One Minute I’m Fine. The Next, I’m Not. And I Don’t Even Know Why.

One minute I’m fine.

Not pretending. Not powering through. Actually fine.

And then the next minute, something shifts. Nothing happened. No phone call. No bad news. No crisis. Just a sudden heaviness. A fog. A feeling I can’t quite name but I know it doesn’t feel good.

And then, almost immediately, the guilt kicks in.

Because here’s the thing. I don’t have “real” problems. Not the kind we all quietly measure ourselves against. I’m healthy. My family is okay. The lights are on. The calendar is full. Life is moving forward.

So why do I feel this way?

Is it my age? Is it hormones? Is it menopause knocking softly one minute and slamming the door the next? Is it exhaustion from carrying too many thoughts in my head at once? Or is it simply December. The noise. The pressure. The end-of-year everything.

I find myself asking, Am I being selfish? Ungrateful? Dramatic?

But then I stop. Because maybe this isn’t selfishness. Maybe this is honesty.

At this stage of life, we’re not falling apart. We’re carrying more. Emotionally. Mentally. Invisibly. We are the keepers of schedules, memories, expectations, family dynamics, aging parents, children growing up, marriages evolving, friendships changing, bodies changing, energy changing.

That’s not nothing.

Some days the weight lands softly. Other days it lands all at once.

The hard part is that it sneaks up on you. You don’t see it coming. You’re answering emails, folding laundry, making plans, laughing at something silly and then suddenly your chest feels tight and you think, What is wrong with me?

Nothing is wrong with you.

You are human. You are layered. You are tired in ways sleep doesn’t fix.

And yes, hormones absolutely deserve their own paragraph. Because menopause doesn’t always show up as hot flashes and night sweats. Sometimes it shows up as irritability, sadness, anxiety, overwhelm, tears for no reason, or a deep sense of being emotionally fried. No warning. No logic. Just a wave that passes through and leaves you wondering who you were five minutes ago.

Add the holidays. The end-of-year reflection. The quiet inventory we all take whether we mean to or not. What worked. What didn’t. Who disappointed us. Who we disappointed. What we thought life would look like by now.

It’s a lot.

So here’s what I’m learning. Slowly. Imperfectly.

You don’t need a catastrophic reason to feel overwhelmed. Small feelings are still real feelings. Tiny problems still take up space in your nervous system. And comparison is the fastest way to invalidate yourself into silence.

Instead of asking “Do I deserve to feel this way?” I’m trying to ask “What do I need right now?”

Sometimes the answer is rest. Sometimes it’s a walk. Sometimes it’s crying in the car for exactly three songs. Sometimes it’s saying no without explaining. Sometimes it’s turning off the noise and letting the day be unfinished.

And sometimes it’s simply acknowledging the moment without trying to fix it.

I’m also learning that relief doesn’t come from solving everything. It comes from softening. Lowering the bar. Letting the day be what it is instead of what I thought it should be.

Here are a few gentle resets that actually help when the feeling hits:

Pause instead of pushing. Five slow breaths. Not to calm down, but to come back into your body.

Name it. Even if the name is “I don’t know what this is.” Naming it takes away some of its power.

Reduce stimulation. Fewer screens. Less noise. One thing at a time.

Move gently. A walk. Stretching. Fresh air. Movement that isn’t punishment.

Lower expectations. Especially your own. Today does not need your best version.

Talk to someone safe. Not someone who fixes. Someone who listens.

And most importantly, stop apologizing to yourself for having feelings.

This season of life isn’t about being unbreakable. It’s about being honest. It’s about noticing when you’re okay and when you’re not and trusting that both can exist without judgment.

One minute you’re fine. The next you’re not.

And that doesn’t mean anything is wrong with you.

It means you’re paying attention.

And that, in itself, is a form of healing.