Running on Empty: What Happens When Your Body Has Nothing Left
(The Trek – Part Two)
This isn’t a story for sympathy.
It’s a story for anyone who’s been pushing themselves forward with nothing left in the tank—because they thought they had no other choice.
At one point, I was barely eating.
Not because I didn’t care.
But because I didn’t know how to care for myself in a way that gave me energy, not shame.
I was walking around in a body that was functioning, but barely.
What Malnourishment Did to Me
I didn’t look sick.
There were no dramatic hospital visits.
I was just… drained. Cold. Foggy. Heavy in a way that had nothing to do with fat.
Here’s what it looked like:
Fatigue that sleep didn’t fix. I’d wake up already exhausted.
Brain fog so thick I couldn’t hold a thought long enough to act on it.
Losing muscle, gaining weight. The paradox of starving myself fatter.
Freezing in normal temperatures. Like my body was retreating.
Emotionally flatlined. No rage, no joy—just gray.
Pain in my joints. Walking became a task.
Slowed reaction time. Movement felt delayed, like I was underwater.
Total loss of hunger cues. I didn’t even know I was starving anymore.
This was malnourishment. Not from a lack of food—but a lack of fuel.
A lack of presence. A lack of trust in my own needs.
Willpower Isn’t the Same as Wellness
Despite all of that, I bought a van.
I hit the road.
I pushed forward, convinced that if I just did more, I’d eventually feel better.
And I did it.
But I did it running on empty.
That’s the dangerous thing about willpower: it can carry you far—while your body falls apart underneath you.
I was praised for my courage, but no one saw how close I was to collapsing.
This isn’t martyrdom.
It’s just the truth about how often we confuse pushing through with healing.
The Real Cost of Not Feeding Yourself
It wasn’t just physical.
I missed moments.
My creativity dulled.
I couldn’t feel joy.
My decisions were delayed.
I second-guessed everything.
Even basic tasks became mountains.
Malnourishment doesn’t just rob your body—it robs your clarity, time, and presence.
What I Know Now
I want to be honest about something else:
This didn’t happen overnight.
It happened over three long years of slowly dying.
Yes, dying.
My energy vanished.
My emotions dulled.
My body ballooned from panic and starvation.
And I still told myself I was doing “the right thing.”
People told me:
“You’re not eating enough.”
“You need fuel.”
“You can’t live like this.”
But I couldn’t hear them.
Or I could—but I didn’t believe I deserved to listen.
Even now, even with all I’ve learned, it’s hard to turn it around.
To eat regularly.
To trust food again.
To believe that nourishment isn’t weakness.
That’s what malnourishment does to you—it rewires your logic. It makes you think survival is strategy.
But I’m not trying to survive anymore.
I’m trying to live.
You’re Not Lazy—You Might Be Underfed
If you’re struggling to move, think, or create, it might not be about motivation.
You might just be malnourished—mentally, emotionally, physically.
This post isn’t about pity.
It’s about permission.
Permission to feed yourself.
Permission to rest.
Permission to walk forward—not because you’re punishing yourself, but because you want to feel alive again.
I’ll keep walking.
And I’ll keep sharing this trek with you.
You’re not alone in this.
— Stan
