How I Held Onto God When I Wasn’t Sure I Could

There were mornings I couldn’t lift my head, much less my hands in worship.
I wasn’t mad at God. I wasn’t even doubting Him, exactly.
I was just tired. Soul-deep weary. The kind of tired that makes faith feel like a foreign language you used to speak fluently but now struggle to remember.

Grief had hollowed me out.
Anxiety kept me up at night.
My marriage felt more like survival than covenant.
And the shame of not being “okay” in Christian spaces made me feel like I had to pretend I was fine.

But I wasn’t.

Here’s what I’ve learned in the rawest moments of my faith walk:
Holding on to God doesn’t always look like bold belief or confident declarations.
Sometimes it looks like falling apart in His presence—
a whispered “Help.”
a breath between sobs.
a silent car ride where you let the tears fall and hope He understands what your heart can’t say.

And He does.

Not always with thunder or miracles.
Sometimes, just with His presence.
A holy hush in the middle of the ache.
A gentle reminder that you’re not alone in the dark.

When I look back, I can see how He held me—
even when I wasn’t sure how to hold on to Him.

Here are three simple, sacred ways I’ve learned to cling to hope when my hands felt too weak to grip anything at all:

3 Ways I Held On When I Was Barely Hanging

1. I stopped pretending.
There was a season when church felt like a stage, and I was playing the part of the “strong Christian woman.”
I smiled. I served. I said all the right things.

But inside?
I was barely holding it together.
My anxiety was loud. My depression was heavy.
And I was terrified that if anyone saw it—really saw it—they’d assume I was weak in my faith or unworthy of leadership.

So I wore a mask.
I worshiped with tears stuck behind my eyes and prayers I didn’t feel brave enough to say out loud.

But eventually, the performance got too exhausting.
And I realized—God never asked me to put on a show.
He just wanted me.

So I stopped pretending.
I brought Him my mess instead of my mask. And in that place of raw, unfiltered honesty, I met His kindness like never before.
I didn’t need to come cleaned up.
I needed to come honest.

2. I looked for God in small things.
There were days I couldn’t feel God at all.

No goosebumps.
No deep revelation.
Just silence.

And in that silence, I started to wonder if maybe I was broken.
Maybe I’d drifted too far.
Maybe God only showed up for people who could keep their spiritual lives tidy and consistent.

But something shifted when I stopped waiting for a “big moment” and started looking for Him in the small things.
The way sunlight poured through the blinds.
The quiet comfort of my dog curled at my feet.
A verse I hadn’t thought about in years showing up on a sticky note or a friend’s text.
These tiny glimpses reminded me that God was still near—even when He didn’t feel loud.

I started to realize: sometimes His nearness whispers through the ordinary.
And those small mercies were enough to get me through the next hour… and the next.

3. I let others hold me up.
I used to think being strong meant doing it all by myself.

I didn’t want to be a burden.
I didn’t want to explain my tears, or the panic attacks, or why I couldn’t bring myself to answer texts or show up to small group or family events.
I didn’t want pity. And I definitely didn’t want judgment.

But isolation nearly broke me.

It took hitting bottom for me to realize I needed people.
Not people to fix me—just people to sit with me.
To check in when I went quiet.
To pray when I couldn’t speak.
To believe for me when I didn’t have the strength to believe for myself.

I learned that letting others in wasn’t weakness.
It was wisdom.
Because God often shows up through the hands, words, and presence of His people.
And sometimes, the most spiritual thing you can do is answer honestly when someone asks, “How are you really?”

And then, little by little… I began to see His goodness.

Not always in dramatic, mountaintop moments—
but in subtle, surprising ways that felt tailor-made for the season I was in.

I saw His goodness in the permission to slow down.
In learning to set a softer pace that matched my nervous system instead of my expectations.
In the pause I took to journal through pain instead of ignoring it.
In the moments I whispered a prayer instead of pushing through on my own.

I saw His goodness in the mountains and the ocean—
places I ran to when my spirit felt foggy, heavy, disoriented.
He met me in the stillness, in the space I made to breathe again.

I saw His goodness in the quiet strength of my husband—
a man whose love isn’t loud or obvious,
but who always opens his arms when I ask,
even though emotional expression doesn’t come naturally for him.
That, too, is grace.

And I’ve seen His goodness in the laughter of my adult children—
those loud, silly moments around the table that soothe parts of my soul
I didn’t even know needed healing.

All of this, a quiet chorus of reminders:
He never stopped being good to me.

Scripture That Carried Me

“I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.”
— Psalm 27:13

Not just one day.
Not just in heaven.
But here.
Even here.
Even now.

I didn’t see it all at once. But I’ve seen glimpses. And those glimpses have kept me going.

If you’re in a season where holding on to God feels impossible, I want you to know something:

You’re not weak.
You’re not failing.
You’re not faithless.

You’re human.
And you are still held.

A Prayer for the Woman Searching for God’s Goodness

Lord,
You see her.
The one who’s doing everything she can just to keep going.
The one who’s wondering if You’re still near—
if You’re still good—
in the middle of her pain.

She’s tired. She’s anxious.
Maybe she’s angry.
Maybe she’s ashamed of how heavy the darkness feels today.

But You’re not afraid of her mess.
You don’t flinch at her questions.
You’re not withholding Your love until she gets it “right.”
You’re here. Already here.
And that changes everything.

So I ask, God—
Would You show her Your goodness, even now?

In the pause between tasks.
In the tears that won’t quite fall.
In the laugh she didn’t expect, or the silence that suddenly feels like peace.
Let her catch even the smallest glimpse of Your faithfulness.

Remind her that she doesn’t have to hold it all together to be held by You.

And if she’s barely holding on—
Lord, would You hold her instead?

Amen.

Reflect:

When has God met you in the middle of your hardest season?
Leave a comment or message me privately—I’d love to hear your rescue story.