My Flesh May Fail

I’ve known what it’s like to feel old – old and broken, like my best years are long gone – and I’m not even 25. Kind of like after all the leaves turn their pretty colors but then fall to the ground, brown and retired. That’s me. At least it has been. My youth, my prime, stolen from me with the cruel, slow crush of silent sickness and invisible illness.

I don’t want to do this.

I don’t know why I’m sick, but I am. I still am. After all this time and so much work. I don’t want to be let down again. Let down by another person’s lack of understanding, lack of compassion, lack of empathy. It hurts too much to be so misunderstood, so unable to voice this pain –

But this is how it truly feels:

It’s anguish, all the time.

It’s like life is repeating the end of a horrible day where everything goes wrong and you’re so painfully broken down and tired. Every day, I’m being beat down and run over physically, emotionally, mentally.

And it’s a rollercoaster. I never know what I’m going to get today. Some days I feel almost normal. Other days I am literally ready, sometimes even genuinely hoping, to die. And maybe you’d never guess it by looking at me, maybe it doesn’t seem like it, but the truth is, I have had nothing left in me to fight with for a long time.

It’s been a supernatural power, a supernatural love, a supernatural cross that’s given me strength to keep going.


I am young, but I relate to the old. When my peers seem to live carefree and easy, everything has consequences for me…every bite of food, every attempt to stay out late with friends if I don’t have the next day or two to recover, every uncalculated movement…I have to be so perfect with what goes into my body, with how much sleep I get, with just how much daily work I must do in order to sustain normal tasks. I have to be cautious of every surface and every germ because my immune system is simply too weak for this world. I have to think about everything.

It’s exhausting.

I have eyes to see the fullest life, but I can’t taste it.

I’ve spent way too much money, way too much time and energy, too much of everything. There have been so many days in bed, nights in bed. Days without anyone who cares or understands, nights without hope or peace. How many nights have I spent on the floor somewhere, crying and clutching my shaking body, just wishing – begging for someone who would come and heal me, someone who’d love me, comfort me, just be there with me. I’ve been so betrayed by the ones who can’t understand, and even the ones who can.

“Is there any love for me? Anyone who will feel this for me because I can’t take it.” But there are lies that seem more than anything to be the truth. And they play on repeat in all our dark and untouched corners: “I am not worth it: not worth being loved, being cared for, being supported. I am not worth anything at all.


And maybe I made it an idol, this idea of “better”, of getting better, feeling better, being better. I’ve sacrificed so much, so many of the things I enjoy, and tried everything I could possibly find to try. People love to offer their solutions, they want to help, but I’ve done it all. Honestly. Regular doctors. Medicine. Surgery. Antibiotics. Probiotics. Naturopaths. Functional medicine. Diet changes. Elimination diets. Lifestyle changes. Exercise. Physical therapy. Detox. Herbs. Essential oils. Electromagnetics. Green juicing. Gluten free. Grain free. Paleo. Sugar free. Dairy free. Soy free. Vegetarian. Vegan. All of the above! The list goes on and on and most people wouldn’t have even heard of half the stuff on it…

This isn’t a pity-party. I know that wallowing gets you nowhere. But sometimes you just have to tell it like it is, tell it like you feel it, in order to let go and be free: in order to find the strength to move forward for today. And a lot of the time I’m emotional – angry, sad, lonely, afraid – because at all times, I’m only human.

So, forgive me if I get angry when you assume that I have endless energy, great health and all this ease on my side because I’m young. Forgive me when I’m hurt by the fact that you’re so tired, even though you’ve been going non-stop for weeks, months, years and you actually should be tired and rest! I am almost always inexpressibly, overwhelmingly tired – no matter what I do! Many days, it takes nearly all my strength to get out of bed, to walk up the stairs, to just exist…let alone get anything done. And it sucks. I feel ashamed about it because it’s not like I’m even doing anything! I feel guilty and judged but I’m the only one who knows what it’s like inside my own body. Everyone gives up eventually. And I really can’t blame them.


Chronic illness is a new level of tired. Tired just doesn’t quite say it when you’ve been completely devastated after taking a shower, and had to curl up in your towel on the bathroom floor, trembling for hours until you could get back up. I’m so sick of people’s assumptions. I don’t look as sick as I am because I work harder than hell to be well, and when I’m not able to make it, I’m alone at home. You don’t see how bad my bad days are. How sick and broken I really look sometimes. How my frame has failed and my broken heart burns with the crazy grief of feeling

so alone in this.

“I can’t take it anymore!” How many times? How many times have I been on my knees, begging this? Tears in my hands, down my shirt, on the thin pages of a Bible that doesn’t feel like enough, when all I feel is sickness and pain and this impossible helpless and hopelessness. Crying quietly to a God who doesn’t seem to come when or how I want.

My lungs fall as I sigh out this stinging, awful cup with the name that promises to rescue. “I need you to take this from me. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do it anymore! I can’t fight anymore. Where are you?!” And I weep it like David, lament it like David:

“How long? How long do I have to wait, God? Will you forget me forever?!”

I hate it because I feel abandoned and forsaken. I want to give up, but I can’t. I speak a lot of cant’s, and I need a lot more can’s. But after enough try’s, enough fails, enough pain…you just stop hoping. Everything you know says healing isn’t possible, not for you. Not in this case, this situation.

But the thing about lament is it turns from weeping to hope, from despair to hanging onto truth just to hang on in this moment. And there’s a faith in me that keeps me hanging on when all feels lost, and I don’t know anything but these whispered promises that burn in my heart. He’s taught me to surrender. His faithfulness has caused me to remember and to believe. So, every time, every time I am crushed, every time I am at the end of my strength and hope and my whole world is failing and crumbling and dark: He comes with courage and I recall –

“I need you and I’m not afraid of my need for you, Father. I feared my need, my desperation, but I know now. I know how incapable I am without You. I am nothing apart from You. You are my strength, my shield, my fortress. You are my rescuer, redeemer, savior. You are all I need and all I want.”

“You are GOOD! You are faithful! I will put my trust in You! I’ll wait for you. Please come quickly.”


I’ve known what it’s like to wait in faith, hoping for hope. Someone can only face so much defeat before believing they’re defeated. But in my defeat, I’ve seen His victory – my hope of glory:

“But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the Lord’s praise, for he has been good to me.” – Psalm 13

I hold on. And honestly, I don’t feel much hope right now, but I keep clinging to the promises and I’ll keep holding on like Jacob wrestling with God. “I won’t let go until You bless me!”

And I won’t walk away from this without some reminder.

But I know – I know – that my flesh may fail, but my God never will.


2 thoughts on “My Flesh May Fail

  1. I’m so sorry that you have to go through this but know that I completely understand.I’ve had to battle arthritis and fibromyalgia since my teen years but the worst is the mental health issues that I’ve fought since 3rd grade,not understanding why I felt like this.You have proven yourself to be so brave.I also understand wanting the pain to end,just needing it to end any way possible.My mantra has been to just hold on one more minute,one more hour,one more day.Maybe this will help you.Please feel free to write or call me anytime you need someone to talk to.Sophie knows how to get in touch with me.God bless.Keep fighting the good fight.


    1. Thank you so much, Kit. I appreciate your sharing and leaving this comment. I am so sorry you have had to go through all of that too (and, of course, so much more). I will be talking to Sophie soon, I’ll ask her. Thank you again.


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