Waking Up with Anxiety: Why You’re Tired Before the Day Even Starts

Some mornings, you wake up already tired.

Not “I didn’t sleep well” tired.

More like —
your chest feels tight,
your mind is already listing things,
and you haven’t even opened your eyes yet.

Before coffee.
Before kids.
Before emails.
Before anything has actually happened.

You’re already bracing.

If you’ve ever found yourself waking up with anxiety, you know this feeling. It’s quiet. It’s subtle. It doesn’t announce itself as panic. It just sits there in your body like a low, steady hum.

Something is wrong.
Something is coming.
Don’t relax yet.

So you don’t.

You lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince yourself that it’s fine. That today will be fine. That you’ll handle it. That you always do.

And then you get up.
Because of course you do.

I remember one morning in particular.

Nothing dramatic was happening. No crisis. No emergency. Just a normal weekday.

I was standing in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, feeling oddly heavy. My shoulders were already tense. My stomach already tight. I hadn’t spoken to anyone yet. I hadn’t even checked my phone.

And still, I felt behind.

Behind on life.
Behind on energy.
Behind on whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing better.

It took me a while to realize:
I wasn’t tired from the day.

I was tired from the way I had entered it.

When you wake up with anxiety, your body doesn’t start the morning at zero.

It starts at high alert.

Somewhere, quietly, your system has learned that mornings are not neutral. They are the beginning of responsibility. Of performance. Of holding things together.

So it wakes you up early.

Not with rest.
With readiness.

Your brain starts scanning.
What needs to be done?
Who needs me?
What might go wrong?
What did I forget?
What can’t I drop?

All before you’ve brushed your teeth.

No wonder you’re exhausted.

You’ve already run a marathon in your head.

This kind of anxiety doesn’t look like lying in bed shaking.

It looks like:

Getting dressed while worrying.
Packing lunches while overthinking.
Driving while rehearsing conversations.
Answering messages while feeling stretched thin.

It looks like being “on” from the moment you wake up.

High-functioning.
Capable.
Responsible.

And so very tired.

There’s a strange guilt that comes with this.

Because technically, you’re fine.

You’re doing things.
You’re showing up.
You’re managing.

So it feels wrong to admit how hard mornings are.

Other people wake up and stretch and scroll and ease into their day.

You wake up and brace.

And then feel bad for it.

Sometimes I think about how long some of us have been doing this.

Holding things together.
Staying alert.
Trying not to drop anything.

For years.

Decades, sometimes.

You learn, slowly, without meaning to, that being “ready” is safer than being relaxed. That staying a little tense helps you keep up. That letting your guard down feels… risky.

So your body gets used to it.

It learns the rhythm.

Wake up.
Scan the day.
Brace a little.
Go.

Not because you chose it.

Because it worked.

Until it didn’t feel so good anymore.

What makes it harder is that no one sees this part.

They see you functioning.
They see you answering texts.
They see you getting everyone out the door.

They don’t see the internal sprint that happened before breakfast.

So you carry it quietly.

Like you carry most things.

If this feeling sounds familiar, I went deeper into it in “I Wasn’t Too Sensitive — Turns Out I Was Maxed Out,” where I wrote about being tired in a way sleep doesn’t seem to touch — and how confusing that can feel.

If this reflection feels familiar, that letter might feel like someone finally naming it with you.

I don’t have a neat ending for this.

No three-step fix.
No “just think differently.”
No tidy bow.

I just know that waking up this way is heavy.

That starting every day already tired wears on you.
That carrying so much quietly changes you.

And if this is you, you’re not imagining it.
You’re not being dramatic.
You’re not failing at mornings.

You’re responding to a life that’s asked a lot of you.

Maybe today you still get up and do the things.
Maybe you still show up.
Maybe you still keep it together.

But maybe you also let yourself be a little softer with yourself about it.

A little less harsh.
A little less demanding.

Maybe you don’t try to conquer the day.

Maybe you just meet it.

And let that be enough.