God, Are You There?
Finding a sliver of hope and gratitude in the middle of slump
Let’s be honest. This week has been hard.
Not in a dramatic way, but just heavy enough that I couldn’t seem to find my pace. Every day felt slightly off, like I was always a step behind myself.
There were too many administrative things to take care of—forms to fill out, phone calls I kept putting off. The kind of “adulting” tasks that don’t take much time on paper, but somehow demand more steadiness than I had.
I kept telling myself to just pick one thing and start. But even that felt overwhelming. I wasn’t grounded enough to decide where to begin, let alone how to move through it all without unraveling a little.
And then there’s the fear and the doubt—what if I can’t see myself back in corporate? Will I be able to support my family? Can I afford the time slipping away while the bills keep piling up? Do I even have it in me to start my own thing?
Part of what made this week so heavy is how fragmented I felt. Like I was moving through my days in pieces—my mind planning, my body lagging, my heart elsewhere, and my soul desperately crying out, “God, are You even there?”. Nothing felt synchronized. Nothing felt whole. Everything felt heavy like I was carrying it all alone.
What I’ve been craving isn’t productivity or momentum. It’s wholeness. The feeling of being gathered back into myself instead of constantly being pulled apart by what needs doing.
Lately, I’ve been learning that the path back to that kind of wholeness isn’t about pushing harder, compartmentalizing, or thinking my way through it. It’s about integration—letting the body, mind, heart, and soul come back into conversation with each other. About listening instead of forcing. About allowing the pieces to reconnect and work with each other, not against.
Even out of desperation, as I searched for that path to wholeness, I found a sliver of hope—and with it, a quiet gratitude for that hope itself. Even in the despair, something in me is still reaching—not for answers, but for integration. For the fact that I was living in fragments and needed to be made whole.
This week has been hard. And yet, even in the pieces, even in the despair, there’s a quiet hope rising, a hope mixed with gratitude. Not the kind that fixes everything, but the kind that reminds me—I’m still here, still reaching, still gathering myself back into wholeness, one small piece at a time.
If you've also had a hard week, I hope you feel that same quiet hope rise within you. May it be a gentle promise that wholeness is possible—that we’re still a work in progress, and that next week can feel a little lighter, a little more whole.
With Love,
Trisha
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