Trueform Therapy

Tag: Counselling

  • Why Am I So Tired All the Time? It Might Not Be Just Burnout

    Feeling tired all the time isn’t always about sleep. You might be getting eight hours of sleep, taking magnesium, cancelling plans like it’s a sport, and still dragging yourself through the day.

    People assume tiredness means you need more rest. And sure, sometimes that’s true. But if you’ve already slowed down, said no to things, kept your evenings free, and you still feel like you’ve been hit by a truck… something else might be going on.

    Some kinds of tired come from the inside. The effort of always holding it together. Smiling when you don’t feel like it. Managing how other people feel so things don’t blow up. Shrinking parts of yourself to keep the peace. Living in a body that never quite gets to let go.

    That kind of fatigue doesn’t show up in your bloodwork. It builds up quietly… until even small things feel like too much.

    And if that’s where you are, exhausted for reasons you can’t quite name, you’re not imagining it. There’s more to it. And it matters.

    You’ve Tried Sleeping, Supplements, and Slowing Down. Still Tired.

    You’ve done the things.

    You’re sleeping better. You’ve taken breaks. You bought the overpriced supplements. You’ve said no to plans, cleared your evenings, and even tried meditation (though it mostly made you think about snacks). And still, you’re tired.

    Not just a bit sluggish. More like walking through molasses in your own life. Smiling, nodding, functioning, everything feels heavier than it should.

    That kind of exhaustion doesn’t always come with a neat explanation. It doesn’t mean something’s wrong with your body or physical health, but perhaps you’re carrying more than it’s letting on.

    The next part of this post gets into the hidden layers of emotional fatigue, especially the ones people don’t usually talk about.

    Emotional Exhaustion Has Layers. Here Are Some You Might Not See

    There’s a difference between being tired and being emptied out. If you’ve ever felt worn thin for no clear reason, there’s probably more at play than just stress or poor sleep.

    Emotional exhaustion doesn’t come from one thing. It’s made up of a hundred small efforts your body makes to keep you safe, most of them so familiar you barely notice them anymore.

    Here are a few patterns I see often, especially in therapy rooms.

    The Fawn Response

    You keep the peace. You soften your tone. You overthink all your messages before you send them out. You feel responsible for how other people feel, even when you know you’re not.
    That constant scanning: “Did I upset them? Should I have phrased that differently? Are they okay?” It keeps your body on alert, even when nothing’s happening.
    It looks like being kind, but it feels like walking on eggshells in your own skin.

    Masking

    Maybe you’re neurodivergent. Or maybe you’ve just learnt it’s safer to keep certain parts of yourself hidden.
    You become who people need you to be. You mirror, manage, and perform. Even around people you like.
    When you open up about this, people might accuse you of faking it. They don’t understand that for you, it’s about survival. And that doing it every day is exhausting.

    Emotional Shutdown

    You don’t cry. You don’t get angry. You don’t feel much at all.
    Deep down, you might care very deeply, but your body has learnt it’s safer to freeze than feel.
    You function, but there’s a kind of dullness underneath. And that frozen state still burns energy. It just hides it well.

    Overwhelm That Never Got Processed

    You’ve had hard things happen, and you kept going. You were “fine.”
    But your body never got the chance to come down. You’re still carrying the tension, the shock, and the tears that never had anywhere to go.

    People might say you’re overreacting, but you don’t feel in control of it. Your nervous system is still mid-story. It didn’t get to finish what it started.

    3 Signs You’re Experiencing Emotional Fatigue

    You feel drained after socialising, even with people you love
    You enjoy their company, and you want to be there. But by the end, you feel like you’ve run a marathon with a polite face on.

    You wake up tired, even after a full night’s sleep
    Sleep isn’t touching it. The tiredness feels baked in, like your body never really powers down.

    You keep thinking, “What’s wrong with me?”
    You’ve ruled out the basics. You’ve tried the practical stuff. And you still feel off, but you can’t explain it.

    Instead of believing the voice in your head that says you’re just being lazy or too sensitive, think: It’s your system trying to cope with more than it’s built to hold alone.

    What Helps (And What Doesn’t)

    ❌ What usually doesn’t help:

    – Forcing productivity when your system is already flooded
    – Treating emotional fatigue like a sleep problem
    – Blaming yourself for not being able to “bounce back”
    – Making rest another thing to feel bad about

    You’ve probably tried to fix it by pushing through or by trying harder to relax. Neither one really works when your nervous system’s still running in survival mode.

    ✅ What sometimes helps:

    – Giving yourself space to not be useful all the time
    – Feeling safe with someone who isn’t trying to fix you
    – Naming what you’re actually feeling, instead of skipping past it
    – Therapy that focuses on nervous system safety, not just “coping tools”

    Sometimes healing starts with letting your body know it’s allowed to slow down. So forget trying to find the “perfect routine”; your body didn’t sign up for a marathon, it just wants a decent nap and maybe a snack.

    Mini Practice

    When you feel overwhelmed or weirdly tired, try asking yourself:
    “What am I carrying right now that no one can see?”

    You don’t have to answer it perfectly. Just notice what comes up.

    What We Explore in Therapy (If You’re Curious)

    If you think that therapy for this kind of tiredness is giving you tips and productivity hacks, you’re wrong, and you probably just signed up for a very expensive pep talk. Therapy in this case should be about having a space where your body doesn’t have to perform. Where you don’t have to keep explaining yourself.

    Here are some of the things we might explore together:

    – Why your body still feels on edge, even when nothing’s “wrong”
    – What it’s like to stop performing and start noticing what you feel
    – How to rest in a way that feels nourishing, not numb
    – What boundaries can look like when they’re based on care, not fear
    – How to make space for anger, grief, or need without shame

    You don’t need to hit a breaking point to start. If you’re tired of being tired, that’s enough.

    Final Thought: You Don’t Have to Earn Rest

    Some tiredness doesn’t go away with sleep. It starts to lift when your system feels safe. When you stop holding your breath. When someone finally sees what you’ve been carrying and allows you to put it down for a moment.

    You don’t have to explain why you’re tired. You don’t have to prove it. And you definitely don’t have to wait until things get worse to start giving yourself a break.

    If you don’t know where to begin, that’s okay. You’re allowed to begin exactly where you are.

  • Here’s exactly how your brain filters the world, based on what you focus on

    You might think of your brain as a thinking organ. It is. But it’s also a pattern hoarder with zero chill. It quietly collects whatever you keep showing it — thoughts, emotions, behaviours — and decides, “Ah, this must be important.” Not because it makes sense, but because it keeps happening.

    This isn’t a metaphor. It’s structure. Neural pathways strengthen through repetition. The more often a particular network is activated (the one that predicts failure in advance just in case), the more efficient and automatic it becomes. Not because it’s helpful. Just because it’s been rehearsed.

    In other words, your brain is running a custom algorithm. And like any algorithm, it’s not judging the quality of your input. It’s just learning from what you click on the most.

    Pattern, Not Coincidence

    There’s a part of your brain called the reticular activating system, or RAS. It doesn’t get much attention, but it’s doing a lot of heavy lifting behind the scenes. Its main job is to filter the endless stream of sensory information you’re exposed to and highlight what seems relevant.

    How does it know what’s relevant? You tell it. Not with a formal request, but through repetition. If you’ve spent the last few weeks fixating on worst-case scenarios, the RAS assumes those are important and starts pointing them out everywhere. It’s not trying to ruin your day. It’s just following instructions.

    This is why a random comment might feel sharper than it should, or why certain themes seem to keep showing up in your relationships. The brain isn’t uncovering deep truths. It’s just tagging familiar patterns and pushing them to the front of your awareness.

    What feels like intuition can sometimes be training. And what looks like coincidence is often a mental filter doing its job a little too well.

    Focus Leaves a Trace

    Your brain doesn’t ask whether a thought is useful. It just asks how often it shows up. If it sees the same idea walking past its mental front door every day, it assumes you’re into it and starts rolling out the red carpet.

    This is how worry becomes efficient. Comparison too. Spend enough time thinking about what might go wrong, what everyone else is doing better, or how you’re probably the problem, and your brain goes, “Ah, excellent, I’ve seen this before. Let me speed things up for you.”

    The same process applies to patience, boundaries, or checking in with yourself before replying to that one text. These pathways also get stronger with repetition, though they might feel less natural at first. Not because they’re less you, but because your mental muscles have been at the gym for entirely different workouts.

    Neural efficiency is not a compliment. It just means your brain is saving energy by automating whatever you rehearse the most, like a slightly overeager intern who alphabetised your worst-case scenarios and now updates them daily.

    Paying Attention as Daily Practice

    You don’t need to stage a full mental intervention to shift your attention. It doesn’t have to be deep, dramatic, or perfectly timed. Subtle counts. So does quiet. Most of the work begins by simply noticing where your attention keeps landing when you’re not trying to steer it.

    If your mind drifts toward planning, pleasing, scanning for threats, or composing an imaginary argument with someone who hasn’t texted back, that’s not a personal failure. That’s data. Your brain is just showing you which patterns it’s gotten good at.

    The goal isn’t to control every thought. It’s to get curious about what’s showing up most often and whether those patterns feel helpful, familiar, exhausting, or all three.

    Some practical ways to begin:

    • Make time to sit with yourself before jumping into input. No podcasts, no notifications. Just a few minutes of your own mind being weird in peace.
    • Keep a simple log. You don’t need insights. Just track what kinds of thoughts or feelings keep circling back.
    • Open a Notion page or grab a notebook and list qualities you’d like to get more familiar with. Maybe it’s calm. Maybe it’s self-respect. Maybe it’s remembering to eat before 4pm. No need to force it. Just put them where you can see them.

    Attention is a practice, not a performance. You’re not trying to get it right. You’re just showing up often enough for your brain to notice.

    Focus as a Form of Care

    Identity isn’t a fixed thing. It’s built through repetition in the small, ordinary ways you return to what matters, even when it doesn’t feel urgent or dramatic.

    Focus, in this sense, becomes a kind of quiet loyalty. Each time you redirect your attention, you’re reinforcing a thread that ties you to yourself. Not to a polished version, but to one that feels more deliberate, more aligned with what steadies you.

    You might notice this in the way you come back to a boundary, even when it’s uncomfortable. Or in how you reread something that helps you feel more grounded. Or in the moments when you let a thought sit without rushing to label it or fix it.

    These small choices leave a trace. Over time, they create a shape that feels less like reaction and more like rhythm.

    Attention has momentum. The more often you land somewhere, the easier it becomes to return. Over time, that path gets smoother, more familiar, and more automatic. This happens not because the destination is always useful, but because it’s been practised.

    Of course, this isn’t a fix. It’s a framework. A way to notice what’s shaping your inner landscape without needing to force it into something else.

    If you do nothing else, just pay attention to where your focus tends to drift when you’re not directing it. That alone can interrupt a loop. You don’t need to change the pattern in that moment. You just need to see it clearly enough that repetition stops being invisible.

    That’s where something different can begin.

  • Why Am I Feeling This? Learning to Decode Your Emotions

    You’re not crazy for crying at a yoghurt commercial.

    Or snapping at your partner over a dishwasher situation that was really about… everything else.

    Maybe you’ve felt totally overwhelmed lately. But when someone asks how you are, all you can say is “I’m just tired.” Except it’s not just tired. It’s something messier. Sadness? Anger? Guilt with a splash of existential dread?

    Most of us were never taught what emotions really are, let alone how to understand emotions when they show up. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, disconnected, or stuck in a loop of “What is wrong with me?”, you’re not alone.

    This post is for you if:

    • You’ve ever said, “I don’t even know what I’m feeling.”
    • You grew up in a “We don’t do feelings” kind of home.
    • You’re trying to function, but something inside feels… off.

    The truth is: emotions aren’t random. And they’re definitely not a sign you’re broken.
    They’re messages. From you, to you.

    In this post, we’ll explore:

    • What emotions are actually for
    • Why you might struggle to name or express them
    • How to gently start decoding your emotional world
    • Why therapy can help. Even if you don’t feel “bad enough” for it

    Let’s begin with the basics: what are emotions, really?

    What Are Emotions, Really? (And Why Should You Care?)

    Let’s clear something up: emotions are not the enemy.

    They’re not weaknesses to conquer or distractions to suppress. They’re not even “good” or “bad.”
    They’re data.

    Your emotions are your nervous system’s way of saying, “Hey, something’s happening. Pay attention.”

    Think of them as the body’s internal notification system:

    • Anxiety might mean “something feels unsafe or unpredictable.”
    • Sadness could be saying, “I’ve lost something that mattered.”
    • Anger? Often, it’s “a boundary’s been crossed.”

    But here’s the problem: if you were never taught how to decode your emotional notifications, they start piling up. Like 47 unopened emails from your inner self.

    And when those feelings don’t get heard, they don’t just disappear. They often turn into:

    • Chronic stress or burnout
    • Disconnection from yourself and others
    • Physical symptoms (hello, headaches and tight shoulders)
    • Patterns of behaviour that don’t make sense — until you look underneath

    This is why learning emotional awareness isn’t fluff. It’s survival. It helps you:

    • Make decisions that are actually right for you
    • Build relationships that feel safe
    • Stop living on autopilot or constantly second-guessing yourself

    Knowing what you feel is the first step to knowing what you need.
    And when you start listening, everything else starts to shift.

    Why Is It So Hard to Know What I’m Feeling?

    If you’ve ever sat in a therapy session and thought, “I don’t know what I feel. I just feel… off,” you’re not alone.

    Many people struggle to name their emotions. In fact, there’s a word for that: alexithymia. It literally means “no words for emotions.” And while it’s sometimes linked to neurodivergence or trauma, it can also show up in anyone who didn’t grow up in a home where feelings were named, welcomed, or made sense of.

    If your childhood version of “talking about feelings” looked more like:

    • “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about”
    • “You’re too sensitive”
    • Or silence so loud you could hear it ringing in your chest

    …then emotional awareness isn’t something you’re bad at.
    It’s something you were never taught.

    Sometimes people with alexithymia or emotional disconnect aren’t cold or unfeeling. They’re overwhelmed, shut down, or have had to over-rely on logic to feel safe. That’s a nervous system strategy, not a personality flaw.

    The good news? Emotional awareness can be learnt.
    And no, it doesn’t involve staring in a mirror and repeating affirmations (unless that’s your thing; you do you).

    It starts with small things, like:

    • Expanding your emotional vocabulary beyond “fine” and “stressed”
    • Noticing how different emotions feel in your body
    • Asking yourself, “What happened right before I started feeling like this?”

    So if you’re someone who often says “I don’t know” when asked how you feel, that’s not a dead end.
    It’s just a starting point.

    What Happens When You Suppress Emotions for Too Long?

    You don’t stop feeling just because you stop noticing your feelings. Emotions are sneaky like that. When we suppress them, either consciously or because we were never taught how to process them, they don’t just disappear. They go underground. And eventually, they come out sideways.

    Sometimes that looks like:

    • Snapping at someone for breathing too loudly
    • Crying over a burnt piece of toast
    • Getting physically ill with stress-related symptoms
    • Feeling constantly “on edge” but having no clue why

    Suppressing emotions over time doesn’t make you stronger. It just makes you tired. And often? Burnt out, shut down, or stuck in a loop of overthinking.

    It’s also worth knowing: long-term emotional suppression can have a real impact on your mental health. Research links it to higher rates of anxiety, depression, and even physical health issues. Your nervous system wasn’t designed to carry all your feelings in a locked box forever, especially without a key.

    This doesn’t mean you need to start “feeling your feelings” 24/7 or become an emotional detective overnight. But recognising that your emotions have a job and that job is to signal what matters can shift how you respond to them.

    Think of emotions like internal emails. You might not want to open them, but ignoring them usually leads to a messy inbox and a few “URGENT” subject lines showing up eventually.

    What Does It Actually Mean to “Feel Your Feelings”?

    We hear this advice all the time. “You need to feel your feelings.” Okay… but what does that actually mean? Do we sit in a dark room and cry for hours? Do we punch pillows? Journal furiously until the pen runs out?

    Not necessarily.

    Feeling your feelings means making space to notice what’s going on inside you, instead of pushing it away, distracting yourself, or pretending everything’s fine.

    It means:

    • Noticing the tightness in your chest and wondering if it’s sadness or stress
    • Naming the hot flush in your cheeks as anger, not just “being dramatic”
    • Letting yourself admit “I’m hurt” without trying to justify why you shouldn’t be

    It’s the opposite of bottling things up or gaslighting yourself. And it’s not just for “emotional people.” In fact, people who’ve gone numb or shut down often need this the most, especially if you relate to alexithymia, which is when identifying or describing your emotions feels like trying to read a book in a language you never learnt.

    Feeling your feelings isn’t indulgent. It’s intelligence. Your emotions carry information about what you care about, what you need, and what might need to change. If you can learn to decode them, they become less overwhelming and more like internal signposts.

    Next, we’ll get into the how. Gently. No complicated journaling prompts or dramatic soul-searching required.

    How Do You Start Feeling Your Feelings?

    So, how do you actually get better at identifying your emotions, especially if they feel like a murky soup instead of anything nameable?

    The first step is: don’t aim for perfection. Aim for curiosity. You don’t need to become a walking feelings encyclopaedia overnight. But you can learn to tune in and get closer to what’s going on inside.

    1. Start by tracking energy and pleasantness

    If naming emotions feels impossible, try this:
    Ask yourself two things: Do I feel high or low energy? And is this sensation pleasant or unpleasant?

    This helps to narrow things down without needing an exact label. From there, you might get closer to something like tired but content, agitated, or flat. These aren’t just labels; they’re doorways.

    This simple approach is used in the free How We Feel app (https://howwefeel.org/), which was created by therapists, scientists, and people who’ve struggled with emotional awareness themselves. It helps you check in using a visual grid and, based on your answers, offers emotion words you might not have considered.

    2. Use a feelings wheel

    You’ve probably seen one floating around online: a colourful chart with basic emotions in the centre (sad, happy, angry) and more specific ones branching out. The feelings wheel helps you move from vague to precise.

    Try starting with something general: “I feel bad.”
    Then use the wheel to go deeper: is it frustrated? Lonely? Overwhelmed?

    You’re not aiming for the “right” answer. You’re aiming to get closer.

    3. Talk out loud (or write it down)

    If your inner world is a mystery, sometimes saying it out loud, even to yourself, helps. Try this:
    “I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I know I’m…” And then fill in the blank with whatever comes. Stuck? Add context. “I just got home, and my chest feels heavy. I think I wanted today to go differently.”

    You can also voice memo yourself or jot notes in your phone. Think of it as gathering clues.

    4. Therapy (yes, obviously)

    Sometimes, the most powerful way to learn how to feel is by being asked gentle questions in a safe space. Not everyone had that growing up. Therapy can offer it now, especially if your go-to response has always been to numb, shut down, or perform instead of feeling.

    Why This Matters (And Isn’t Just Navel-Gazing)

    It’s easy to think emotional awareness is a luxury. Something for people with too much time or too many feelings. But here’s the truth: when you can name what you feel, you’re better able to meet your needs.

    This isn’t about turning yourself into a walking mood board. It’s about understanding why you’re snapping at your partner, why you’re exhausted by 10am, or why you keep saying yes to things that drain you.

    For many of us emotional fluency wasn’t taught. In fact, emotional expression may have been shamed, ignored, or simply… lost in translation. Add to that a culture that rewards pushing through over slowing down, and no wonder so many of us live from the neck up.

    Learning to name your emotions doesn’t fix everything. But it does give you a map and maybe even a way home to yourself.

    And if you’ve tried every journal prompt and mood tracker out there and still feel stuck? That’s okay too. That’s where therapy can help.

    Not because you’re broken but because you were never taught the language of your inner world. And we can learn it together.

    Want support figuring out your emotional landscape?
    I work with people who feel like they’re “too much” or “not enough,” sometimes at the same time. Whether you’re emotionally fluent or still stuck at “I feel meh,” I’d love to help.
    Visit www.trueformtherapy.co.uk to find out more or book a consultation.