There’s a kind of exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix.
The kind that settles deep into your bones, wraps around your organs, and whispers
“this is as good as it gets today.”
That’s what living with endometriosis feels like for me. Chronic pain isn’t just pain it’s depletion. It’s waking up already running on 2%.
And still… life doesn’t pause.
There are kids to care for. Conversations to have. Responsibilities that don’t disappear just because your body is in a constant state of fight or flight, adrenaline, self control and discipline.
So you learn to function on empty. You learn how to stretch that 2% across an entire day somedays thats all we have.
But here’s the part people don’t see:
That 2% costs everything.
It costs the energy I wish I had for joy, creativity, and connection. It costs the version of me that used to move through life without calculating every step. It costs the silence I need just to cope because even noise can feel overwhelming when your body is already screaming.
Endometriosis is unpredictable. Some days it’s just aching in the background. Other days it’s burning, stinging, killing your joy your plans and your life. All consuming, and relentless like my body is turning against itself.
And the hardest part? You can look “fine” while feeling anything but and feeling everything all at once.
There’s a quiet grief in that.
Grief for the body I wish I had. Grief for the plans I cancel. Grief of being not being present somedays or myself. Grief for the patience I lose when pain takes over. Grief because when Im in pain I have no real control over its tough.
But there’s also something else.
Strength – not the loud, inspiring kind people post about endometriosis.
The quiet kind. The kind that looks like getting out of bed feeling average. The kind that looks like showing up for your kids when you’d rather curl into a ball. The kind that looks like surviving another flare when you didn’t think you could.
Living on 2% teaches you things most people never have to learn:
How to prioritise what truly matters.
How to listen to your body (even when it frustrates you).
How to find small pockets of peace and quiet to truly be present, a heat pack, a quiet moment, a small meditation, journalling thoughts and feelings, a deep breath that doesn’t hurt as much as the last or step one foot in-front of the other and function normally.
It also teaches you boundaries. Because when your energy is this limited, you don’t have the luxury of giving it away to everything and everyone.
And maybe that’s where the shift begins.
Not in “pushing through” the pain.
But in honouring the reality of it.
Some days, 2% is enough.
Not to conquer the world but to get through the day.
And that counts.
If you’re living like this too, I want you to know:
You’re not weak for struggling.
You’re not dramatic for hurting.
And you’re not failing because your body needs more from you than others do.
You’re doing something incredibly hard every single day.
You’re a survivor beautiful!
And even at 2%… you’re still here.
That matters more than you may think.
Cassie x
Welcome Beautiful 