didn’t expect this when i left the U.S.

, we’ve become experts at bullshitting ourselves.

“I’m fine.”
“Just tired.”
“It’s been a crazy week.”

Translation: I’m one dumb email away from crying in public, but thanks for asking.

We dodge the truth like it’s our full-time job.
Because truth is messy.
It blows up the illusion that we’ve got it all under control.
It makes everyone itchy—including ourselves.

And who the hell has time for a vulnerable spiral when your inbox is trying to eat you alive and your to-do list reads like a CVS receipt?

So we throw on a smile, power-walk through the chaos, and call it “getting through it.”

Then I hit a point and thought—
You know what? Hard pass.

So I moved to Albania. (Because why not burn it all down and start over somewhere with better cheese?)

Three months ago, my husband and I ditched the hamster wheel, crammed our life into two suitcases, and hopped on a one-way flight to Tirana.

Was it bold? Yes.
Was it borderline chaotic? Also yes.
Was it exactly what my nervous system ordered? Hell yes.

We didn’t just want a change of scenery.
We wanted a full-blown identity detox.

So we said goodbye to burnout, and hello to,
“Let’s see what happens when we stop worshipping productivity and start remembering what it feels like to breathe.”

But the thing that really hit me?
It wasn’t the postcard scenery.
It wasn’t the espresso that could wake the dead.
It was how people talk to you like you’re human.

They don’t ask what you do.
They don’t ask where you’re headed.
They don’t even hit you with a “How are you?”

Nope.

They look you dead in the eye and ask:

Je lodhur?
“Are you tired?”

It’s not small talk. It’s emotional acupuncture.

No pretense. No performance.
Just one human casually holding up a mirror to your soul and asking,
“Hey… how are you, really?”

And the first time I heard it, I just stood there like—wait… what?
Do I look tired?
Is this your way of suggesting I need eye cream and a spiritual intervention?

Because the truth is—I was tired.
Not just “I stayed up too late” tired.
But bone-deep, chronically-over-it, my-soul-needs-a-snack-and-a-lie-down kind of tired.

It didn’t yell. It didn’t push.
It just landed—quiet, certain, and absolutely impossible to ignore.

I didn’t realize how much I’d been performing until someone gave me permission to knock it the hell off.

And that’s what je lodhur? did.

Two little words. Zero fluff. Full permission to drop the act and tell the truth.

Not “I’m hanging in there.”
Not “It’s just a busy season.”
Not “I’ve got this.”
(Spoiler: I did not, in fact, have this.)

Just:
Yes.
I’m tired.
Tired in my brain. Tired in that deep, “if one more person suggests a morning routine I will scream into a pillow” kind of way.

Because this wasn’t your average “I stayed up too late scrolling TikTok” kind of tired.

This was:

Tired of pretending I’m fine while obviously falling apart.
Tired of pushing through when I clearly need to sit down and cry in peace.
Tired of managing my nervous system like it’s my job. (Newsflash: I already have one.)

I was tired of chasing the “ideal version” of wellness that looked suspiciously like self-improvement dressed up in a Goop gift box.

Green juice. Cold plunges. Supplements that cost more than rent—and still taste like lawn clippings.

All in the name of balance, apparently.

What I actually needed?
A nap.
A snack.
And someone to say, “Hey—you’re allowed to feel like shit and still be worthy of rest.”

It got me thinking…

What if we stopped waiting for our bodies to scream before we finally listened?

What if the red flags—fatigue, brain fog, mood swings, that weird twitch in your left eye—weren’t glitches to fix… but messages to pay attention to?

What if we stopped calling it “resilience” when it’s actually just over-functioning in a cuter outfit?

And what if, instead of sucking it up and pushing through, we paused?
Like actually paused.

Took a breath.
Checked in.
Said something wild like, “You know what? I don’t want to do this today.”

Because here's the thing: we’ve been taught to treat tired like a character flaw.

We apologize for it.
We try to hack it.
We caffeinate the hell out of it and pretend that’s normal.

But maybe tired isn’t the enemy.

Maybe it’s the invitation.

An invitation to do things differently.
To listen instead of bulldoze.
To choose peace over performance.
To stop micromanaging your wellness and start honoring your humanness.

Because the real flex?
It’s not pretending you’re fine.
It’s having the guts to say, “I’m not.”

So let me ask you—because maybe no one has looked you in the eye and really meant it:

Je lodhur?
How are you—really?

Not “fine.” Not “busy.”
Not whatever answer keeps you looking put-together and in control.

I mean… underneath that.
Beneath the lists, the effort, the smile you’ve been holding in place.

If that question stirred something in you—maybe a sigh, a lump in your throat, a quiet God, I’m tired—you’re not broken, .
You’re just finally being honest.

The kind most people never say out loud.
And that’s brave.

So if you want to share it—
You can. Right here. Just hit reply.
No fixing. No fronting. Just you, being real.

I’ll be here to read it with my whole heart.

Your friend who sees through ‘I’m fine,’

— Genta 💌