I hate that phrase — worst era. It’s kind of cringe, and I’m not even a fan of Taylor Swift, but honestly, it fits. The last few years have felt exactly like that — a personal “worst era.” Not because everything was terrible all the time, but because the weight of it all, the accumulation of losses, disappointments, and exhaustion, has been relentless. It’s like living in a storm that doesn’t let up, and somehow, you have to keep walking through it.
For me, the cracks started showing a few years ago. There was personal loss, like my uncle dying in 2019, and that opened a hole I’ve been trying to patch ever since. Since then, life hasn’t exactly been kind. More loss, more stress, more moments where it felt like I was just barely holding on. The last few years have piled on, one hard thing after another, and the emotional fatigue has been real.
I’ve always felt things deeply. Being both an ENFJ and a highly sensitive person, I feel the highs and lows with intensity that sometimes feels like too much to carry. And the last few years have tested that in ways I didn’t even know were possible. Some days I wake up and feel like I’m carrying the weight of everything — my own struggles, the struggles of the people around me, the heaviness of just being alive in a world that often feels indifferent.
This “worst era” hasn’t been dramatic in a flashy way. It’s been quiet, slow, grinding, relentless. It’s the small, constant hits that wear you down — grief, disappointment, exhaustion, anxiety, loneliness. And it’s hard to put into words, because when everything stacks up like that, it becomes a background hum in your life. It’s always there, whether you notice it or not, slowly pulling at your energy, your focus, your optimism.
I’ve felt this way before, but never quite like this. And what makes it worse is how isolating it can feel. People move through their own lives, their own “worst eras” or maybe just regular lives, and you look around and feel like you’re the only one drowning. Or maybe you feel like you shouldn’t be drowning, like you should have figured it out by now. It’s a lonely feeling — to know that so much of this pain is invisible to everyone else, and that even if they see it, they can’t really understand it.
There’s this strange tension in it — the urge to keep going, to keep trying, to stay empathetic and present, while simultaneously feeling like everything inside you is collapsing. I’ve tried to hold onto compassion, to not let the weight of the years turn me cold. But the truth is, it’s hard. Really hard. And it’s okay to admit that. Sometimes surviving this “worst era” isn’t about fixing everything or being strong all the time — it’s about acknowledging that it’s heavy, and letting yourself feel it anyway.
Even amidst all of this, there are moments of light. Little things that remind you that life hasn’t completely stripped away the capacity for joy. A song that lands in the right spot, a quiet morning, a laugh that comes from nowhere. Those moments don’t erase the weight, but they remind you that you’re still here, still breathing, still capable of noticing the small pockets of beauty that exist even in hard times.
So yes, these last few years have been my “worst era.” It’s been exhausting, heartbreaking, confusing, and sometimes terrifying. But it’s also been a period of endurance. A period of learning that it’s okay to struggle, that it’s okay to feel overwhelmed, and that it’s okay to be sensitive in a world that often prizes numbness.
I don’t know exactly when this era will end, or what the next one will look like. But I do know this — surviving it, day by day, is an act of quiet strength. Feeling the weight, acknowledging the pain, and still showing up for myself and for the people I care about — that’s what matters. And maybe one day, when I look back on this era, I’ll see it not just as a period of suffering, but as a testament to the resilience it took to keep going when everything felt like it was falling apart.
Because even in a “worst era,” we can still find pieces of ourselves worth holding onto. We can still find moments that remind us we’re alive. And we can still keep moving forward, even when the weight feels impossible.
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