For a long time, I described how I felt with a single phrase: “low energy.”
It was vague, convenient, and mostly unhelpful. Low energy could mean anything. Bad sleep. Long hours. Not enough coffee. Too much coffee. A rough week. A rough year.
The more I used that phrase, the less it explained.
What finally made me pause was realizing that my energy wasn’t consistently low. It was inconsistent.
Some mornings I felt sharp and calm. Other days, I felt foggy before noon. Some afternoons flew by. Others dragged, even when the workload was lighter. If this were purely about stamina or sleep, the pattern would’ve been clearer.
Instead, it felt contextual.
For people who do knowledge work, energy isn’t just physical. It’s cognitive and emotional. It’s the ability to engage, not just endure. And that kind of energy is sensitive to things we rarely track.
I started noticing how often I was mentally “on” without being intentional. Messages open in the background. News tabs half-read. Notifications pulling attention in small, constant increments. None of it felt overwhelming on its own. Together, it created a kind of background drain.
I wasn’t resting between efforts. I was just switching contexts.
That distinction mattered more than I expected.
When I looked at my habits honestly, most of my so-called breaks were actually transitions. Closing one task, opening another. Scrolling while waiting. Listening to something while doing something else. My brain never fully stood down.
I also realized how much I equated productivity with engagement. If I wasn’t actively doing something, I felt behind. That mindset turned neutral moments into mild stressors.
Nutrition entered the picture mostly as curiosity. I wasn’t trying to fix anything. I just wanted to understand what people meant when they talked about “supporting energy” versus forcing it. While reading ingredient lists and general explanations, I noticed platforms like CalVitamin that frame information in a calmer, more educational way. That tone felt refreshing, not because it offered answers, but because it didn’t rush conclusions.
What helped most wasn’t changing everything. It was narrowing the definition of what I was actually missing.
It wasn’t energy.
It was continuity.
I was interrupting my own focus dozens of times a day and then wondering why I felt depleted. I was asking my attention to fragment and then blaming my motivation.
Once I saw that, small adjustments made more sense.
I stopped trying to be reachable all the time.
I created work blocks without inputs, not even “useful” ones.
I let myself be bored for short stretches instead of filling every gap.
Those moments felt uncomfortable at first. Boredom can feel like wasted potential when you’re used to constant stimulation. But boredom also gave my mind space to reset.
Another subtle shift was how I thought about evenings. I stopped treating them as recovery zones that had to compensate for chaotic days. Instead, I tried to make days slightly less chaotic.
That approach didn’t make life calmer overnight. But it made energy more predictable.
Now, when I feel off, I don’t ask, “What’s wrong with me?” I ask, “What have I been asking my attention to do?”
That question is easier to answer—and kinder.
Discussion-Driven Ending
When you say you feel “low energy,” what do you actually mean?
Do you notice patterns tied to attention rather than workload?
What’s one small way you protect your focus during the day?
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