I spent two years telling everyone I was "just tired". My doctor agreed. My family agreed. And I ALMOST believed it.

By Tim Veron · June 22, 2026

The first time I said it out loud was at my son's Saturday footy.

I'd been standing on the sideline maybe twenty minutes when the tiredness came over me in that heavy, foggy way it had started to, and I had to go and sit in the car for a bit. Another mum knocked on the window to check I was alright. "Yeah," I said, waving her off with a smile. "Just tired. Big week."

Just tired. That was the first one. There would be a lot more.

Because that's how it goes, doesn't it. You don't fall off a cliff. You explain yourself away, one small reasonable excuse at a time, until you've talked yourself out of noticing that you don't feel like yourself anymore.

I want to tell you about all the "justs," and the day I finally ran out of them.

Everyone had an explanation, and none of them were right

The exhaustion was just the school run and a full-time job. The aches in my joints were just the mattress, or sitting badly, or getting older. The brain fog, reading the same email three times, walking into a room and forgetting why, that was just stress, just not enough sleep, just too much on.

The weight that had settled and refused to budge no matter what I did was just my age now, apparently.

That's what everyone says after forty.

My family had a "just" ready for all of it. So did I. We're so good at it, women especially. We minimise. We get on with it. We don't want to be the one making a fuss over feeling a bit flat.

And when I finally did mention it to my GP, do you know what I got? "You're probably just a bit run down. Try to rest more." Bloods were fine, nothing flagged, off you go. 

I walked back to the car feeling more stupid than when I'd walked in, like I'd wasted everyone's time complaining about being tired.

That's the part that really gets you. Not the symptoms. The slow erosion of trust in your own body. Enough people tell you it's nothing, including the doctor, including yourself, and eventually you start to believe it really is all in your head.

I started guessing in the dark

So I did what everyone does. I started throwing things at it. 

The magnesium someone swore by.

The greens powder off an ad. 

The new pillow, the earlier bedtime, the cutting out of this and that.

A drawer full of half-finished supplements I'd picked up because somebody online said they'd fixed exactly what I had.

None of it really did anything, and looking back I understand why. I was treating four or five different complaints as four or five separate problems, guessing at each one, when I'd never once stopped to ask whether they might all be coming from the same place.

It hadn't occurred to me that "tired" and "foggy" and "achy" and "stuck" might not be a list of unrelated annoyances. That they might be one thing, wearing five different costumes.

The conversation that changed it

It was Jenny, an old friend from work, who said the thing that stopped me.

We were having a coffee and I'd done my usual, brushed off how I'd been feeling with a laugh and a "just one of those years." And she didn't laugh along. She said she used to say exactly that. For ages. Until she got tired of explaining herself away and finally went and got it properly looked at.

"I stopped guessing and got my baseline checked," she told me. "And there was actually something there. Something real, that you could measure. After two years of being told it was nothing, you have no idea what a relief it was to find out it wasn't nothing, and it wasn't in my head."

That last part landed somewhere deep. It wasn't in my head.

The thing nobody had ever actually done

What she'd done was a Baseline Health Check. A one-off, ninety-nine dollar check that looks across 70+ markers in your body, far more than the quick once-over most of us ever get.

She explained the bit that made it click for me. 

A lot of those scattered, run-down symptoms can trace back to things going on quietly under the surface that a standard check just isn't looking for. 

And the standard "normal" range is drawn so wide, because it's built to catch illnesses only. And you can not be sick, but still be nowhere near feeling well.

Being told you're "fine" and feeling fine are not the same thing.

A baseline like this looks properly at your blood results, across the whole picture, instead of at the one or two things a rushed appointment checks.

And you don't get left alone with a confusing set of numbers. A practitioner sits with you and walks you through what it actually means, what's worth paying attention to, and what to do about it.

So I booked one. For the first time, instead of explaining myself away, I went looking for an actual answer.

What actually changed

I'm not going to tell you a single check fixed everything overnight, because that's not what happened. What happened was quieter and, honestly, bigger.

For the first time in two years, I had a reason. Something real I could point to, instead of a vague feeling and a shrug. And once I could see what was actually going on, the plan I followed was built around that, not around another guess. Things started to make sense, and slowly, so did I.

The other Saturday I was back at the footy, on the sideline the whole game. Someone asked how I'd been. I started to say "oh, just" out of pure habit, and then I stopped.

Because it was never "just" anything. And the day I stopped letting that little word do the talking was the day I finally started feeling like myself again.

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