Am I Crazy for Thinking I Could Carry This All on My Own?
By Cathie Ostapchuk
I had a moment last week that felt both ridiculous and revealing at the same time.
I was standing in the kitchen, half-thinking about what to make for dinner, half-answering a message, while mentally running through everything still waiting for me: work, family, a conversation I needed to have, something I forgot to do, something I should probably be doing better, and I actually stopped and thought, of course you’re tired… look at what you’re trying to carry.
And then, almost out loud, I said, am I crazy for thinking I could carry all of this on my own?
Because when you name it, it sounds unreasonable. But when you live it, it feels normal.
We carry hormones that shift how we feel and function, sometimes without warning, and we still expect ourselves to be steady and clear. We carry family; people we love deeply, who also need us in ways that don’t always line up neatly. Some of us are navigating singleness, holding both its strength and its questions. Others are caring for children, or parents, or both, trying to be present in places that are all asking something of us at once.
And then there’s everything that doesn’t get named.
The constant mental tracking. The emotional awareness. The quiet noticing of what needs attention before anyone else even sees it. The way your mind rarely fully turns off because you’re holding threads that matter.
And somewhere underneath all of that, there is still this desire to be faithful: to God, to what He has placed in you, to the people in front of you. You want to lead well, to respond to your calling, to not miss what matters most.
It’s no wonder we’re tired.
The thing is, many of us have learned to interpret that tiredness as something we need to fix. We assume we just need a better system, more discipline, a bit more margin, a bit more strength.
But I’m not sure that’s actually the problem.
Because if I’m honest, some of what I’m feeling isn’t just the weight of what I’m carrying, it’s the assumption that all of it belongs to me to hold.
And that’s where Jesus’ words land differently than we might expect.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
He doesn’t say, you’re almost there, just keep going. He doesn’t offer a strategy. He offers Himself.
And then there’s this quiet line from Psalm 118 that keeps coming back to me: “The Lord is my strength.” Not in theory, but in reality. Not as something we say, but something we actually live from.
Maybe BEHOLD, for us in this season, looks less like a dramatic shift and more like a gentle, honest reorientation. It might look like finally admitting, without apologizing for it, this is more than I can carry on my own.
Not as failure. Not as weakness. Just as truth.
And then, in small ways, beginning to loosen our grip. Letting someone else in. Letting ourselves be supported. Letting God be the strength we keep trying to manufacture.
At Gather, we’re not standing outside of this conversation. We’re in it. We’re navigating the same tensions, asking the same questions, learning—sometimes slowly—what it means to live well and lead whole.
And if there’s one thing we’re becoming more convinced of, it’s this:
You’re not crazy.
You’re just carrying more than you were ever meant to carry alone.
And maybe today, the most faithful step isn’t to carry it better, but to let yourself be held.
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So come, not when you feel ready, but now.
I believe in all your carry. You were created to live well. You were created to live whole. Let’s live and believe together.