The Weight We Carry
An Unremarkable Benediction
We need to talk about the tiredness.
Yes, the work is waiting. But before we begin, we need to pause and feel exactly what it has cost us to get here.
Not the physical exhaustion of a long day, but the deep, chronic weariness of the junk we are carrying: the labels, the judgements, the isolation.
When I was writing The Reader’s Note, it felt like a chiropractor popping a joint. The relief moved through the body of my work, and within hours the logo, the bio, and the socials all changed to carry the new identity that I had been reaching for but had not quite found.
It just clicked.
If you have ever had a back issue, or been to therapy, you will know exactly how this moment feels.
It is the physical relief of finally naming the thing that hurts. Because when we leave our burdens unnamed, they do not disappear. They silently dictate our reactions.
Just yesterday, my wife and I were having a difficult day in the seemingly eternal battle that is raising a seven-month-old son. When Laura is stressed, I get stressed. To be clear: my wife is not doing or expressing anything that should bother me, but somewhere within, I am triggered.
Over the years, I have experienced profound loneliness. It is the root of my personal weariness. We won’t unpack all of that now, but I wonder whether my nervous system is simply too easily primed for rejection, for returning to isolation. When I sense the distance growing between Laura and me, I start to react irrationally.
First, I try to be funny. Then I try to fix it. Then I try to explain. Then I try to defend.
All of which are extraordinarily unhelpful responses in the moment.
I cannot tell you how many times my wife has reminded me simply to express an empathetic response: I hear you, and that must be hard. Unfortunately for her, addressing this underlying conditioning is a work of years: fortunately for me, I’m met with grace and patience.
And here is the thing I realised: the practitioner in me reacts the exact same way. I often overcompensate for uncertainty on sales or coaching calls, flatlining social metrics, or my approach being questioned, with humour, solutions, or explanation. The pattern is identical.
Yet, somehow, when we sit down to work, we expect to operate like rational machines. We forget that we bring our entire nervous system to our professional and creative endeavours. And there is a specific blind spot that I see in my social feeds, in business behaviours, and coaching calls every day.
We’re lonely.
I wonder if you’ve felt it too.
Our nervous system reacts the exact same way it does in our relationships. When we sense the distance growing between where we are and where everyone else seems to be, we panic. We try to fix it. We try to defend our relevance.
We try to perform our way back to safety.
Creating content on an endless treadmill, not to serve, but to prove we exist. Chasing metrics simply to feel seen.
We tell ourselves stories to make sense of the friction, often ‘othering’ people to ease our own pain. When we can’t name the isolation we feel, we project it outward: our boss has favourites, our colleagues lack vision, the people succeeding ahead of us are just shallow or lucky, or simply that people just aren’t listening.
Oftentimes, our harsh opinions of others are simply a mirror reflecting our own unnamed isolation.
And so, we try to outcome our way out of it. We believe that if we could just get the promotion, find the right template, or hit the right metric, the struggle would end.
But the friction is not a personal failure.
It is the cost of performing, choosing, having opinions, deciding, and producing, when we’re social creatures who crave connection, and long to practise alongside others without being judged on what we achieve.
It is not a personal failure: it’s an allergic reaction to a world that insists on measuring your worth.
As we continue, I invite you to consider your own feelings. To sit with yourself, with grace and patience.
Make a genuine enquiry.
Can you name an intrusive thought you have carried this week? Could it be that a sense of isolation sits at its root?
Could the pursuit of your work (your art, your business, your service) come alive as your best, incomplete attempt to break that isolation?
Could that recognition click something into place?
Whatever you are carrying, I invite you to put it down for a moment and offer a benediction to read aloud to yourself. Think of it as a simple blessing, or a short meditation, that draws a boundary.
A moment to reclaim the ground you are already standing on.
As you read, imagine I’m sitting with you around a campfire, as someone who knows what it’s like to fail, to feel lost and to be lonely. Someone who can say from the depths, I hear you, and that must be hard.
These aren’t words I’ve written for you, they are words of invitation I’m speaking over you.
The Benediction
May you draw a line in the dirt.
May you choose to stand on the side that notices your being. A life that refuses to be defined by the quality of your content, social metrics, or the size of your audience.
May you draw a line in the dirt.
May you choose to stand on the side that notices your feelings. A life that refuses to be defined by performance, KPIs, and the expectations of others.
May you draw a line in the dirt.
May you choose to stand on the side that notices your ability. A life that refuses to be defined by achievements, qualifications, and scale.
May you draw a line in the dirt.
May you choose to stand on the side that notices your limitations. A life that refuses to be defined by endless pressure, the need to be everywhere, and the fear of missing out.
May you draw a line in the dirt.
May you choose to stand on the side that notices your opportunities. A life that refuses to be defined by the fear of failure, the shame of years past, and the fear of what comes next.
May you stand where setbacks become invitations.
Where scars declare: I know your pain.
Where practice reveals your next steps.
Where you trade your podium for a workbench.
Where you tend the ground beneath your feet instead of building an empire.
Where you experience sovereignty, find belonging, and come alive with dignity.
Where you allow what wants to happen to you, through you, and for you, to flow.
If the Benediction resonates, I have created a downloadable version so you can print it and put it somewhere useful.
Where We Are:
This is Week 6 of a year-long practice.
Movement 1: Presence - eight weeks, eight stanzas, exploring how to show up as yourself.
The Weight We Carry ← You are here
What Presence Requires
The Majesty
Don’t Worship the Outcome
Start with WHO
The Increment is the Way
Invite Like an Artist
The World is Abundant
From there we’ll explore Movement 2: Empathy - eight weeks exploring kindness and respect for self and the power genuine connection.