Exhausted—but on the Edge of Something

A reflection from no man’s land, where holy frustration meets quiet awakening

Charlie woke me just before 3 a.m. And instead of trying to fall back asleep,
I got up, made my small cup of caffeine, fed the dogs, and started reflecting on the Book of Job.

That helped redirect some of the frustration I felt about the state of the world, but I never left the bed. Not out of fear, but a desperate need to rest.

Even now, hours later, I sit here in stillness, deeply exhausted…and oddly comfortable.

Yes, I’m thinking about getting up, going for a sweaty, cleansing walk in this summer heat. But right now, I’m just lying here—my mind circling around truths passed down through time:

Stand your ground.
Speak truth to power.
Don’t give in to your lower appetites.

These words echo through the ages, and they stir something in me. Something ancient. Something unfinished.

Because here I am brimming with potential, ready to offer something meaningful to the world—and yet, I’m also too tired to move.

Grateful for the Disconnection from the World

I still have hours until I clock in at a job that undervalues me, a place where my wisdom goes unheard because I’m not part of the inner circle, because I’m just a “peasant” in their eyes.

And yet even in this frustrating limbo, I feel grateful.

Because at least I’m not standing in front of a classroom full of students who don’t care. And I’m pretending to be inspired while quietly burning out.

I remember the mornings I used to wake up this exhausted and still force myself to smile, to lecture, to inspire, when all I really wanted was to read, to think, to write, to feel God again.

No, I’m not ready to go back to teaching. Not yet. Maybe never.

Because even though I’m floating through this strange season of “not belonging”—no social life, no professional identity—I’ve never felt more connected to myself.

This solitude has cracked something open. There’s almost too much time to reflect, but also just enough space to begin seeing how the patterns of my life brought me here.

And maybe…my soul has been redirecting me all along.

Careers and Dreams Fade

Maybe that inner sabotage of all those jobs was really an act of mercy—a quiet rebellion against the roles that were never mine to carry.

Perhaps I was never meant to survive in academia. Perhaps I was meant to create. To proclaim.

And though my dreams feel distant now, faded around the edges, I feel—beneath the weariness—a lightness. A sliver of hope. A quiet stirring.

The depression that calcified around my mind is starting to crack and the seeds of life are beginning to germinate in the ground below.

So I treasure this time—this no man’s land. Where nothing feels certain, but at least I don’t have to perform. At least I can rest. At least I can be real.

So today, I’ll stay here a little longer.

Let the silence hold me.
Let the frustration teach me.
Let this holy pause prepare me.

Because maybe this isn’t stagnation. Maybe it’s a slow resurrection.