When the Fight Feels Exhausting

I have become so very tired.
Tired of fighting cancer.
Tired of sharing bad news with friends and family.
And tired of feeling tired.

Over the last few weeks, the fatigue has been overwhelming. The mass in my adrenal gland feels like it’s slowly draining the life out of me. My energy comes only in short spurts now—brief windows where I can do a little before everything shuts down again. I no longer have the stamina or endurance to go out, to socialize for an evening, or even to pretend that I do.

Right now, I am largely housebound as I wait for surgery next week to remove the mass. After that, I’ll be mostly bedbound for a couple of weeks during recovery. It feels like my world has shrunk to a very small radius, and even moving within that space takes effort.

I’m just so tired of everything.

At times like this, it becomes incredibly hard to see each day through a “glass half full” lens. Even gratitude—something I know is important for maintaining a strong spirit—has become exhausting. I know how much staying positive matters when you’re fighting cancer, but right now, it feels nearly impossible.

Trying to be grateful has started to feel like a chore instead of a grounding practice.

I’ve been attempting to pull myself out of this headspace, but the closer I get to my operation, the heavier everything feels. I’ve noticed myself emotionally distancing from almost everyone except my partner. Subconsciously, I think it’s my way of surviving moments like this. Shutting down. Going on autopilot. Just getting through until it passes.

I know it’s probably not the healthiest approach, but it feels instinctive—like a protective mechanism I’ve relied on before. Once this surgery is behind me, I’ll likely return to therapy. I know that support matters, especially when the emotional weight piles up like this.

I can’t help but wonder if others do the same thing. I don’t become angry or bitter. I don’t lash out. I just fade a little. I become quieter. Smaller. Almost like a ghost.

I try to take up as little space as possible, staying out of the way until the storm blows over. It feels like the least energy-intensive option, and when you’re this fatigued—physically and emotionally—it seems like the only route forward.

For now, this is where I am. And maybe that’s okay.