When Hope Feels Heavy

Ever wake up and just feel like the world has its hands on its hips, staring you down and saying, “Really? You again?” Yeah. That was me today.

I don’t even know why. Nothing catastrophic happened. I didn’t trip and fall in public or accidentally like someone’s photo from 2009 while Facebook stalking (though, honestly, give me time). It was just one of those weird heavy days—the kind where your heart feels a little wrinkled and your brain starts asking dramatic questions like:

• Why am I even here?

• Why do things feel so hard sometimes?

• What is wrong with me?

• Did someone secretly replace my caffeine free tea with caffeinated?

It doesn’t help that when I have one of these low days, I go into full forensic mode—like, let me examine every flaw I’ve ever had. Maybe then I’ll find the moment where I “went wrong.” (Spoiler alert: according to my inner critic, it began at age six when I said “aminal” instead of animal.)

But somewhere between overthinking life and reheating my tea for the third time, I felt a nudge in my heart—one of those Holy Spirit whisper moments that says: Come talk to Me.

And I resisted, of course. Because why take it to God when I could just spiral internally and eat carbs?

But He’s persistent. And so I finally stopped and said:

“Okay, God… I’m here. I’m struggling a lot today.”

And just like that—peace didn’t immediately fall from the sky, angels didn’t burst into song, and my problems didn’t disappear. But something did change.

My focus.

Instead of staring inward at everything wrong, I started looking upward. Instead of questioning my worth, I remembered Whose child I am.

I am His daughter. He made me ON purpose, FOR a purpose. He didn’t bring me here to abandon me on my weird, emotional Thursdays. He is here—still writing my story—even when I can’t see the plot.

So I prayed. Then I turned to the best kind of therapy I know—leaning into the work I love. Wishing people a happy birthday, emailing my customers, and Creating is where I feel closest to God. When my hands are busy, my heart has space to breathe. And while I was working—somewhere between the mess and the magic—I realized:

Nothing horrible is wrong with me. I don't know how I will get through this, but I know he will be there.

I’m just human. A beautifully unfinished work of God. And He isn’t disappointed by my low days. He isn’t surprised by my doubts. He doesn’t roll His eyes when I worry (for the 87th millionth time). He simply waits—for me to come sit with Him, to lean on Him, to rest in Him.

And you know what? That changes everything. Because hope isn’t something you find at the end of a perfect day.

Hope shows up in the middle of the mess. Hope stands right next to honest tears. Hope is when a tired heart says, I’m not giving up. God, I know you got me.

If today happens to be one of those days for you too, I want to remind you:

You are not alone. You are not behind. You are not forgotten. God handcrafted you. He hasn’t stopped loving you. And He’s not done with your story. Not even close.

So take a breath. Whisper a prayer. And if all you can say is, “Help me, Jesus”—that’s enough. I've said it more times than I can count this week alone.

He hears you. He sees you. And He’s holding you even now.

With love and a hopeful heart.

P.S. If anyone needs me, I’ll be over here trusting God, drinking hot chocolate because I gave up on reheating my tea, and refusing to give up—ever.

XO, Marie~