When the Pressure Almost Broke Me

Pressure doesn’t come to destroy us. It comes to draw out what God placed inside us.

By the end of last year and into the first part of this year, I was about to crash out.

That is the only way I know how to say it honestly. The pressure did not arrive all at once. It stacked quietly, layer by layer. And instead of staying behind in the old year, it followed me right into the new one. I was carrying the weight of what I had not yet processed, and I knew something had to give.

Back in September, a family situation unfolded that was painful and confusing. At the time, I did not even have the space to process it. My grandson was hospitalized for failure to thrive. My husband was preparing for hip replacement surgery. Survival mode took over, and everything else had to wait.

It was not until October, and then more clearly into November, that I fully realized what had happened. By then, my grandson needed surgery to have a feeding tube placed. This was new territory for me. Over the holiday break in December, I kept him for four to five days and was responsible for his care. The feedings. The breathing treatments. The medication. All of it.

It was overwhelming.

The first day nearly broke me. It was hands-on, constant, and intense. The kind of overwhelm that does not always show up on the outside, but settles deep in your body.

At the same time, work pressures continued to pile on. Expectations, confusion, moments that felt caring on the surface, but later came across as cold or dismissive. It was just one more thing added to an already full load.

I remember realizing I could not carry this pressure into another season unchanged. I had to release something.

Then the year did not even get a chance to find its footing.

The day after I wrote and shared a reflection about pressure and light, loss came knocking. My best friend’s father died suddenly from a heart attack. She called me and asked me to pray. I prayed with her on the phone. Thirty minutes later, she called back, and he was gone.

Not long after that, I went to the doctor. The waiting area was packed. Men and women were at different stages of treatment. Some were visibly sick. Some were wearing wigs. Some were clearly in the thick of chemo. I did not look the way people expect someone with cancer to look.

As I was walking away from the front desk, the person checking me in muttered under his breath, “Oh… I did not know she was dying.”

I did not turn around. Not because I did not have something to say, but because I did not want to create a scene in a space already full of suffering. Still, that moment stayed with me all weekend. And that is when something clicked.

I realized this has been my pattern for years. I stay quiet. I absorb. I try not to be combative. I am a peacemaker by nature. But silence is not the same as wisdom. And peace does not mean allowing careless words or dismissive behavior to go unaddressed.

That moment reminded me that holding everything in is not a strength. Especially for women. Stress does not just stay emotional. It settles into our bodies, our health, our spirits. We become pressure cookers, smiling on the outside while everything inside is boiling.

By the time one more work-related situation came up, I knew I could not keep doing that. There had been confusing moments before, and by last summer, I had honestly wanted to quit. This time, instead of swallowing it, I spoke.

I was nervous. I wanted my heart to be heard. I was not trying to argue or go in circles. I wanted clarity and a healthy way forward. So I said my piece, gently and honestly, with wisdom.

And I felt relief.

I also realized something else. We do not have to argue with people, online or otherwise. With everything happening in the world, I refuse to live in constant debate or outrage. I am not called to win arguments. I am called to reflect God’s light.

Some people dwell in darkness. But darkness is not dispelled through confrontation. It is dispelled by light. And I choose to carry that light into every situation I am in.

At the same time, I was walking closely with my best friend of over twenty years, helping her family navigate loss. Supporting them, creating a slideshow for the funeral when they could not, bringing food and drinks, trying to take some of the weight off. Over 200 people attended the funeral. And once again, I was reminded how much we ask of grieving families. We show up to mourn, then expect them to feed us. There has to be a better way. Love should not require so much labor from people who are already broken.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, God gave me another moment of relief. I found out my screenplay had advanced from the quarterfinals to the semifinals. I will find out next month whether I move to a finalist round, and then the winner.

I did not celebrate loudly.
I exhaled.

It felt like God reminding me of what He had already spoken. That pressure does not come to destroy me, but to shape and mold me. That’s why how I respond matters. That I am still called to reflect His light, even under weight.

I cannot control other people.
But I can control what I say and how I say it.
I can choose to speak from a place of love, with wisdom, and to reflect God’s light.

I did my part.
I released the rest.
And I trust God to carry what I cannot.