here’s where the workplace comes in: how often do we really talk about energy management? About what it takes to show up and do the work, especially for those of us who experience the world differently?

My thought this week is questioning how can we make workplaces more understanding of the invisible energy costs that so many of us carry? What would it look like if we created environments where people could say, “I’m tired,” without fear of being judged as lazy or uncommitted?

For me, it starts with honesty and connection. Sharing experiences like this helps normalise conversations about energy, burnout, and the unique challenges many people face. But it also requires workplaces to listen and adapt. Whether it’s offering flexibility, creating quieter spaces, or simply fostering a culture of empathy, small changes can make a big difference.

So, the next time you hear a colleague say, “I’m tired,” pause before jumping to conclusions. Ask what they need. Reflect on how you can create space for them, and yourself, to recharge.

Because when I say I’m tired, I’m not just asking for rest. I’m asking for grace. And I think we could all use a little more of that.