The Exhaustion of Grief: When Hope Feels Heavy

I had one of the best weekends recently — a wonderful visit with my sister, laughter around the table, time with family that filled my heart. It was all good.
And yet… as the quiet settled back in, so did the deafening silence. Once again, I found myself sitting in the stillness — just me and my sweet pup, Stella — feeling that familiar ache of being incomplete.

There’s something about losing your person — the one who knew you better than anyone, who loved you unconditionally, who saw you at your worst and still chose you, who grew up with you and was supposed to grow old with you.
That kind of love doesn’t end. But when it’s no longer here in the way it once was, it leaves a soul-sized exhaustion that no amount of sleep, pampering, or “self-care” can reach.

People often talk about mental or physical fatigue, but soul exhaustion is something entirely different. It’s what happens when your heart keeps trying to beat with a missing piece. It’s the ache that sits quietly behind even the good moments — the reminder that joy and sorrow can coexist, but they don’t always balance.

I know I’m not giving up. I don’t want to. I believe God is still writing something beautiful in the pages of my story.
But some days, it just feels like it will take decades to refill what grief has poured out.

Even when I meditate on God’s promises, or find purpose in this life I didn’t choose, didn’t want, and don’t particularly like — it often feels like the strength drains as quickly as it comes.
And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe “sustaining joy” doesn’t mean constant cheerfulness.
Maybe it looks more like faithful persistence — showing up again today, even when the silence is loud and the loneliness heavier than yesterday.

Widows are often called warriors. And while that may be true, some days the armor feels unbearably heavy. There are days I want to whisper, I didn’t sign up for this.
And yet… if grief is love, then perhaps the weight I carry is simply the measure of how deeply I’ve loved — and been loved.

So today, I’m not pretending to have answers. I’m just acknowledging the exhaustion, giving myself grace to feel it, and trusting that even here, in the tired middle, God’s still got me.
And maybe that’s enough for today.