“You’re always so busy.” At some point, that stopped sounding like a compliment. 

It used to feel like confirmation. Like I was doing something right. Like I was building something meaningful, impactful, purposeful. And to be fair, I am. By April 2026, I can look back and say I’ve been afforded incredible opportunities. I’ve grown. I’ve stretched. I’ve shown up.

But lately… “busy” has started to feel a little heavier. Not in the productive, fulfilled kind of way.
More like the something’s-being-neglected-and-I-don’t-want-to-admit-it kind of way.

Because the truth is, over the past several weeks, my body has slowed me down in ways I didn’t plan for and definitely didn’t schedule. Plans have been canceled. Meetings rescheduled. Goals paused. And if I’m being honest, nothing tests your sense of control quite like being forced to sit still when your life has been built on movement.

And let me just say this for the record. I don’t do still very well. I’m the one who shows up. The one who figures it out. The one who makes it happen. The one who, apparently, has built a reputation for being “so busy.” And somewhere in the middle of all that… I started wondering: Did I build a life where being needed replaced being well?

Because here’s the part that hit me unexpectedly. I was watching The First 48 which, if we’re being honest, I probably don’t need any more exposure to given my line of work and a detective said something that stayed with me: “We see humanity in a way that most people don’t experience. We experience darkness more than others can ever even imagine.”

And I paused. Because while that statement was about crime and investigation, it translated into something deeper for me. There are some of us who carry more than people realize. Not just in our professions, but in our roles. In our families. In our communities. In our relationships.

We are the strong ones. The reliable ones. The “I got it” people. And what people often label as “busy”… is sometimes just us carrying more than we were ever meant to carry alone.

So yes, I travel.
Yes, I show up.
Yes, I pour into people, into purpose, into vision.

But let’s not confuse movement with rest. And let’s definitely not confuse visibility with wellness. Because I’ve had to ask myself some uncomfortable questions lately:

Am I actually taking care of myself… or just squeezing self-care into the margins of a life that demands everything else first?
Am I resting… or just pausing long enough to keep going?
Am I listening to my body… or overriding it in the name of responsibility?

And here’s the truth I’ve had to sit with:

Nothing is more important than my physical health.
Not the opportunities.
Not the goals.
Not the deadlines.

Nothing is more important than my mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being. Because what good is building a life you can’t fully show up for? What good is being everything to everyone… if you’re slowly becoming nothing to yourself? And maybe that sounds a little dramatic.
But so is your body shutting things down just to get your attention.

So here I am. Slowing down. Not perfectly. Not without frustration. Not without a little internal side-eye at myself when I have to cancel something I was excited about. But I’m learning.

Learning that slowing down is not failure.
Learning that rest is not laziness.
Learning that being unavailable sometimes… is actually necessary.

And maybe, just maybe… this isn’t a setback. Maybe it’s a reset. Because somewhere in the middle of journaling through all of this, I wrote these words:

“As I sit here anxious, dizzy, and weak like a withered leaf… tears fill my eyes with grief. Not the kind that pities oneself, but the kind that knows in every part of its soul that the time has come to surrender. This quiet yearning pulling me in the direction I belong.”

That word kept resurfacing for me. Surrender.

Not quitting.
Not giving up.
Not becoming passive.

Surrender.

The kind that reminds you that you do not have to produce what only God can provide. Because if I’m honest, I think many of us have mastered productivity while quietly starving spiritually. We find identity and validation in temporary things achievement, applause, visibility, being needed only to realize how fleeting that satisfaction really is.

Like the sun rising every morning, change is an essential part of life. And maybe part of maturity is learning to stop resisting it. One devotional I recently read said:

“Our culture celebrates speed, quick decisions, instant reactions, nonstop productivity. Slowing isn’t laziness, it’s discernment and choosing obedience over hurried action.”

Whew. I needed to read that. Because distractions often leave us restless and scattered. Sometimes wisdom looks like removing access, not just resisting temptation. And maybe that’s why interruptions frustrate us so much. Because interruptions expose what we worship.

Control.
Productivity.
Being needed.
Certainty.

But every interruption is also an invitation to ask: 

How does my body respond when my plans are disrupted?
What am I afraid will happen if I slow down?
What am I still trying to carry in my own strength?

I recently listened to Sarah Jakes Roberts and Touré Roberts speak on the Woman Evolve Podcast, and something Touré said stayed with me:

“Sometimes in order for God to get you where He needs you to be, you’ve got to go through some stuff.” And honestly, isn’t that the uncomfortable truth of growth? God is the shaper. And refinement usually requires fire.

He also said, “Life wraps us up like a mummy,” and that the enemy’s strategy is often subtle planting seeds of doubt through questioning. That resonated deeply. Because sometimes the greatest barrier to hearing God clearly is our attachment to what we think we already know.

There’s a level of surrender that creates the internal environment for the impressions of God to be perceived and discerned. I can’t ask for God’s opinion while remaining completely married to my own. And if I truly trust the plans God has for me, then I also have to trust Him enough to surrender.

Ultimately, the message I keep coming back to is this:

Find a spark in your present.

When Sarah Jakes Roberts said, “Stop grieving the spark you lost so you can experience the spark that exists now,” I felt that. Deeply. Because maybe peace is not found in constantly chasing what’s next. Maybe peace is remembering, even in rest: I have enough.

And maybe true wellness isn’t found in doing more, proving more, or carrying more. Maybe it’s found in inward peace and wholeness with God. In releasing anxieties and burdens to Him.
In recognizing that slowing down is not weakness, but wisdom.

So if your body has been whispering something your schedule keeps ignoring…
maybe it’s time to listen. Not every pause is punishment. Some pauses are invitations.

To heal.
To reset.
To surrender.
To become.

And maybe the strongest thing we can do isn’t push harder. Maybe it’s finally allowing ourselves to rest.

As always, I hope this message has encouraged you. To live your life to the best of your ability. To shine brighter each day and be your best self.

Lin Green