Empty Tank
My tank is on empty. I’m emotionally exhausted and mentally fried. I’m trying not to be a bummer. But my options this week were honesty or just skipping a week. I’ve published at least once a week since April 7, 2023.
I have faithfully written despite how I felt week after week for three years. If I had a good excuse, I guess this week would be the one, but I’m here spilling my guts again to the handful of you that show up each week and remind me that my voice matters.
This season feels like death by a thousand cuts. There have been a few catalyst moments that pushed me past the tipping point, but each thing on its own is absurd to cause this much stress.
I fear that by writing how I feel this week—and every week—you’ll think less of me. I also worry that I’ll lose the little audience I have built here because these weekly posts haven’t been very upbeat lately.
I’ve spent much of my adult life in the service of others. I served my country, I served God’s people, and currently I serve veterans for the Federal Government. I pour from a leaking cistern of altruism, and lately nothing seems to replenish me.
I feel emptied and adrift. I’ve prayed for purpose. I sometimes wish God would light a bush on fire or make an animal talk to me or something. I’m not good at nuance. I’m even worse at discerning direction when that spark of divinity within me feels like it has been quenched.
I yelled at the steering wheel with tears in my eyes yesterday, pleading with God for some sign he’s not done with me. I punched my dashboard at the silence I heard bouncing back at me. Faith and God are a mystery to me. But I still cling to it even when it makes no sense.
The matrix of things I love and things that pay well has never seemed in alignment. I wish I had some easy answer or some solution to work towards. I’m so burnt out it’s hard for me to know where to look. It’s not so much that God isn’t speaking, but maybe it’s that I’m so tired and broken that I can’t hear him anymore.
Maybe I traded purpose for a paycheck a while ago, or maybe this season is teaching me long suffering. Who the hell knows? I promise I won’t allow myself to stay stuck in this place. I know I’ll eventually get the rest I so desperately need. Stick around and watch things get better with me. Tell me about a time you felt stuck. How did you overcome it?
Brother,
Thank you for not skipping this week. Thank you for choosing honesty. That took courage.
I'm not going to tell you it gets better or that God has a plan. What I will tell you is this: you're not broken.
The death-by-a-thousand-cuts season you're in is the accumulated weight of serving everyone else while telling yourself your own needs don't matter as much. And I can tell you exactly where that comes from.
Our Christian culture's operating system is conditioned to see the cross as perfect love, making a perfect sacrifice. So we think sacrifice is the thing. To be worthy, we need to suffer to live up to the sacrifice. That plays incredibly well in military service, in ministry, in any culture that celebrates self-sacrifice.
We try to out-suffer each other. You can't run farther than I can? I'll run 100 miles to prove you can't. You can't carry more? I'll carry 150 pounds on my back to prove you can't. You can't sacrifice more? Watch me. Watch me. That's how we're wired.
"King Kong ain't got nothing on me." - Denzel Washington (Training Day)
And it works for a season, then it becomes the only thing you know how to do. Then it's just slow suicide with a halo on.
You're yelling at the steering wheel because you're still trying to out-suffer your way to meaning. Still waiting for God to give you a mission dramatic enough to justify existing. Still measuring your worth by how much you can carry for other people. But the ego that told you suffering was the way is also the barrier to healing: we never admit that we need rest, that we need help, that we're allowed to be human instead of a sacrifice machine.
God's not answering because the answer isn't another assignment. It's permission to put the weight down. You don't want to hear that, so you don't.
You asked how I overcame feeling stuck. I didn't overcome it by finding a new mission or getting a sign. I overcame it by finally accepting that the hardest thing I'd ever do was admit I needed help, needed rest, needed love that wasn't contingent on how much I could give. To stop trying to achieve worthiness and start receiving it.
Please stop asking God what's next and start asking what you need to let go of. You don't need a new purpose. You need to grieve the version of service that's been killing you slowly. Rest isn't something you earn after you've sacrificed enough. It's the foundation that enables sustainable service.
AND, you're not losing your audience by being honest. The people who matter aren't here for the upbeat performance. We're here for the truth. Keep writing. Keep being honest. And for God's sake, stop measuring your worth by how much you can carry for other people.
I'm here if you need to talk. Not to fix it. Just to sit with you in it.
Create a space of love for yourself. Actually care about yourself the way you care about everyone else. Lead with it. Start with it.
It will change everything.
—Fred
Thanks for sharing this Stan. We all have days like this, yet you keep on writing. That resilience is preparing you for a greater challenge. One day the world will let you know what it is, and your tank will be full of purpose.
I've been stuck so many times, and I don't think anything I have done has helped me get out of it. Some days just feel like filler, but if you keep putting one foot in front of the next and you find a new day where the sunshine actually warms your heart, and you find joy where you weren't looking for it.
If you feel alone, know we're all here for you. When it feels like nobody cares, know that we do. When it feels like nobody is listening, know that we are.