I’m Weary

I’m so weary. Of all of it. And I feel guilty for my tiredness because there’s work left to do.

There’s truth to be touted (after wading through the weeds to figure out which truth is the true truth). There are causes to support (after investigating to get to the root of said causes to determine if they are what they say they are).  There are misunderstandings to clear up (because if I look at someone the wrong way or don’t dress myself up to look just like them there’s bound to be issues).

And I’m sorry, but I’m just so tired.

Gardening doesn’t excite me like it did in years past. Oh, it’s growing and we’re feasting and there are weeds to pull and work to do, but the better work of pondering and imagining and viewing the garden through the eyes of a poet isn’t getting done.

There’s work on my desk. I make lists and watch self-imposed deadlines pass without checking the boxes. The pile gets higher, the weight heavier, and I’ve little desire to do anything about it.

I struggle to read and to write. The level of focus and concentration required, for now, is lost. These simple pleasures are no longer fulfilling, but chores I slog through with minimal satisfaction.

Maybe the work in this season is different than it was last year, last decade, last century. Maybe the work now is the most important work of all. Maybe it doesn’t look like work.

The shifting sand throws me off balance. Not gonna lie. I’m wobbling. We’re all staggering around like drunken sailors wondering what happened, trying to sober up enough to regain our bearings.

We knew it would be hard, this changing and breaking down and rebuilding, but we didn’t think it would be like this. We know there’s even harder stuff to navigate down the road. We’re kinda scared.

“Some days I struggle to maintain my faith amidst day-to-day circumstances. Sometimes I wallow in self-pity and sometimes I stay in there for a while. The pain feels like it’s more than I can cope with some days. Wearing a mask of having it all together chafes. God understands our seasons of doubt and doesn’t love us any less for them. The Creator invites us to draw near in those dark times; they’re opportunities to go deeper. Wearing the prettiest I’ve-got-it-all-together mask was never the point—love was always the point.”

Linda Hoye, The Presence of Absence: A Story About Busyness, Brokenness, and Being Beloved

I think I should be able to weather this storm better than I am. I wrote an entire book about navigating my way through the squall, for goodness sake. And by “writing” I mean more than just tapping out words because writing is so much harder than that. Deep work precedes words being formed. So, I think I should have this figured out.

But I don’t and that’s part of the beautiful terrible truth of this life. We’re not meant to go it alone. We’re invited to stand on the deck long before the sun has risen and, while the rest of the neighborhood still sleeps, look up and over and around and whisper a one-word prayer.



I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things.
  1. Lovely and so right on. Like you say we are staggering like drunken sailors. We’re lost at sea trying to get our bearings. How did it all get so out of whack. I ponder this each day in our tiny trailer and ponder my purpose.

    1. Martha, I think of you so often and wonder how you’re riding out this crazy ride.

  2. Just as I was self editing the first post for a new blog, I saw your email arrive and the word weary jumped out at me. When I read this post I nearly wept. So beautifully written and I feel exactly the same way. For a brief moment I almost threw up my hands and deleted my post. Then I realized I would be doing to myself what I feel the world has done to many folks my age. So, I edited it and hit publish. I have written so many blogs that I soon tire of then stop writing. Writing is a life force to me and no matter who reads my words, if anyone, I must write. Maybe this will be the thing that comes from this time of separation and pain. Thank you so much for another inspiring post.

    1. Sheryl, I enjoyed reading your post (here’s a link for others who may want to visit: https://oldwomanblues.wordpress.com/). As I said in my comment, your words echo many of my thoughts. I look forward to reading more from you.

  3. Beautifully rendered post as always. You have written, published, and now marketing a book. Of course, you are WEARY.

    I feel the same and am taking a blog break. Maybe it’s time for a guilt-free break? 😀

    1. A guilt-free break is always in order, Marian. I think so many of us are weary right now.

  4. So beautifully said. I think many of us feel the same. I believe we are on track, but nobody ever said change like we are going through would be pretty. I am not only weary, I am exhausted.

    1. I was talking with a friend today about our respective weariness. So many of us are feeling the weight of it all. It helps to know we’re not alone. I’m with you, Joan.

  5. Linda, the word “weary” says it all, doesn’t it? I know that feeling and don’t understand how to cope with it either. Thankfully, I’ve been reading your book where words of wisdom and sacred thoughts rest in abundance on the pages. Yet, somehow I don’t get to a place of rest.

    The suggest of a one-word prayer found in help may just be the answer. Am I strong enough to say it?

    1. It’s such a challenge some days, isn’t it? And yes, you’re right. It takes courage to pray that simple one-word prayer. Today I spent time talking with a friend. I stood outside in the sunshine. I picked lettuce. These things helped ease my burden. I pray you’ll find a similar easing, my friend.

  6. It seems you wrote this post about me. the fatigue, fogginess, lack of motivation, lists that remain lists without the check mark, (or for me, the highlighter, highlighting getting SOMETHING accomplished.

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