I'm Exhausted. But It's Fine. Anyway, How Are You?

Jayme Scarfo (LPC, CEDS, CAMS Trained)

July 13, 2026

The women I'm thinking about don't fall apart in my office. They show up early. They come in with the problem already named and a list of everything they've tried to fix it. Googled it, journaled about it, cut the wine, added the protein. They have a system. They almost always have a system.

And they're still stuck.

The depression screen comes back moderate. Anxiety, moderate. Trauma history, low. On paper, nobody's alarmed. She's functioning. She's showing up. That's the trap, because functioning is the thing everyone rewards and nobody questions. She's not sick enough to worry about. She's just tired. She's just a mom.

The thing is, it's never the scores that tell me how much these women are really struggling. It's the joke she makes right after she says something very true. The unconscious eye roll. The "well, I can't exactly tell anyone that." The little half-second where the you know what I mean slips out. That's the real tell. The competence is obvious, but it's also the armor, and every so often it drops for a second, and you see how tired she is underneath it.

She already has the answers.

The hard part is that her logic is sound. She's done the work, or tried to, and she's still wiped out. So the last thing she needs is another intervention or another book.

What she needs is someone to sit with her in it for a minute. To say, yeah, that sounds exhausting, and you're not crazy. She's been so busy managing herself that no one has just let her be a person who's struggling.

Loneliness doesn't show up on a form or an intake

What many of these women have in common is that they are lonely, and it's not because there's no one around. There are supportive partners, loving kids, coworkers, and a slightly unhinged group chat. But the kind of support where you can fall apart, where someone asks how you are and actually waits for the answer, that's rare. Or it's been so long she's stopped expecting it, which is worse.

Some of it is time. There aren't enough hours. But part of it is that she's learned, correctly, that if she puts the competence down, people get uncomfortable. So she keeps it on. And she gets lonelier.

In my intake, I ask everyone the same question. What brings you joy? I always think it's going to be the easy one. It never is. There's this pause, and then, almost embarrassed, "god, I don't know." Every single time that stops me. A woman who can recite every one of her kids' schedules from memory, yet cannot name one thing she does for herself.

So I soften it. You're not alone; a lot of people land right there. What did you used to do? If you had a whole day off tomorrow and nobody needed anything, what would you do with it?

And so often the answer is, honestly? I'd sleep. I'd just sleep. I haven't really slept in years.

Your body will make the time.

Something I say a lot, especially in eating disorder work: right now, your body is okay. Right now, it's carrying you. But your body keeps a tab. If you don't give it what it needs, it will take what it needs eventually, usually at the worst possible time and in the worst possible way.

You can rest now, or your body will pick the moment for you later. And your body is not going to wait until you finish the project at work or your best friend's wedding planning is finally finished. That's not a threat; it's just how bodies work. And it isn't only about eating disorders. It's the woman who hasn't taken a day off in three years. It's the mom who can't remember the last time she did something just because she wanted to.

You're allowed to eat the sandwich.

I started saying this to myself when my first baby was colicky, the kind of crying that reorganizes your whole nervous system. I had to keep reminding myself: you can take the shower. You can eat the sandwich. The world doesn't stop because the baby is crying.

I say it to clients now. Usually I get a laugh, a slow nod, an "I know." Because they do know. It's just so hard to stop doing the thing that makes everyone else's day easier.

We raised so many women to be capable and self-sacrificing, and we praised them most when they needed it least. Somewhere in there, they learned that their worth lies in what they hand to other people. And now they're across from me at 38 or 45, running everything, and they can't tell me one thing they'd do for themselves.

I just wish someone had told them sooner that they don't have to earn the chair they're sitting in. That constantly prioritizing others over yourself isn't admirable or noble; in fact, it's ultimately unsustainable. That it's okay to let the baby cry for a minute so you can eat.

You're allowed to eat the sandwich. When's the last time you rested?

Jayme Scarfo, LPC, CEDS, CAMS-Trained, is the therapist for women who look like they have it handled and are quietly running on empty. She treats trauma and eating disorders in high-achieving women and moms across Arizona, and yes, she will tell you to eat the sandwich. Schedule with her at empowercc.clientsecure.me.