Transmission from the Glitchstream – File 003: What If I’m Not Lazy; Just Traumatized and Tired?

 For most of my life, I’ve carried a quiet, corrosive shame around one persistent fear:

That I’m lazy.

Not just forgetful. Not just inconsistent. But fundamentally defective in some moral way—because I didn’t seem to have whatever mysterious quality other people had that let them wake up, power through a to-do list, and function like real adults.

You know the type. They make bullet journals. They fold their laundry. They file their taxes on time without having a minor existential breakdown first.

Meanwhile, I’m over here debating if brushing my teeth and making coffee are both going to happen today or if that’s just a little too ambitious.

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I used to internalize all of that.
Until I realized something earth-shattering:

I’m not lazy. I’m traumatized and tired.

What I’ve been calling “procrastination” is often executive dysfunction.
What I’ve labeled “laziness” is actually burnout with a backstory.
What looks like avoidance is often a nervous system screaming “unsafe.”

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This is what internalized capitalism does:
It convinces you that your worth is tied to your output.
That rest is a reward, not a right.
That your body is a machine.
That your mind is a factory floor.

And when that machine breaks down from years of pressure, stress, and survival mode? It calls you a failure instead of asking if you’re okay.

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Let me say it plainly:

You’re not failing at being productive.
You’re recovering from being dehumanized.

If you were raised in chaos, in fear, in instability—emotional or otherwise—then your brain learned how to survive, not how to schedule. And survival is messy, inconsistent, and not particularly Pinterest-friendly.

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So now, as I try to rebuild, I’m not chasing productivity anymore.

I’m learning how to reparent my brain.

That means:

• Letting rest be sacred.

• Celebrating the small wins like they’re spellwork.

• Choosing systems that support me, not shame me.

• Refusing to grind myself into dust just to feel worthy.

It means telling my inner critic, gently but firmly:
"I am not a machine. I am a body. I am a soul. I am allowed to move slowly."

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If you’re reading this while surrounded by undone tasks, unopened emails, or a house that feels like a reflection of your inner disarray—breathe.

You are not lazy.
You are not broken.
You are not a disappointment.

You’re just tired.

And maybe, just maybe, the kindest thing you can do today…
is nothing at all.

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⚡️ Final Glitch Before the Portal Closes

If rest feels like failure, your wiring’s not wrong—your culture is.
Choose softness anyway. You weren’t born to perform. You were born to be.

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