The Wisdom in My Weaknesses: A Personal Account

What 40 years of caregiving - and one long pause - taught me about over-functioning and self-worth.

The Pause I Didn’t Choose

It often takes a collapse to realize how much we’ve been holding.

I provided one-on-one patient care for nearly four decades - compassionate, consistent, and deeply invested.

It was the kind of work that came from the heart, and I wore my ability to show up for others like a badge of honor. I was the reliable one. The helper. The steady hand in someone else’s storm. And then came a storm of my own.

When the COVID-19 pandemic swept through and brought my in-person practice to a sudden halt, I found myself without the familiar rhythms of giving. No patients. No sessions. No place to direct all that care.

And in that stillness, something unexpected emerged: exhaustion. Not just tiredness, but a deep, bone-weary fatigue I hadn’t even known was there.

The Over-Functioning Caregiver

Looking back, I can see it clearly - how I had overfunctioned for years. How my own needs regularly slipped to the bottom of the list. How I poured energy into others without ever checking how full my own cup was.

I didn’t think of it as a weakness. In fact, I thought of it as a strength. People relied on me. I showed up. I went above and beyond. But the truth is:

When a strength is used to avoid our own needs, it becomes a wound.

When the Doing Stopped

The forced pause of the pandemic became, in many ways, a reckoning. With the usual external demands gone, I was left alone with the patterns I had built my life around.

And one day, I asked myself a question I hadn’t dared ask before:

What if all this caring for others has been a way to avoid caring for myself?

That question landed hard. But it opened a door.

I began to trace the ripple effects - not just the impact on my own well-being, though that was undeniable - but the unintended harm to the care I gave. Over-functioning, I realized, doesn’t just drain the caregiver. It diminishes the care.

I wasn’t giving from overflow. I was giving from depletion.

What I’ve Learned from This Weakness

This part of me - the over-functioning, care-taking self - is still with me.

He's not a villain. He's someone who learned early on that love was expressed through doing. That value came from being needed. That safety was found in staying busy for the sake of others.

But now, I see him differently. I understand that his urgency comes from an old story that I don’t need to live by anymore.

I’ve learned that true compassion begins at home.

That my needs are not an inconvenience.

That rest is not selfish.

And that when I care for myself first, I show up for others with more clarity,

more joy, and far more presence than I ever did in my over-functioning years.

How the Pause Led Me to Coaching

In the quiet space that followed the closing of my hands-on practice, I began to ask deeper questions - not just about how I cared for others but how I wanted to live moving forward.

That pause - and the reckoning it brought - led me to coaching. At first, it felt like a new path. But in many ways, it was a return to something truer: a way of supporting others that honored both their wisdom and my boundaries.

Coaching, by its very design, is built on a powerful truth:

Every person is the expert of their own life and responsible for their own life.

That simple truth has been life-giving for me. It prevents me from falling into the old pattern of over-functioning. It invites me to sit beside, not carry. To ask, not assume. To witness, not rescue.

In coaching, I hold space - not solutions. I offer presence - not pressure. And in doing so, I’ve found a way of being that supports others while still honoring myself.

It’s work that feels aligned, sustainable, and deeply human.

An Invitation to You

Maybe you know this pattern too - the constant tending to others, the silent depletion, the ache you ignore because there’s always something else to do.

If that feels familiar, I want to gently ask you:

What might change if you saw your own well-being as just as sacred as the people you care for?

What if your rest and restoration were part of the healing you offer the world?

A Quiet Closing

These days, I listen more closely to myself. I check in. I pause. I ask what I need - not just what others need from me.

Sometimes, I still hear the old voice pushing me to do more. But now, I have a new response:

“Not yet. First, I care for me.”

Reflection Prompt

Take a few moments with this question in your journal, or simply hold it in your heart as you walk or sit quietly today:

“Where in my life am I over-functioning, and what is it costing me?”

Follow it with:

“What might shift if I allowed myself to matter just as much as everyone else?”

A Self-Care Practice: “The Cup Check”

Here’s a simple, compassionate practice you can return to daily:

Pause. Sit quietly for just 2–3 minutes.
Place your hand on your heart or belly. Close your eyes.
Ask yourself: “Where is my energy level right now - empty, half-full, or overflowing?”
Then ask: “What do I need right now to care for myself?” (This might be water, a walk, a boundary, a nap, or simply permission to do less.)
Commit to one small act of nourishment today.