This has been a hard week for me.

And if I’m honest,
I don’t always know what to do with that.

Because I’ve spent a long time believing
that being tired meant I wasn’t handling things well enough.

That if I were stronger,
more disciplined,
more capable—

I wouldn’t feel so worn down sometimes.

So I push through it.

I try to stay productive.
Stay positive.
Stay okay.

And most of the time,
I don’t even talk about how tired I really am.

Because somewhere along the way,
I started associating rest with weakness.

But there comes a point
where your mind, your body, even your spirit
start asking for something different.

Not more effort.

Just rest.

And I’m starting to realize
that surrendering to rest
doesn’t mean I’m giving up.

It means I’m human.

It means I was never meant
to carry everything endlessly
without stopping to breathe.

And maybe resting isn’t weakness after all.

Maybe it’s trust.

Trust that the world won’t fall apart
if I stop striving for a moment.

Trust that God can hold things together
even when I finally let myself be still.