The Invisible Work That’s Draining You - And How to Reclaim Yourself

Image by Antonio López from Pixabay

Some of the most vital work in this world - caregiving, creative expression, emotional holding - goes unseen, undervalued, and under-supported. And yet, it’s the very work that gives life its colour, clarity, and meaning.

This piece is a reclamation of that work, and of the value we bring when we create, care, and hold space, even when the world treats it as optional.

If you’ve ever felt dismissed for doing “too little” or exhausted from doing “too much” read on. You’re not imagining it. And you’re not alone.

While I could write a book on the invisibility of caregiving, there’s another form of labour that’s just as overlooked: creative labour, the meaning-making work.

Not the logistical or emotional load of daily life, but the work that tends to beauty, truth, and resonance. The writing, painting, singing, storytelling, healing, and dreaming.

This is the work that brings colour to the grey. That helps people feel when they’ve gone numb. That makes sense of the unspeakable. That offers reflection, connection, and clarity in a chaotic world.

And yet, like caregiving, it’s often treated as expendable. Optional. Indulgent, even. People roll their eyes when someone becomes a counsellor instead of a consultant, a naturopath instead of a medical doctor, or scoff when someone chooses to become a yoga teacher or herbalist, as if it’s not “real” work. Those who write poetry instead of code, or paint instead of manage teams, are often seen as idealistic or impractical.

And yet, those same people spend thousands on retreats, therapy, music, and self-help books - consuming the very medicine they once dismissed, without recognising the cost to the ones who create it.

As Martha Beck says, creative endeavours only get celebrated when they earn profit or prestige. Otherwise, they’re “just a hobby.” Something for spare time, after the “real” work is done.

Never mind that those same people spend thousands on holidays, therapy, books, and music, consuming creative output without considering the cost to the ones who make it.

But here’s the truth: creative work is labour too. It’s emotional labour, soul labour.

And like caregiving, it’s often not appreciated until it stops. Until the blog post isn’t written, the healing circle isn’t held, the poem isn’t offered.

When the energy that once held the space quietly withdraws, something vital is lost.

The World Loves the Output - But Forgets the Person

The world celebrates the cared-for child, the tidy home, the beautiful meal, the thoughtful post, the wise voice.

But it often forgets the person behind it all, the one who skipped lunch, stayed up late, got called “too much” or “too intense”, and carried what no one else saw.

When judged by those who’ve never walked in those shoes, it cuts deep.

These days, I see judgment for what it is: a mirror, not a measure. People project their own fears, not truth.

But I’m done shrinking to keep the peace. If showing up fully means being “too much” or “too little” so be it. Peace that requires self-abandonment isn’t peace. It’s erasure.

The Real Question Isn’t “Why Are You So Tired?”

The real question is: Why do we expect so much from those doing the most, and offer so little in return?

Why is the work that holds families, classrooms, communities, and creative spaces together dismissed until it’s gone?

If you’re doing that work - caregiving, creative, or both - I want you to know:

You’re not weak. You’re not overreacting.

You’re not too much. You’re not imagining it.

You’re carrying what others don’t even realise needs carrying.

And that matters. You matter.

I’ve spent years learning to live more from the inside out, to soften my grip and trust the deeper current within me. But some days, I still reach for something to help make sense of the chaos.

That’s why I love tools like astrology or tarot. Not because I think they hold the answers, but because they help me hear the ones already whispering inside, that I can’t seem to quite grasp until I see them on a page somehwere.

It’s easy to overthink. But listening to the body, the spirit, especially since becoming a parent, that’s a whole different level of work, and it’s the real work.

Much of my life since then has been about slow, spiral-shaped growth. Reclaiming sovereignty. Peeling back the layers of who I thought I had to be.

But sometimes, even now, I read something like “A test of your resilience is coming… Just as the hammer hardens steel, life’s trials will fortify your spirit.”

And I think (acknowledging the good friend who inspired these words):

Dear Universe,

No, not today.
Not another test.
Not another ambush wrapped in spiritual growth.
I’m already in it.

I’ve softened. I’ve stayed open. I’ve shown up.
But I’m tired.
And frankly, I’m over being forged in fire.
You know what I haven’t done lately?
Written.

Not for my soul. Not for the book that’s burning to be born. Not for the platform I’m “meant” to grow.
Not because I lack vision or discipline, but because I’ve been putting out fires with both hands while whispering love into the chaos.

So if you’re listening, here’s my request:
Send stillness.
Send space.
Send support that isn’t another lesson in disguise.

I know how to hold grief, growth, and grace.
What I need now is to be held -
By time.
By ease.
By something steady.

​Let the next season be less about surviving, and more about becoming.
Let the seeds I’ve already planted bear fruit.
Let the noise recede, just long enough for me to hear myself again.

Because I am ready, not for more challenge, but for creation.
For writing.
For reaching those who need what I carry.
For the impact I still believe in.

You’ve had your say.
Now I’m asking for mine.
With love — and boundaries,

Me
                
Later, I realised, beneath that message about resilience... it was a nudge. A reminder that not all gifts come wrapped in ribbons and, maybe, what I’m wanting to birth is already unfolding.

For over ten years, I’ve published my writing, not to build a brand, but to reclaim my voice. I always trusted the right platform would find me when it was time. I never had the energy to “play” the system.
Sometimes I wonder: Am I out of alignment? Am I attracting challenge instead of ease?

But during my trip to Wellington last month, something softened. I stood in a museum looking at a model of the man who operated the old cable car. One task. One rope. One lift at a time. And I realised that I am so tired of spinning plates with a heart that longs to be steady and devoted.

A friend told me “You’re not out of alignment because things are hard, you’re yearning for alignment because you’re ready for a new way of living. That’s not failure. That’s evolution.”

They reminded me:

I am the platform.
My voice. My truth.
The way I notice life and draw meaning from it.

She said “That’s what people come to sit beside”.

And I recognised that maybe my nervous system doesn’t want more output. Maybe it just wants to slow the wheel. The pivot doesn’t come from striving, it comes from untethering. Letting the right people find me because they feel the calm in my current. Wouldn’t that be wonderful.

Years ago, I did a future-self meditation. The calm in future-me’s body was so real, it stayed with me,  like a lighthouse through every storm.

Ten years is a long time to hold a dream. Especially while also holding grief, separation, co-parenting, health scares, financial worry and two kids who’ve needed me steady and soft.

And still, I’ve nurtured the dream. Kept believing in my voice. That matters.

I understand the grief now. The weariness of wondering: If not now… when?

So I’m no longer chasing the pivot. I’ve been showing up. Doing the work. The growth may not have looked how I expected, but I am not the same woman I was. And I like who I am more now.

Another friend said “Writing the book could be the catalyst. Not a product, but a container. A vessel to hold your work and voice. It can open doors scattered blog posts never will”. Wow that one grabbed me.

Then they said “You’ve grown stronger than the obstacles you face. Now is the time to move forward, past doubt”. Yes maam.

I thought again of the man in the wheel house. How I want my inner world to feel that steady.

My kids say I’m calm and strong. But inside? I’ve been highly strung. I’ve anchored them, yes, but it’s been a tempest inside.

It’s no wonder I’m tired. But maybe that’s not a sign to stop. Maybe it’s a sign to shift.

To stop scattering my energy trying to align with metrics. To start listening inward again. To trust the voice that says “Steady. One rope. One lift”.

I’m halfway. Maybe more. And it feels hard because the path has been uphill for a long time.

But as my friend reminded me (thank goodness for supportive friends) “Look how far you’ve come, a decade of writing, raising two emotionally intelligent kids, and cultivating a love that’s teaching you how to soften and be held. That’s not halfway in failure. That’s halfway in transformation.”

So I’ll write my book, not as a product to push, but as a way to walk myself home. To become a keeper of peace within.

Maybe this is my moment. not just to shift the pace, but to be liberated. To return. To come home.

We all carry something - a gift, a voice, a calling - that too often gets buried beneath exhaustion and expectation.

So I’ll leave you with this:

Where in your life are you ready to reclaim your creative power?

Where can you stop performing, and start creating from a place of truth?

What needs to be unhooked, slowed down, or surrendered - not as failure, but as your path back to
sovereignty?

You don’t have to chase impact to make it. You don’t have to burn out to be valuable. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do...is come home to yourself.

If you enjoy these reflections and want more insights on reclaiming yourself, subscribe to my newsletter. Each week, I share personal stories and practical wisdom to help you create space for the life you truly want.

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like:

• Is It Worth It? How to Tend to Hope When the Future Feels Fractured
• The Over-Helper’s Guide to Finding Peace (Without Abandoning Love)
• From Exhaustion to Empowerment: Healing the Negative Associations of Giving​