You wake up and the scanning begins before you have taken a single breath. Everything feels fine on the outside. Inside, there is a low hum of tension that never fully goes away.

You have learned to call it normal. It is not normal. It is your nervous system doing the only job it was ever taught — staying ready for what might go wrong.

Rest feels earned, not available. You finish something good and immediately move to the next thing — not because you want to, but because stopping feels unsafe.

The stillness has something in it you are not ready to feel. So you keep moving. You keep doing. You stay useful so you can stay okay.

You love God. You pray. You declare the Word. And then you walk out of the prayer room and your body is still braced. Not because your faith is insufficient — because no one taught your body how to receive what your spirit already believes.

The gap between what you know and what you feel has been exhausting you for longer than you want to admit.