This week, I’ve been doing the work, but I haven’t been feeling it. You know that difference, don’t you? When the motions and mechanics are there – emails sent, words typed and submitted, and based on the feedback, gold star work, appointments set, boxes ticked – but there’s a hollowness behind it, almost like I’m watching myself from the outside.
I can’t even put my finger on what’s wrong. Nothing catastrophic has happened. The bills are still due, the deadlines are still there, the freelance pay will arrive in my account when it’s time (but man, am I ever impatient, especially at the end of the month), and life hasn’t thrown me a curveball big enough to explain the weight. And yet, something inside me feels muted.
Sometimes the hardest part is not quite knowing why. If I could say, “Oh, I didn’t sleep last night” or “I’m stressed about that one thing,” at least it would have a name. But when it’s just a vague heaviness, I start to question myself. Why am I like this? Why can’t I snap out of it?
That self-questioning only deepens the fog. It makes the day feel longer, the work feel heavier. And it’s frustrating, because I want to care (and deep down, I do, which keeps me going and prevents me from missing deadlines, as my professionalism always kicks in). I want to feel fired up. But the spark just isn’t catching. Perhaps I do know what’s wrong, but I don’t want to admit it. My spirituality has been lacking this week. I mean, nothing at all this week, which doesn’t help and makes matters worse.
However, what’s been helping me is breaking things into tiny steps. Not “write the article.” Just “open the file.” Not “tackle the whole to-do list.” Just “pick one thing.”
It’s almost comical how tiny I make it. But it works. Because in the middle of this mental drag, a small start feels possible. And once I start, momentum usually comes in.
This week has also reminded me to stop expecting my best on my worst days. I wouldn’t demand a friend to perform at 100 percent if they admitted they were struggling. So why do I demand it of myself? The fog will pass eventually, but beating myself up won’t make it pass any faster.
There are little lifelines I’ve grabbed, such as stepping outside for air on day three without any sun (maybe that’s another reason why I feel shitty – no sun), walking around the block, blasting a song that shakes me awake for three minutes. Sometimes I even talk it out loud to myself: “I’m not feeling it today, but I’m here anyway, grinding it out.” It sounds silly, but voicing it makes me feel less trapped inside it.
The biggest comfort is remembering that one bad stretch doesn’t define me. A foggy week doesn’t erase years of work or progress. It’s just a patch of road I have to walk through. And maybe that’s the lesson: sometimes we’re not meant to sprint, or even jog. Sometimes we just keep moving, step by step, until the heaviness fades.
This week hasn’t been about brilliance. It’s been about endurance. And that, in its own quiet way, is enough.
John Berkovich Talks 