There was a time in college when I couldn’t bring myself to lace up my sneakers. Not because I was injured. Not because I was tired. But because something inside me just…stopped.
I was a student-athlete, which meant the expectation was that I show up — for class, for practice, for games, for meetings, for everything. Being a “student” was important, but let’s be honest — so was the game. Basketball wasn’t just something I did, it was who I was. Or at least, that’s what I thought.
But one semester, everything felt heavy. I’d sit in class and stare straight through the professor. Go to practice and feel like my body was moving but my mind had checked out somewhere far away. I wasn’t depressed exactly, but I wasn’t alive either. I was in that in-between place where you’re functioning just enough to look okay but you’re quietly slipping. Motivation had left the building — no note, no warning, just…gone.
Back then, I didn’t have the language to say “I’m burnt out,” or “I need help,” or even “I don’t feel like myself.” What I did have was pressure. To keep the scholarship. To stay in the lineup. To hold it all together.
But here’s the truth I wish I’d known earlier: You’re not weak for not feeling motivated. You’re human. And humans aren’t machines.
So what do you do when motivation disappears?
You stop pretending it hasn’t.
That was the first step for me. Admitting — even just to myself — that I was struggling. I stopped pushing through just for the sake of it. I started asking better questions: Why am I doing this? What do I actually need right now? Who am I without the jersey, without the title?
I took a weekend off from everything. No games. No books. No proving. Just me. And in that silence, I didn’t suddenly become motivated again. But I did feel something I hadn’t felt in a while: honesty.
Sometimes we think motivation comes from more discipline or more hustle — and sure, sometimes it does. But other times, it comes from permission. The permission to rest. The permission to be lost for a moment without guilt. The permission to not be “on” all the time.
That semester, I didn’t quit on myself — but I did quit playing. It was my senior year when I stepped away from the game. My coach still let me keep my scholarship because she knew I was going through a rough time. But that didn’t mean I walked away completely. I was still part of the team. I practiced with them. I dressed out on game days. I contributed in a different way — one that felt safer for my mental health but still valuable to my coaches and teammates. I showed up differently. With boundaries. With awareness. With less pretending and more truth. And you know what? That truth brought a new kind of fuel — not the flashy, hype-filled motivation, but the quiet, lasting kind that says: I don’t feel 100% today, but I’m showing up anyway — for me.
So if you’re reading this and your motivation is MIA, this is your reminder:
You don’t need to force your way through the fog. You need to feel your way through it. Step by step. Breath by breath. Be soft with yourself, but firm in your intention to heal. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for why you’re tired. Just honor it. And when you’re ready, you’ll rise — not because someone told you to, but because you remembered who the hell you are.
P.S. If this blog felt like your story, you’re not alone — and you don’t have to figure it all out on your own either. I created a healing workbook that’s now available in the 4BiddenKnowledge Store. It’s filled with guided prompts to help you unpack the heavy stuff, protect your peace, and start choosing you again. If you’re ready to do the inner work, this is for you.
