Change is needed
Alarm clock goes off.
It’s dark outside, and cold. The heating’s off and its alarm is blaring because I didn’t load it last night. I forgot. Now the whole family is cold, and guilt sets in before my feet even hit the floor.
"Fucking hell..."
I get up, go outside to charge the heater, silence the noise, and stumble back, ready to face the day. But I already feel behind. My head aches.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. "What the hell happened to me?"
The routine begins—get ready, drop the kids at school. It’s still dark. Now, it's time to drive to work. I drown out the thoughts with audiobooks, leaving the chaos of life behind while mentally bracing for the day ahead.
At work, my head is still pounding.
I scan in, take a deep breath, and put on my mask. A mask of competence, focus, and even humorous optimism. It's what’s expected, right?
The day unfolds, a mix of chaos, noise, and constant demands. Meetings blur together—discussions filled with buzzwords, deadlines, and endless Slack messages. The pressure is tangible, suffocating. Everyone’s running, yet somehow no one’s getting anywhere.
Toxic positivity is everywhere: "Be Human! We got this!" People smile through gritted teeth, pretending they love it. I play along, nodding, half-smiling, trying to match the energy. Inside, I’m drained.
But then there are those rare moments of realness. Small windows of genuine connection with people—real work done by real people, cutting through the noise for a second. We share a look, a knowing smile, an unspoken acknowledgment of how hard this really is.
And then, back to the grind.
The emails, the shifting priorities, the constant feeling of being one step behind. I’m just trying to keep my head above water.
By 4 p.m., my head feels like it’s going to split open. But I push on, because what other choice do I have?
Just another day at the office.
Back home, all I want is rest.
Shut out the noise. Recharge enough to do it all over again tomorrow. But I can barely muster the energy for the kids’ feelings or needs. I’m running on empty—just delivering the bare minimum, patience thin, nerves on edge.
"What am I doing? Is this even worth it? Why am I doing this?"
Am I just weak for not being able to keep this up?
This was my regular winter day.
It felt like there was no way out. I kept telling myself, “This is the path to happiness; I just have to hold on.”
It was a long process until I realized that this path was leading to the destruction of everything I believed was me—my identity, my values, and my physical self. This realization became the most important step in my journey. I didn’t, however, know how to change my situation so it dragged on.
It was only when I allowed myself to be vulnerable that small solutions began to appear. I started asking for help in my own way—from my wife, friends, therapists, and even from people I never expected to be going through similar struggles.
Surprisingly, I received a wealth of advice on practical matters, abstract concepts, relationships, communication, nutrition, sports, finance, etc. Most people were more than willing to step out of their way to support me. While the results varied, just the fact that they tried showed me that I was not on the right path to happiness. More importantly I started valuing the conversation. The value of empathy and being listened to.
Life is filled with slopes, and I realized I couldn’t keep pushing myself out of them alone, and I didn’t have to. By getting help to navigate one slope, I also made myself available to help others.
With support, I discovered safe dirt roads out of the slope and began paving them into something more solid. We will always encounter slopes, but now I know that finding our way out is easier with help, and by solidifying these paths, it's simpler to rise again.
Today, I dedicate my life to helping others navigate their slopes and paving those roads so they can find their way back up when they stumble.
Tiago
Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author and do not represent the views of any organizations or institutions. This content is based on personal experiences and reflections, rather than extensive research or peer-reviewed data. Readers are encouraged to form their own opinions and conduct further research on the topics discussed.