The Day I Stopped Pretending I Was Fine
There is a kind of tired that has nothing to do with sleep.
My elders called it being “bone weary.” And I always thought I understood what they meant.
I did not. Not really. Not until I came home from church one Sunday, walked through the door, and something in me just… gave way.
I took off my clothes, sat down on the edge of my bed, and cried.
Silently.
The kind of tears that have been waiting for a quiet moment when no one is watching.
And when they finally slowed, I told myself the truth.
I was not okay.
Not depressed — I want to name that distinction clearly because it matters. I know what depression feels like. Depression is not a stranger to me. I have navigated its particular kind of darkness before.
This was something different.
Something quieter. Something that had been settling into my bones for months, even as I kept showing up, producing, encouraging, and performing fine.
This was spiritual depletion. I discuss this topic in this week’s episode of Deciding To Soar: Living Life Your Own Way. Click here to listen.)
Now, I want to pause here — because when I first put those two words together, something in me resisted.
My religious upbringing made me feel guilty even placing those words side by side. As if admitting that my spirit was depleted meant I had somehow failed God. As if I should have been able to pray through it, serve through it, praise through it, worship through it, and work through it.
But here is what I now know: Naming “spiritual depletion” was not a crisis of faith. It was a courageous act of faith.
Why?
Because spiritual depletion is not the same as burnout.
Burnout is about doing too much….for too many… for too long….without any support, joy, or purpose.
Spiritual depletion is what happens when a woman has been giving from her deepest self — her spirit, her core, her truest identity — for so long, to too many, and in so many directions, that she loses access to herself.
Of course, she is still succeeding according to how society defines success.
She is still functioning.
She is still showing up.
She is still looking good and well-dressed.
She is still leading her team, achieving milestones, and effectively executing strategies.
Yes, she is still building her business, seeing patients, advising her clients, teaching her students, and raising her children.
But something essential is gone. And she knows it, even though she cannot name it.
It looks like:
- Going to church out of obligation instead of spiritual renewal
- Work becoming mechanical — parts of you present, other parts quietly withdrawn
- Being physically present but emotionally distant
- Code-switching, shifting from feeling like a survival strategy into something that feels like slow self-erasure
- A bone-deep weariness that sleep does not touch
- Relationships with people who need you but never feed you — emotionally, intellectually, or spiritually
- A quiet desire to stop. Not to disappear. Just to finally, finally rest, even though you can’t clearly articulate what type of rest and respite you crave or need.
That Sunday after church, I realized I had run out of places to hide.
Not from other people.
From myself.
And so I had to do the one thing I had been avoiding.
I had to come back to myself.
As uncomfortable as that was — and it was deeply uncomfortable — it was also sacred.
Because that moment marked the beginning of one of the most honest seasons of my life.
If you are reading this and something in you just exhaled…
If something whispered, that sounds like me…
If you have been calling it burnout, or stress, or just being tired — because spiritual depletion felt too big, too tender, too much to admit…
I want you to know: what you are feeling is real.
You are not weak.
You are not ungrateful.
You are not failing.
You are not less accomplished.
You are depleted. And there is a difference.
Here is where I would invite you to begin. Just three things. I call them the 3 N’s.
Name it. Tell yourself the truth without softening it. Without comparing it. Just name where you actually are — honestly, without apology.
Notice it. Look compassionately at where your energy is actually going. Not to fix it overnight. Just to see it clearly. Clarity creates space even before anything changes.
Nourish it. Each day, allow yourself to admit one true thing. Not positive. Not polished. Just real….For example, I am tired. I miss who I used to be. I am still here, and that is enough. Those small truths begin to reconnect you to yourself in ways that performance never could.
What I know for sure: You cannot outrun your own depletion. Eventually, the depletion will sit you down. The only question is whether you sit down on your own terms, or whether life does it for you.
For me, it was a little bit of both that eventually forced me to sit down on the edge of that bed.
And it was the most sacred thing that had happened to me in years.
I want to leave you with this….
This week, please remember — you matter.
What you are feeling matters.
What you are carrying matters.
And the most holy action you can take right now is to take care of yourself.
Not tomorrow. Not after you finish everything on your list. Not after everyone else is okay.
Now.
So name it. Notice it. Nourish it.
It is time to SOAR.
This Week’s Blessing:
May you have the courage to tell yourself the truth — even when the truth is tender.
May you honor what your spirit has been trying to say.
May you Name what you are carrying, Notice where your energy is going, and Nourish yourself back to wholeness — one true thing at a time.
And may you trust that even here, in this honest and sacred space, you are still becoming.
Blessings,
SharRon 💛

I explore this more on this week’s episode of Deciding to Soar. Listen on Apple Podcasts, YouTube, and wherever you get your podcasts.
And join me for more conversations — subscribe to A True Word, my weekly letter. Join here.
