You know that moment when you finally sit down at the end of the day, and suddenly you realize you’ve been holding your breath? Like your whole body has been braced for impact, waiting for the next thing that needs your attention, your energy, your heart?
That’s where I’ve been living lately. In that space between one thing and the next, never quite catching up, never quite resting. Wake up. Pour the coffee. Clean up yesterday’s mess while today’s is already storming in. Answer messages. Fold laundry that never ends. Keep going. Keep smiling. Keep trying.
And somewhere in the blur of doing and managing and holding it all together,
I realized I’d been moving so fast, I left no room to be held.
The Invisible Load We Carry
Sometimes I catch myself wondering how other women seem to have it all together. Their Instagram feeds look curated, their kids appear well-behaved in public, and they somehow manage to show up to church looking put-together every Sunday morning.
But here’s what I’m learning: what people see is just the tip of the iceberg.
What they don’t see is the mental load—the constant running list in our heads of everything that needs to be done, remembered, planned for, worried about. They don’t see us lying awake at 2 AM mentally planning tomorrow’s schedule or worrying about whether we’re doing enough, being enough, loving enough.
They don’t see the emotional bandwidth we spend being the family’s emotional thermostat—sensing when someone needs encouragement, when tension needs to be diffused, when a listening ear is more important than a clean kitchen. They don’t see us carrying the spiritual weight of being the family’s faith anchor while privately wondering if God still hears our prayers between the chaos.
We’re managing doctor appointments and grocery lists and permission slips and hurt feelings and spiritual growth—all while trying to keep our own hearts tender toward God. We’re remembering everyone else’s needs while forgetting to acknowledge our own.
And somehow, in all that carrying, we’ve forgotten how to let ourselves be carried.
When Prayer Becomes Another Item on the List
When we’re already carrying so much, it’s no wonder that even our relationship with God can start to feel like one more responsibility to manage well.
I used to think there was a right way to pray—sitting quietly with my Bible open, hands folded, heart perfectly postured. But when you’re running on three hours of sleep and your mind is cycling through everything that needs to happen today, that kind of prayer can feel impossible. Worse, it can feel like another place where you’re falling short.
Sometimes I sit down for my “quiet time” and instead of feeling connected to God, I feel like I’m performing. Like I need to have the right words, the right gratitude, the right spiritual insights. Like I’m failing at being a good Christian woman if I can’t manufacture the peace and joy I think I should feel.
But what if God isn’t waiting for us to get our spiritual act together? What if He’s not looking for polished prayers from women who have it all figured out? What if He’s just waiting for us to show up—overwhelmed, exhausted, and honest about where we really are?
I’ve started to notice that some of my most real conversations with God happen in the most ordinary moments. While I’m folding the same load of laundry for the third time and whisper, “God, I need help.” While I’m stuck in traffic and find myself humming an old hymn. While I’m lying in bed at night, too tired for eloquent words, just breathing His name into the darkness.
The God Who Sees Your Tired
Scripture tells us that God neither slumbers nor sleeps, but I don’t think that verse exists to make us feel guilty about needing rest. I think it’s there to remind us that Someone is always watching over the things we’re too tired to watch over ourselves.
He sees you at 2 AM when the baby won’t settle and you’re questioning every parenting decision you’ve ever made. He sees you in the grocery store, calculating whether you can afford the name-brand cereal this week. He sees you scrolling through social media, comparing your behind-the-scenes to everyone else’s highlight reel.
And He doesn’t see failure. He sees His daughter, doing her best with what she has.
Permission to Come as You Are
If God is meeting us in these ordinary, exhausted moments, then maybe we’ve been overthinking what it means to draw close to Him.
What if closeness with God doesn’t require the energy we don’t have? What if it doesn’t demand perfect prayers or profound spiritual insights or even the ability to feel anything beyond tired?
What if the very exhaustion that makes us feel far from God is actually an invitation to experience Him differently?
Maybe it’s okay to come to Him tired—not as a last resort, but as a first response. Maybe it’s okay to come to Him confused, overwhelmed, running on empty, with nothing polished to offer. Maybe it’s okay to show up in your pajamas at 6 AM, coffee in hand, and simply say, “God, I’m here, but I’m barely here.”
Maybe coming to God with honest exhaustion isn’t settling for less than ideal. Maybe it’s exactly what He’s been waiting for—not our strength, but our surrender. Not our performance, but our presence.
When we’re too tired to pretend, too overwhelmed to perform, too empty to impress—that’s when we finally have space to simply receive.
What Real Devotion Looks Like
When we stop trying to perform our way into God’s presence, something beautiful happens. We discover that spiritual maturity isn’t about having it all figured out—it’s about admitting that we don’t, and showing up anyway.
This kind of devotion doesn’t look like the Instagram-worthy quiet times we think we should be having. It looks like reading one verse instead of a whole chapter and letting it simmer in your mind while you pack lunches. It looks like praying in the shower because that’s your only five minutes of solitude. It looks like finding God in the steam rising from your coffee, in the rhythm of chopping vegetables for dinner, in the blessed quiet after everyone’s finally asleep.
This isn’t plan B spirituality. This isn’t settling for less because we can’t manage the “real thing.” This is real life with God—messy, interrupted, and absolutely sacred.
When You Can’t Feel God Anymore
But maybe you’re reading this thinking, “That sounds nice, Ashley, but I can’t even feel God in those moments. I’m so numb, so tired, so disconnected that I wonder if He’s even there.”
I hear you. And I want you to know that feelings aren’t the measure of His presence.
He was there in your exhaustion when you got up before dawn to make lunches and coffee. He was there at midnight when you listened to your teenager’s heartbreak. He was there when you bit your tongue instead of saying the sharp thing that was right on the tip of it. He was there when you chose kindness over being right, even when being right felt so much more satisfying.
Love isn’t always a feeling that sweeps over us. Sometimes love is just showing up—and sister, you’ve been showing up every single day.
The Radical Act of Rest
Here’s something that might sound backwards: maybe the most spiritual thing we can do when we’re overwhelmed is to stop.
In a culture that worships busyness and measures worth by productivity, rest becomes a radical act of faith. Not because we’ve earned it or because we’ve checked everything off our impossible lists—we never will—but because we trust that God is bigger than our to-do lists.
When we rest, we’re declaring that the world won’t fall apart if we step back for a moment. We’re remembering that we’re human beings, not human doings. We’re choosing to believe that our value doesn’t come from how much we accomplish, but from whose we are.
Rest isn’t lazy when you’re carrying an invisible load. Rest is rebellion against the lie that you have to earn your worth.
A Prayer for the Exhausted Heart
God, I’m tired of pretending I have it all together. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough—not spiritual enough, not organized enough, not patient enough, not anything enough.
Meet me here, in this mess of laundry and lunches and endless lists. Help me remember that Your love isn’t conditional on my performance. Help me rest in the truth that I am Your beloved daughter, not because of what I accomplish, but because of who You are.
When I can’t feel You, help me trust You’re there in the ordinary moments. When I can’t find the right words, let my exhausted silence be prayer. When I can’t do anything else, help me simply receive Your love.
Teach me that being held by You doesn’t require having it all together. Teach me that You’re not waiting for me to be less tired, less overwhelmed, less human.
You’re just waiting for me to come.
Amen.
You don’t need to get your life in order before God will meet you. You don’t need to solve your overwhelm or find your spiritual footing or figure out how to pray “properly.”
You just need to come.
Tired, carrying too much, running on empty—come as you are.
He’s not disappointed by your exhaustion. He’s not frustrated by your inability to keep up. He’s not checking His watch, wondering when you’ll finally get it together.
He’s been waiting for you in the mess, and He’s just glad you’re here.
With love and solidarity in the beautiful, overwhelming mess,
Ashley
