Hands Still, Heart Full

Do you ever have one of those days where all you want to do is run away, and depression and anxiety have their ugly grips on you, and you feel worn down, off balance, and like you’re barely holding it together?

That was me yesterday.

And honestly, there wasn’t even a clear reason. Nothing specific set it off—it was just a lot of little things, slowly building up. Emotions I couldn’t quite name. A heaviness I couldn’t explain. That feeling of being out of sync, like the world is moving around you and you’re just… stuck.

Usually when I feel this way, I break away into one of my crafts—something with my hands. Painting, designing, writing, building, creating—anything to help me breathe again. It’s how I process. It’s how I come back to myself. Maybe that’s why I have so many different kinds of crafts—because on the days when I feel like I’m falling apart, making something reminds me that I’m still here. Still whole, somewhere beneath the weight.

But yesterday, I couldn’t even do that.
Life didn’t give me the space.
Work had to be done. Responsibilities kept pulling. And the one thing that usually helps me cope… wasn’t an option.

And that made it even harder.

So I carried the weight with me most of the day. Quietly. Tired. Overwhelmed. And somewhere in the middle of it all, I just stopped. I breathed. And I surrendered it to God—not in some big, dramatic way, but in a soft, tired whisper: “God, I can’t carry this. Please take it.”

That shift didn’t fix everything. The heaviness didn’t magically disappear. But something inside me softened. My perspective began to change. The pressure didn’t vanish, but I didn’t feel crushed by it anymore. It was like I remembered I wasn’t carrying it alone anymore.

Psalm 46:1 says, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.”

He’s present. Not just in worship songs or Scripture reading. But in the middle of long workdays, aching hearts, and the moments when we don’t have the space to do what normally helps us breathe.

Even when I couldn’t create, He was still creating space for me to be seen. Known. Held.

So if you’ve had one of those days—where your soul feels like it’s barely stitched together—know that you’re not alone. And maybe, just maybe, the simple act of showing up on a day like that is holy, too. Maybe it’s your quiet way of saying, “God, I’m still here. Please hold me together.”

And I believe He does.