Trauma Tired? Let God Carry What You Can’t

There is a kind of exhaustion that sleep cannot touch. A weariness that settles into your bones, into the very fabric of who you are. Trauma tired. It’s the fatigue of always being on guard, of flinching at shadows that no one else sees. It’s carrying memories in your muscles, in your breath, in the way your body stiffens at the sound of a voice or the echo of a place you swore you’d never return to.

It comes from the stacking of childhood wounds, addictions we used to numb, being stuck in fight or flight, carrying PTSD, deep rejection. Blow after blow, valley after valley. It is the weight of everything we’ve endured, pressed down into our bodies, our minds, our spirits. Trauma tired is not just exhaustion—it’s the aftermath of battles no one saw, scars no one understands, the endless effort to keep moving when all you want to do is rest. And sometimes, we just shut down from the world around us. We go quiet, but our minds are loud and unrelenting.

Trauma tired is different from the tired that comes from a long day. It doesn’t go away with a nap, or a cup of tea, or a good night’s rest. It lingers. It follows. It sits beside you in church, in the car, in moments of joy, whispering that it won’t let you go so easily. And maybe you’ve made peace with that. Maybe you’ve learned to live with it, like a song playing on repeat in the background, always there, always humming just beneath the surface.

But I don’t think we were meant to carry it forever. I don’t think God called us to live with the weight of wounds that never close. He is a God of healing, not just in the grand, miraculous moments, but in the quiet, everyday ones too. In the slow unraveling of old lies. In the way He teaches us to breathe again, to unclench our fists, to believe that love is not a trap and peace is not a trick.

Maybe healing doesn’t come all at once. Maybe it comes in pieces, in small mercies, in the gentle way the morning light touches your face, reminding you that you’re still here. Maybe it comes in the hands of a friend who sits with you in silence, or in the verses that catch your breath when you weren’t even looking for them.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

He is close. Closer than the fear. Closer than the memories. Closer than the exhaustion that tells you you’ll never feel whole again.

If you are trauma tired, I want you to know this: You were not made to live in survival mode forever. There is more for you. There is healing for you. There is rest for you.

And if all you can do today is breathe, then breathe. If all you can do is whisper His name, then whisper. If all you can do is stand in the wreckage and believe, for just one moment, that you are not alone, then hold on.

Healing will come. Maybe not all at once, maybe not in the way you expected. But it will come. And one day, you will wake up and realize that the weight isn’t as heavy anymore. That the song playing in the background is a new one. That you don’t just survive—you live.

And when that day comes, I hope you run freely into it, knowing that the One who carried you through the dark will be the same One waiting for you in the light.

Isaiah 40:29-31 – “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak… but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.”

Love, Sarah xx.

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