Something Has to Break
Walking Back Home: From Burnout to Bold Faith
Something Has to Break
I was having a conversation with my mentor, and she said something that stopped me in my tracks. She told me she could always tell when I’m burnt out.
It stung because I knew it was the truth, but I wasn’t willing to hear it. She was right: when I’m burnt out, I stop writing. I stop creating from passion and only by necessity. The frustration and stress of inconsistency grew heavy.
I was waking up at 4:30 in the morning just to get ahead of the day, knowing that when I did wake up, pain would already be waiting. My heart rate was so unpredictable that doctors monitored me for over a month. I felt like I had to stay numb just to keep going - because no one needed me to fall off.
The Weight of Too Much
I had taken on too much at once. Going back to school. After-school activities for three kids in three different seasons of life. A job I didn’t even apply for, thinking it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. And on top of it all, an autoimmune diagnosis that rattled my body and my spirit.
In reality, I had loaded my plate so heavily, so quickly, that I lost my footing.
I lost my inspiration because I was trying to be everything for everyone else. I forgot to be present for myself. I kept sacrificing pieces of me until there was nothing left. And the scariest part wasn’t exhaustion - it was the numbness.
Numbness looked like silence. Like going through the motions. Like telling myself lies: It’s just temporary. It’ll get better. Keep pushing.
Part of me was scared to say no. Every opportunity looked like it could help my family. But I had to stop and ask myself: what was I really giving up in the process?
Joy Buried, Joy Remembered
I had to remember before all of that Capture and Compose was born.
It came out of a desire to tell stories the way they were meant to be told. To remind people - and myself - that joy and passion are always around us. To highlight stories that rang louder in my heart than they ever could on paper.
Because I’ve lived joy in the middle of trauma. Losing loved ones. Longing for loved ones who never came earthside. Facing medical uncertainty when what felt possible suddenly seemed impossible. And still, joy found me.
If you know me, you know I’ve always had a smile or a laugh ready. Not because life was easy, but because I was determined to find something worth holding onto. But somewhere in the chaos, I went numb.
When Worship Becomes a Shout
I found myself in what felt like a shouting match with God. Windows rolled tight, radio blasting so loud my Apple Watch warned me. But I needed worship louder than the noise around me.
Music has always been my first love. And slowly, it pulled me back. I may have risked my hearing in the process, but I could still hear the voice of God right?
<iframe width=”560” height=”315” src=”Home in the Pew
This past Sunday, I walked into church for the first time in nearly three years. Before, I had walked into small churches, only to walk right back out - not because I didn’t want to be there, but because I didn’t feel at home.
This time, I knew. I walked through the doors, sat in the pew, and I felt it: home.
I wasn’t surrounded by anxiety. I wasn’t overrun with the emotions that usually told me to run. Instead, I felt comfort in the pews. I felt welcome. And then, a grandmother I’d never met gave me a hug that told me I belonged. She didn’t know my name, but she knew I needed to be there.
I cried as the weight I’d been carrying began to lift. I cried because the numbness broke. God and I had a private conversation during worship. The pain I walked into the build with left my body.
“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)
I walked into church broken and numb. I walked out reminded of who the freak I am.
The Noise and the Truth
Our pastor reminded us: “We wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, powers, and the rulers of darkness.” (Ephesians 6:12)
Yes, my autoimmune disease is real. My migraines are real. My body’s limits are real. But my greatest battle wasn’t physical - it was spiritual.
And part of that battle was against numbness. Against shutting down to protect myself.
Because the enemy has nothing good to say. Lies. Accusations. Comparisons. Distractions. He thrives when we grow silent and numb.
But God calls us to feel again. To cry out, even when it hurts. To remember His truth over the noise of the world.
I had to separate God’s truth from man’s noise - from the Christian nationalism and the hateful misinterpretations of scripture that had tainted what I grew up with. I had to walk away from the noise, but not from God.
<iframe width=”560” height=”315” src=”Surrendered but Still Bold
No longer am I trying to fit someone else’s narrative of who I should be. I’m following what God has already ordained.
And as I’ve surrendered, new doors have opened. New contracts with clients. New services I’ve been able to fulfill as a freelancer. New strategies I’ve implemented from my education that I couldn’t apply freely at my job.
The comparison trap whispered, God won’t provide for you the way He does for them. But that was the enemy speaking. In reality, God was preparing me for the overflow He’s bringing into my life now.
“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” (Psalm 23:5)
“Write the vision; make it plain… For still the vision awaits its appointed time… If it seems slow, wait for it; it will surely come.” (Habakkuk 2:2–3)
And don’t get me wrong - the hood side is still ever present. That part of me hasn’t gone anywhere. It means I’m still real, still unafraid to speak my mind. But I no longer want to be numb to the world around me. I want to feel it, even when it hurts. Because numbness silences us, but feeling makes us cry out - and in that cry, God shows up.
<iframe width=”560” height=”315” src=”If you’re reading this, and you feel stuck in that same place of numbness, I need you to know this: you are not alone.
You are the hero of your own story, and yes - the battle feels bigger than you. But you don’t have to fight it alone.
The enemy thrives in your silence. He tells you it’s safer to stay numb, to shut down, to stop dreaming. But God is still whispering your name. He’s calling you to feel again. To hope again. To believe again.
And here’s the truth: God can use you right where you are. Broken, hurting, overwhelmed - even numb. There’s life on the other side. And there’s purpose in the middle.
So here I am - building, writing, showing up. Surrendered but expectant. Trusting not in my own hustle, but in the God who reminds me who I am.
And here you are - with the same invitation: to step out of numbness and into the life God already prepared for you.
I’m writing this with cold fingers and a makeshift jacket cushion, but my heart knows the warmth waiting for me in the van isn’t just the heated seats - it’s the worship that will rise as I drive. Praise, tears, and the truth that has carried me through every season: if He brought me to it, He’ll bring me through it.
So my darlings – something has to break and it’s okay if it’s you. God always gets creative with broken pieces.
To my paid subscribers—thank you for investing in my words and helping me continue creating. Your support fuels both the writing and the heart behind it.
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With gratitude,
Nakeshia