Some Weeks Just Hurt

Monday morning started out beautifully.

I woke up after what felt like a restless night’s sleep, but I was determined to make it a good day.

I made my kids chocolate chip pancakes topped with strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate syrup. I got in a 30-minute workout. Then I dropped Avery off at church camp for the week.

I came home, made myself breakfast, got a phone call for a listing appointment, and then sat down at my kitchen table with my Bible and cup of coffee.

It was one of those mornings where everything just felt…good.

Peaceful.

Hopeful.

Ordinary in the very best way.

And then my phone rang.

Our black lab, Drake, had taken a turn for the worse.

Within hours, my son and I were sitting on the floor of the veterinarian’s office saying goodbye to a dog who had been part of our family for as long as the kids could remember.

Avery was at camp.

She didn’t know. We couldn’t tell her the first two hours of a week she looks forward to every year.

She didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.

There wasn’t one more night.

Just…goodbye.

It amazes me how one phone call can divide your life into before and after.

The rest of the week felt like Groundhog Day.

Every morning I woke up thinking,

“Today will be better.”

I’d get out of bed believing maybe today would feel lighter.

Maybe today I’d smile a little more.

Maybe today the heaviness would lift.

But then little things would happen.

A disappointment.

A hurt feeling.

Loneliness.

Questions that didn’t have answers.

The weight of responsibilities.

Little frustrations that normally wouldn’t have bothered me suddenly felt enormous.

None of those things compared to losing Drake.

But grief has a way of making everything else feel heavier.

It’s like you’re already carrying fifty pounds on your back, and then someone hands you another five.

Five pounds isn’t much.

Until you’re already exhausted.

By the end of the week, I found myself thinking things I normally don’t think.

I don’t want to keep being nice.

I don’t want to keep extending grace.

I don’t care what people think.

I want to say exactly what’s on my mind.

I want to be angry.

I want to cry.

I want to question.

I want to stop pretending I’m okay.

Have you ever had a week like that?

Not where you’ve lost your faith…

But where you’ve temporarily lost your joy?

Because those are not the same thing.

Here’s what I’ve realized.

My circumstances were shaking me.

My emotions were all over the place.

But underneath all of it, my foundation hadn’t moved.

I still believed God was good.

I still believed He was with me.

I still believed He wasn’t finished.

I still believed He was working, even though I couldn’t see it.

The foundation was still there.

I just didn’t feel like standing on it.

I think sometimes we put pressure on ourselves to bounce back too quickly.

To have one bad day, pray about it, quote a Bible verse, and move on.

But Scripture paints a different picture.

David cried out, “How long, Lord?” more than once.

There are entire psalms that don’t begin with praise—they begin with pain.

Jesus Himself stood outside the tomb of His friend and wept.

He didn’t rush past grief.

He entered into it.

Maybe that’s what I needed to remember this week.

God isn’t asking me to fake joy.

He’s inviting me to bring Him my sadness.

To bring Him my frustration.

To bring Him the questions I don’t have answers to.

To tell Him that this week simply hurts.

Ecclesiastes tells us,

“A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” — Ecclesiastes 3:4

It doesn’t say the time to weep is evidence of weak faith.

It simply says there is a time for it.

Maybe you’re reading this after a week that feels like mine.

Maybe every morning you’ve convinced yourself today will be different.

And maybe every evening you’ve crawled back into bed wondering why it wasn’t.

Can I tell you something?

You’re not failing.

You’re grieving.

You’re tired.

You’re carrying more than people can see.

And that’s okay.

The goal isn’t to pretend everything is fine.

The goal is to keep bringing your honest heart to the One who already knows it.

Some weeks don’t end with everything magically getting better.

Sometimes they simply end with you realizing that although your emotions have been all over the place…

God has remained exactly where He’s always been.

Steady.

Faithful.

Present.

Maybe that’s enough for this week.

Maybe next week will feel lighter.

Maybe it won’t.

But either way, I’m choosing to believe that I don’t have to carry it alone.

And somehow, today, that’s enough.

— Naureen