When you can't be everything, even for yourself

Maybe this isn't the most pastor's wife-y content.

Maybe it is.

"You can't be all things for all people."

I think most of us have come to understand and embrace this. Of course I can't be all things for the strangers on the street, or for my extended family, or even for my friends. If you've read anything else in this blog, you know I am adamantly against being all things for my husband's church. I can't be all things even for my immediate family.

But what about the times when I can't be everything, even for myself?

I was diagnosed with an autoimmune form of thyroid disorder in between the birth of my two girls. At the time, I thought it was only impacting my fertility, and I was pretty pleased when the next cycle on my shiny new thyroid meds I got pregnant with our second child.

Now, two years out from the birth of our second baby, I still don't feel like "myself". For a whole host of reasons, but today I'm particularly feeling it physically. I feel the impacts of sin on my physical body.

I've had a raging migraine all day, with little improvement even from prescription rescue medication.

I've been battling my weight, which used to be a no-brainer, but with a thyroid disorder is totally out of whack. I look at myself in the mirror and don't recognize my puffy face shape or the bloating stubbornly clinging to my abdomen and bra line.

My body is suddenly intolerant of the heavy strength training and long outdoor bike trips I love. (Yoga? What do you mean I need to do yoga now?) I wake up the next day unbearably fatigued with a week's worth of intense joint pain.

I'm getting weekly allergy shots to cope with spring, just as a concept.

I wake each morning with extreme fatigue, literally feeling like my bones are filled with sandbags. So much for the "wake up before the kids and exercise and worship!" trend.

I'm coming up on 1.5 years of infertility and lab results that aren't responding to treatment yet.

I feel the Fall.

I feel the literal weight of my sin.

I feel like a broken down machine.

I feel just broken.

I'm a stay at home mom to two very littles who need me, and we're in the midst of a transition to a new church so my husband needs me as he figures out his hectic new schedule.

They need me.

But I can't be what they need.

If I'm honest, I can't even be what I need today.

Today I drove my kids home from a Bible study and promptly threw up the lunch we splurged on for special mom/girls time. Thank God (literally) that my mom was in town to grab the kids from their carseats and carry them to nap time because I barely got myself up the stairs. I took all the rescue medications, applied all the holistic creams and tinctures (because yes, I went down that rabbit hole and I'm still trying to convince myself it wasn't a waste of money), and I wish I could say that I prayed.

I cried instead.

A lot.

How was I going to take my 2 year old to the potty when she woke up? How was I going to bend down to get their plates and snacks without passing out? How was I going to drag myself to the fridge to fill water cups so they didn't get dehydrated and miserable too?

And don't even suggest I make the girls do it themselves because they're in a stubborn streak that would put most adults to shame. They'd rather starve than get their plates out when I suggest it.

How was I going to feed myself? How was I going to get myself water? I rolled over in bed, felt a wave of vertigo wash over me, felt my cat pounce on my shedding uterus, and decided that the price of fainting on the stairs was not worth the protein bar and water that I needed.

Eventually my husband, my hero, came to the rescue on his white horse/compact car and took the girls without question, without judgement, and without resentment.

I'm so thankful for that man.

But even without his judgement on me, I was putting judgement on myself.

I'm literally a homemaker. Making the home is my job. I heard the girls giggling with their daddy, but I also heard him asking them where that one toy had gone since the morning, and I knew the answer. My 2 year old spouted new nonsense words that I understood but I couldn't bring myself out of the bedroom to interpret. I texted my husband for basic necessities like water, a plastic throw up bag, and to accompany me to change my feminine hygiene products so I didn't pass out.

I know the house doesn't need to be perfect. I cannot be all things for all people. But I also know that tomorrow when (fingers crossed) I'm feeling better, there will be a slew of things for me to do that only I know need to be done in this phase of life just to get our house to standard mess square 1. On a normal day, that's okay. My husband and I divvy up our roles well and fairly and he's an amazing teammate. But we also just moved so he doesn't inherently know where the cheese grater goes since I keep moving it every 4 days.

I need to stop moving that thing around.

Tomorrow there will be a house full of evidence that I fell short today and I needed so much help just to be a human and make it to another sunrise. I already dread that moment. I already dread the "no, honey, mommy's got _____ to do" I'll give my girls more times than normal and the to-do list that will stretch on and on.

And then I'll feel guilty for prioritizing the housework over my kids, but I also know I operate mentally better when there's not cat food scattered on the ground and cookie crumbs under my feet and that they realistically play well together 88% of the time. I'll feel every extra task or utensil put in the wrong drawer as a personal failure, penance for being so worthless today.

Wow, that sounds really sucky when I read it over in text.

Maybe I need to ask my doctor about an antidepressant. Oof.

Maybe you don't have any crippling disorders or "reasons" that you feel like a failure today. Maybe today you just had the flu.

Maybe it's just an ordinary day. We can't be all the things we expect, even for ourselves, today.

There will be another load of laundry hiding in the dryer that you don't find until next Wednesday when you fill up a new load and wonder where your favorite shirt is. It will be wrinkly beyond reason and need to be rewashed because it's 2026 and you're not going to iron it.

There will be a container of mashed potatoes that gets moldy in the back of the fridge because you meant to use it up with dinner and never remembered to do it.

You will drink too many coffees and give yourself a headache before you remember to drink water, so you'll have to skip your workout or sit down while the dishes pile up.

You will avoid an email or voicemail so long that you forget it's there.

You will put off doing the paperwork for your kid's dentist appointment and have to frantically do it during the appointment while simultaneously answering questions about their gum health.

It's going to happen.

Christian or atheist, mom or not, working or homemaking.

Perceived failure is part of life. As Christians we know it's part of sin.

Sometimes the failure is genuine and we need to make repairs. Sometimes the failure is imaginary and our real failing is in putting the dishes above the peace that passes all understanding.

Today, if you failed to be all things, figure out which type of failure it is.

Text that apology before you hit your pillow, even if it's 3am.

Take 2 minutes to close your eyes and breathe and physically open your hands and remember that what your holding is too heavy and was never meant to be solely yours.

I read a poem by an author I like the last time I did a devotional that read,

"Life is not a race, and you are not behind."

(Tanner Olson, "Getting Through What You're Going Through")

Read that again. And maybe 7 more times.

I cannot be all things for everyone.

I cannot be all things for anyone.

I cannot be all things for me.

I cannot be all things.

I cannot be any of the things.

God is all the things.

God is all the things for me.

God is all things for everyone.

God is using me, not just my circumstances, but literally me to do His good and perfect will, even when I need to clean the vomit toilet and can't lift my head.

Even today.

I'm not all things.

He's all things.

He's choosing to use me.

In all things.

Even if I have to start doing yoga.

Love,

The Pastor's Wife