When Prayers Feel Heavy

Jehovah, I am coming to you through Jesus Christ, as always, knowing that you are the only one who truly understands me. I approach you with my heart wide open, praying that everything I ask aligns with your will. Let your Kingdom come, let your will be done here on earth, just as it is in heaven. Today, I pray for the basics: food, sustenance, and above all, the strength to hold it together mentally. My mind feels fragile, and I’m begging you for peace, Jehovah. I want to focus, to accomplish the tasks before me, and to grow into the person I’ve always envisioned myself to be—including taking better care of my body and losing this weight that feels like a burden I can’t shake. I feel the weight in my body, Jehovah, just as I feel it in my spirit. It’s as though everything I carry is too heavy, too much, and I’m breaking under it.

Still, even as I thank you for the small things—like being able to sleep until almost noon today—I can’t ignore this heaviness. I’m grateful that, at the very least, my bills are covered for the month, even if it’s just barely. That in itself feels like a minor miracle, but the relief is fleeting. I acknowledge that I don’t have to do anything right now, and yet, that very fact frustrates me. What kind of life is this, Jehovah, where I have nothing to push me forward? I would love for my situation to be different. I long for it, and yet, I can’t see any way out of this.

Jehovah, I’m tired. It’s starting to feel like no matter what I do, no matter how hard I pray, nothing will change. I’m trapped in this miserable financial situation, and there’s no way out. I feel like I’m in quicksand, sinking deeper the harder I try to move.

This is one of the reasons I don’t want to be here when my parents visit. I feel too low to face them, to even pretend that I’m okay. They’ll ask questions, Jehovah, questions I don’t have answers for. Why haven’t things improved? What are my plans? How am I moving forward? I have no answers, and that shame is more than I can bear. I’ve lost so much of my drive, spiritually and otherwise. I told myself to keep trying until December—to give you and myself that much—but deep down, I’m questioning if it’s even worth it.

Sometimes, Jehovah, it feels like my life is a cruel joke. I don’t understand why I’m in this position where I can’t even provide for myself. I can’t plan. I can’t dream. All because nothing I’ve tried has worked. I don’t understand why my efforts seem to be in vain. I’ve always believed in hard work, in persistence, but now I’m questioning everything. What’s the point of trying when the results never come?

I sacrificed what little I had to pay for those ads, believing that it would lead to even one client, one small victory. But here I am, still empty-handed. If this is what it means for a weapon formed against me to prosper, then yes, it’s succeeded. This is the lowest I’ve ever felt. This is my rock bottom.

I never received justice for what was done to me. People told me to pray, to leave it in your hands, but what has come of it? Nothing. No justice, no vindication, no resolution. It feels like when it comes to me, Jehovah, things just don’t work out. I try to hold on to faith, but the more I wait, the harder it gets.

And so, I’m ready to give up. You know better than anyone else how exhausted I am. You see the battles I face daily. Nothing ever seems to work in my favor. Instead, I get “lessons” I didn’t ask for. I get more waiting, more pain, more suffering. And for what? Even after all this time—after days, weeks, months, and years—I still can’t see the purpose behind any of it. I’m tired of learning lessons, Jehovah. I just want to live. I just want to breathe without feeling this heaviness in my chest.

This morning, I found myself wondering: what if I had made a different choice back in 2019? What if I had accepted Roy’s marriage proposal and gotten married? Maybe my life wouldn’t feel so empty now. Maybe I wouldn’t be here, sitting in this house that feels more like a prison than a home. But it’s too late to think about that. The years have flown by, and here I am, standing at the edge of 2025, with no real desire to cross into another year. Why should I? Every year brings the same struggles. It’s November 19th, and I still don’t have any stability when it comes to income. How is this even possible? How can a person try so hard and still be stuck in the same place?

I don’t understand, Jehovah. I really don’t. I know your Word says that you have plans for me, plans to give me a future and a hope (Jeremiah 29:11), but I can’t see it. I can’t feel it. Right now, all I see is emptiness. All I feel is pain.

And yet, even as I say this, I know that deep down, I’m still clinging to you. Because who else do I have? Where else can I turn? Jehovah, you’ve seen me through so much already, and I know that you are capable of doing it again. But I need your help. I need you to carry me because I can’t carry myself anymore. I need your light to break through this darkness because I’m too lost to find my way out.

Jehovah, please remind me of your love. Remind me that you are near, even when I can’t feel you. Remind me that you have not abandoned me, even when it feels like I’m walking this road alone. I know that your Word says you are close to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18), and I need that closeness now more than ever.

In Jesus’ name, amen.