With Him, I Can Come Undone

Being in a place where people think you have it all figured out can be dangerous.

They see your ability to manage. They hear the answers you give and watch you carry responsibilities. You keep showing up, making decisions and finding ways through difficult situations.

Over time, that becomes the picture they have of you.

And sometimes, beneath that picture, you are struggling to find someone you can reach for.

Lately, I have found myself in that place.

There are moments when I need to speak honestly about how I am doing, yet I cannot see where to take the conversation. I need somewhere to put the weight down. Somewhere I can arrive without an answer, without a plan and without having to reassure anyone that I will be fine.

The loneliness in those moments can be immense.

The person beneath the competence

In business and leadership, there are spaces where composure matters.

People need us to listen carefully, exercise judgment and respond responsibly. A difficult meeting may require us to manage our emotions while helping others work through theirs. A decision may need to be made even when we are carrying private uncertainty.

I understand those demands. I take them seriously.

But there is a person beneath the competence.

There is a woman who sometimes goes home and cries. Who needs reassurance after making the decision. Who can help someone else see a way forward while struggling to see her own.

Being capable does not remove those needs. Yet it can make them less visible.

Sometimes people assume we have support because we appear supported. They assume we are coping because we continue to function. We may also become so accustomed to carrying things privately that we no longer know how to begin telling someone what is happening.

I have been thinking about the distance that can grow between being known for what we do and being known in how we are.

When I cannot see who to reach for

I do not want to pretend that I have resolved this.

I am still learning how to reach out when I feel alone. There are days when I can name what I need, and others when I cannot gather it into words. Sometimes I want companionship without having to explain every part of the situation first.

In this season, I am leaning into the assurance that God is there.

That assurance gives me somewhere to turn when I cannot see anyone else to reach for. I can bring Him the loneliness itself, including the questions and disappointment that accompany it.

Psalm 27 says:

“When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up.”
—Psalm 27:10, KJV

Those words speak to the possibility of being failed even by the relationships from which we would most naturally expect care.

I am not using them to make an accusation against my own parents. I hear in them an assurance that the absence of human support does not place me beyond God’s care.

He can receive me when I feel unreceived elsewhere.

I can bring Him the part of me that wants to be looked after. The part that is tired of being resourceful. The part that needs to know I matter even when I have nothing useful to contribute.

When my heart is overwhelmed

Psalm 61 gives me language for another part of this experience:

“From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I.”
—Psalm 61:2, KJV

When my heart is overwhelmed.

I find comfort in those words because they give me a prayer for the moment I am actually in.

I do not have to become calm before I cry out. I do not have to understand everything that is happening before I ask for help. I can come with thoughts that are tangled and feelings that are difficult to explain.

There are times when the weight has accumulated so gradually that I cannot identify one thing responsible for it. There is the work, the uncertainty, the difficult conversation, the concern I have carried for someone else. There are disappointments I thought I had moved past and questions that return when the day becomes quiet.

Eventually, I feel overwhelmed.

The prayer asks to be led somewhere steadier than the place I can reach on my own. That is what I need: help beyond my ability to hold myself together.

My Maker knows how to care for me

Another passage I return to is Isaiah 54:

“For thy Maker is thine husband; the LORD of hosts is his name.”
—Isaiah 54:5, KJV

These words were spoken to Zion, pictured in the passage as a woman experiencing abandonment and distress. They belong to a promise of God’s restoring care for His people.

As I read them, I am drawn to the relationship between the names: Maker and husband. The One who made His people declares His commitment to them.

That gives me something to reflect on when I feel unseen.

The God I turn towards knows me beyond the version of myself I can explain to another person. He knows what has shaped me, what frightens me and what I struggle to say. I can trust Him with the needs that feel tender or embarrassing.

I do not have to persuade Him that I am worth caring for.

I can allow myself to need Him.

With Him, I can come undone

There may be spaces that require me to have it together.

With God, I can come undone.

I can shed the weights I have been carrying. I can stop choosing my words so carefully. I can admit that I am hurt, that I feel lonely and that I do not know how much longer I can keep carrying something in the same way.

I can cry without needing to turn the tears into a lesson.

I can bring Him the fear that remains after I have encouraged everyone else. I can tell Him that I need comfort, even when I know the Scriptures. I can acknowledge that believing He is faithful has not made the day easy.

Sometimes prayer is a conversation. Sometimes it is a few words spoken repeatedly. Sometimes it is sitting before Him with very little to say.

I am learning to let all of that belong.

I trust Him with the parts of me that feel as though they are breaking. I trust Him to tend to them, restore me and help me find my footing again. I do not know how long that work will take, but I want to remain open to His care while it happens.

The cares I keep picking back up

First Peter gives this invitation:

“Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.”
—1 Peter 5:7, KJV

The reason given matters to me: He careth for you.

I can bring my concerns because I am cared for.

That includes the practical things. The income I am uncertain about. The decision I need to make. The relationship that has become difficult. The responsibilities waiting for me tomorrow.

It also includes the quieter concerns: whether anyone notices how tired I am, whether I will find the companionship I long for, and whether I can allow someone to see me without feeling that I have lost my dignity.

I wish casting my cares were always a single act. Often, I pray and later find myself carrying the same concern again.

Then I return.

I am learning to recognise when I have moved from attending responsibly to a situation into trying to control every possible outcome. I still have things to do, but constant worry does not make me more able to do them.

I can ask God for wisdom about my part and help with what lies beyond it.

Where my help comes from

Psalm 121 begins:

“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth.”
—Psalm 121:1–2, KJV

The passage directs my hope towards the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

When I feel alone, my attention can become fixed on what is absent. The conversation I cannot have. The person I cannot reach. The support I wish were available.

Those absences are real. I do not need to deny them.

But I want to remember that they are not the full measure of the help available to me. I can lift my eyes beyond what I presently see and ask God to meet me here.

His help may come through a person I have not yet approached. Through counsel, practical support or the courage to say clearly that I am struggling. It may involve rest, a changed arrangement or a decision about something I can no longer carry.

I want to be willing to receive that help, including when it arrives in an ordinary form.

Still longing for community

God’s presence does not make my desire for human companionship disappear.

I still want people with whom I can speak freely. People who can pray with me and listen without requiring me to become composed halfway through the conversation.

I am asking Him for those relationships.

That longing is part of why I created this space. I believe there are other women who know what it is to be regarded as strong while privately needing somewhere to rest. Women whose responsibilities are visible, but whose loneliness is harder to see.

I hope we can learn to recognise one another.

For now, I am holding to what I know: when my heart is overwhelmed, I can cry out to God. When I cannot see who to reach for, I can reach for Him.

I can come without an answer.

I can come with tears.

I can come undone and trust myself to His care.

A prayer

Father, You know how I am doing beneath the appearance of managing.

You know the loneliness I struggle to explain and the weights I have carried quietly. Help me bring them to You without editing out the parts that feel difficult or untidy.

Lead me to the rock that is higher than I. Help me entrust my cares to You, and receive the care You provide.

Restore what has become weary within me. Give me courage to reach out, discernment about whom to trust and relationships in which support can be shared honestly.

When I cannot see a way forward, help me lift my eyes towards You.

With You, let me be fully known and cared for. Amen.

A question to sit with

What have I been trying to hold together that I need to bring honestly before God?