Tattooed, Tested, and Touring: Community in the Middle of the Miles

I missed last week’s blog and honestly there was not some big reason behind it other than I just did not have it in me.

I am tired. Not “I need a nap” tired. I feel like I have not had a moment to catch up or have a true break in a long time. My mental health feels wildly strained which feels almost ironic with it being May and Mental Health Awareness Month. My heart has hurt more than I ever thought it would lately. It has been one of those stretches of time where everything feels heavier than it should.

Last week was a lot. We went from Omaha to Denver, Denver to Salt Lake, Salt Lake to Bend, and then Bend to Seattle. We technically had a day off between Salt Lake and Bend, but that “day off” still meant more than five hours in the van to drive another 5 the next day. It was not really rest. It was mileage. It was another destination. It was another push forward. It was another time that my exhaustion made me mess up. We got the KOA and I had booked it for the day before. The moment she told me about the mishap, I broke down and cried. I bawled. I never want my exhaustion to cost. Luckily, she switched it to make it work for the night. The BOISE KOA is a GEM.

That has kind of been the theme lately. Drive. Unload. Set up. Talk to people. Find food somewhere in the middle. Switch to answer emails from the passenger seat. Worry about logistics. Pack everything back up. Drive again.

I genuinely do not remember the last time I felt rested. I am running on a very burnt out mind and body right now. I am also running on a brain that keeps trying to solve the impossible equation of how do I find more balance while everything still needs me? The answer has not come yet.

My heart hurts. My body hurts. And there are pieces of me hurting that I still cannot quite explain.

For everyone that likes the numbers side of these blogs, here is what this week looked like.

Brought in $2,934 in donations across Omaha, Denver, Salt Lake, and Bend to help keep us moving.

We drove 1,905 miles.

Spent $761.14 on gas.

We registered 122 people for the bone marrow registry, handed out 125 doses of Narcan, passed out more earplugs than I could count, and had countless conversations around mental health.

And somehow we still have 19 shows left on this run. This life is strange because it is exhausting and meaningful at the exact same time.

People see the photos from shows and I understand why. They see stages, bands, laminates (well not laminates because people are wild and will print them out), crowds, adventures, cities, and moments that look exciting from the outside.

I see mileage. I see gas receipts. I see trying to stretch donations into another tank of fuel.

I see wondering if the van is okay. I see bodies that need rest and minds trying to keep up anyway. I read people judging me. I get terrible messages.

And truthfully, I see the carefree version of me disappearing quickly on this run. That sentence hurts to write because I miss her. Did you know people used to say I was glittery? That I light up a room.....yeah I haven't in years heard that description. I have been living in a dark heaviness. I miss the version of me that could just exist in these moments instead of calculating miles, budgets, timelines, stress, responsibilities, and all of the things that need to happen next.

But then the road does what it always does. It gives me reminders when I need a HUGE break. . Milwaukee gave me one. Two different people came to our table and told us about losing loved ones to fentanyl overdoses. One lost a sister. Another lost a daughter. Those conversations stayed with me. I have no doubt that will stay with me. I have also received two seperate messages through IG where narcan we passed out in 2025 saved two different lives.

The overdose crisis never stopped. We just stopped talking about it as much. People are still carrying unimaginable grief into venues every night. Families are still missing people. There are still empty seats at dinner tables. There are still stories ending far too early. That is why the Narcan matters. That is why the test strips matter. That is why we keep having these conversations even when we are exhausted.

Chicago gave me a different reminder. A woman had too much to drink and needed help. I watched women immediately gather around her. Someone found her wallet. Someone got water. Someone stayed with her. Someone helped make sure she was safe. Nobody asked if she deserved help. Nobody judged her. Nobody rolled their eyes. They just showed up.

I always say to treat people the way women treat drunk girls in bathrooms because it is one of the purest forms of community I have ever seen. "Hey, I do not know you, but I have got you." Imagine if we carried more of that into everyday life.

Then there was one more reminder this week. One of our tour mates is about to celebrate 20 years free from blood cancer. Twenty years. I keep thinking about everything that fits inside twenty years. Birthdays. Concerts. Road trips. Ordinary mornings. Bad days. Inside jokes.

That is what every swab is fighting for. Last week alone, 122 people decided someone they have never met was worth trying for. That is incredible.

So yes, I am exhausted. I am at times what the kids say "crashing out". The miles are catching up to me. My body knows it. My brain definitely knows it. We still have 19 shows left. More roads. More cities. More work.

But community keeps showing up.

It shows up in grief.

It shows up in survivors.

It shows up in bathrooms.

It shows up at our table.

It shows up in conversations, hugs, donations, and strangers deciding other strangers matter.

And somehow, even when I feel completely worn down, that purpose keeps outweighing the exhaustion enough to point the van toward the next city. I know I am going to need to slow down and I make many a joke I need to "retire" See you at the next stop.

XOXO Tina, a person having hella feelings this month. Remember May is Mental Health Awareness Month.