Holding On, or Healing?
The Emotional Weight We Accumulate and the Savior Who Carries It All
What Are You Still Carrying?
An honest reflection on the weight we accumulate and the rest Jesus offers.
It’s amazing what you accumulate over time.
Not just in the drawers or closets or the garage—though that’s true, too. I’ve found the most unexpected grief tucked in between old school supplies and mismatched socks. But the accumulation that catches me off guard most… isn’t the stuff I can see.
It’s the weight I carry deep in my soul.
Over the past few years, I’ve gone from a household of six to a household of one. That sentence alone still makes me catch my breath.
It’s not just about fewer dishes or a quieter home. It’s the silence that lingers after the door closes. The decisions you make alone. The spaces you once filled with laughter and chaos that now echo with memory.
In those three years, I’ve had to sort through a lot.
Physically, emotionally, spiritually.
I’ve boxed up clothes. I’ve donated toys. I’ve thrown away old papers. And I’ve wept over a cereal bowl. I’ve felt paralyzed staring at a closet full of coats no one wears. I’ve stood in the garage wondering why it feels like a museum of someone else’s life.
It’s easy to see what’s changed on the outside. But what caught me off guard is just how much I’ve been carrying inside.
We Don’t Just Accumulate Stuff—We Accumulate Burdens
Grief.
Guilt.
Fear.
Pressure to be okay.
Memories that show up uninvited.
Stories I tell myself to get through the day.
“Just keep going.”
“You’re strong.”
“They need you to hold it together.”
“You shouldn’t still be feeling this.”
We don’t always realize it, but we collect things we were never meant to carry—emotional baggage tucked in alongside the physical clutter. Little just-in-case thoughts and wounds we hold onto because we might need them. Or maybe because we don’t know who we are without them.
Sometimes it looks like hyper-productivity. Sometimes it looks like shutting down. Sometimes it just looks like surviving.
And then one day, you're standing in a room full of boxes—both seen and unseen—and you wonder: How did I get here?
When Jesus Says Come
It was in one of those quiet, heavy moments that a verse I’ve known for years found me in a new way.
“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28
I’ve read it dozens of times. Probably heard it a hundred more. But this time, it didn’t just land like a comforting quote—it pierced through my soul like a lifeline.
Jesus wasn’t speaking to the people who had it all together. He wasn’t talking to the strong ones, or the ones who had figured out how to “balance it all.”
He was talking to the weary. To the burdened. To the ones who were stretched thin and still trying to smile. To people just like us.
And when He says come—He doesn’t mean, “come after you’ve figured it all out.” He means: right now.
With the grief.
With the guilt.
With the fear.
With the belief that maybe rest is for everyone else.
Come anyway.
The Kind of Rest He Offers
Jesus doesn’t just offer relief from a long to-do list. He offers something deeper: soul-level rest.
“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” — Matthew 11:29
That word yoke might feel foreign, but in Jesus’ day it meant the wooden harness that connected two oxen. It wasn’t about burdening one—it was about sharing the load.
He’s saying: You’re not meant to carry this alone. Let me shoulder it with you. Let me walk with you. Let me teach you the unforced rhythms of grace. (As The Message translation puts it.)
And He reminds us who He is in the process: Gentle. Humble. Accessible. Kind.
What a contrast to the voice that often rings in our heads when we feel overwhelmed:
“Try harder.”
“Be stronger.”
“Don’t let anyone see you fall apart.”
But Jesus doesn’t shame the weary—He invites them in.
Are You Willing to Lay It Down?
This is the part where I have to be honest: I’m still learning how to do this.
It’s not easy to lay things down that we’ve carried for so long. Sometimes they feel like part of our identity. Sometimes they’ve helped us survive, and we don’t know who we are without them. Sometimes we don’t even realize we’re carrying them until we finally set them down.
But I’m learning to ask different questions in this season:
– What is no longer serving me?
– What have I spiritualized as “strength,” when it’s really just exhaustion in disguise?
– What am I still carrying that Jesus already offered to take?
These aren’t one-time questions. They’re the kind I’m asking weekly, sometimes daily. But here’s what I know for sure: Jesus is patient.
He’s not rushing us through our grief.
He’s not overwhelmed by our questions.
And He never asks us to lay something down without offering something better in return—rest, peace, and Himself.
The Invitation Still Stands
So friend, if you’re carrying more than you were meant to—If your soul feels tired and your heart feels heavy—If you’re sorting through memories and weight and wondering if anyone really sees the burden you bear…
Hear this: Jesus sees it. And He’s still saying Come.
Not when you’ve figured it out.
Not when it all makes sense.
Not when the grief has passed.
Now. Right now.
You don’t have to carry it all anymore.
If this spoke to your heart today, I want to offer you something gentle and practical as you begin to lay down what you were never meant to carry.
Download my free guide, Habits of a Healing Heart—a simple, grace-filled resource to help you create space for healing, hope, and emotional rest in your daily life.
Click here to get your copy and take the next small step toward healing.
You don’t have to walk this alone—and you don’t have to keep carrying it all.
Let’s begin this journey together, one tender habit at a time.
