This week got away from me.
Between conferences, back-to-back doctor’s appointments, and an overwhelming to-do list, I barely saw my kids. I didn’t respond to texts. I didn’t make time for friends. I didn’t pause long enough to even notice how stressed I was—until my body reminded me.
It’s funny how we normalize this kind of week. We say, “It’s just busy right now” like it’s a passing weather system. But when we stay in that pace too long, it stops being a season and starts becoming a habit.
And the hard truth? I missed a lot. I missed real moments with people I love. I missed quiet. I missed prayer. I missed the chance to just sit in God’s presence without rushing past it.
I don’t write this from the other side with a five-step solution. I write it from the middle—with tired eyes and a still-full calendar. But here’s what I’m trying to hold onto:
That God isn’t measuring my worth by my productivity.
That I don’t have to earn peace—it’s already offered.
That even in the chaos, I can choose a moment of stillness.
Maybe this week, that’s enough.
Maybe tomorrow, I’ll try again—with softer expectations and a slower pace.
And maybe that’s what grace really looks like.
The Weight of Being Heard
There’s something sacred about being heard.
Not nodded at. Not politely listened to. But really, truly heard.
This week, someone sat with my story—no fixing, no dismissing, no trying to make it prettier than it was. They just let me be honest. And something in me let go.
I didn’t even realize how much I’d been carrying until that moment. The frustration of repeating myself. The ache of feeling unseen. The pressure to downplay pain just to keep things moving.
But being heard felt like oxygen.
It didn’t fix everything. But it made the burden lighter. It reminded me that I matter—not because I’m strong, or useful, or holding it all together—but because I am a person with a voice and a heart that needs tending, too.
I think God listens like that. Not rushing us. Not correcting us mid-sentence. Just holding space until the edges soften and the tears come, and healing begins.
If you’ve ever felt invisible or overlooked, I see you.
If you’re still waiting for someone to really listen, don’t give up.
Your voice is worthy. Your story matters.
And when someone finally listens—it doesn’t just feel good.
It feels holy.