Numb No More: Care, Don’t Carry
Many of us are numb because we’ve blurred the lines between compassion and control.
In the very first week after we launched Bright City Church back in 2014, I found myself already gasping for air, overwhelmed by the emotional task ahead of us.
I remember asking my friend Connie, a fellow pastor’s wife for wisdom, “How do I make it through? How do I carry the weight of shepherding people’s souls?”
She looked at me with kind but knowing eyes and said, “You have to learn to care without carrying.”
That was it. She didn’t offer a five-step plan. She didn’t quote a leadership manual. She just handed me that wisdom and trusted I’d learn what it meant.
And I have: Over and over again, usually the hard way.
Many of us are numb because we’ve blurred the lines between compassion and control. We start out wanting to love people well, but somewhere along the way, we begin picking up weight that was never ours to hold. We don’t just sit with people in pain - we try to rescue them from it. We don’t just listen - we absorb. We confuse empathy with ownership.
But Scripture offers a different picture.
In Galatians 6, Paul gives two instructions that, at first glance, seem contradictory. In verse 2, he says: “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” The Greek word used here is baros—a word that means a heavy, crushing weight. This is the stuff no one was meant to carry alone: deep grief, long-term suffering, soul-crushing sorrow.
But just a few verses later, in Galatians 6:5, Paul writes: “For each one should carry their own load.” That word for “load” is phortion, which refers to a daily pack - think of a backpack full of personal responsibilities, unique assignments, or everyday struggles.
It’s not a contradiction. It’s a call to discernment.
We are invited, commanded, even - to help others with the crushing stuff. But we’re not meant to take on their daily work, their internal processing, or the burdens God has specifically assigned to them. Each of us has our own pack to carry.
What this looks like in my life?
It’s listening to a friend pour out her heart without trying to fix her life.
It’s showing up for someone without assuming I have to be the solution.
It’s weeping with those who weep without climbing into the sorrow and setting up camp.
Here’s what I’m learning: I actually can’t be compassionate when I’m trying to carry what isn’t mine. I can’t minister well when I’m pretending to be someone else’s Savior. My care gets cloudy when it becomes control.
Like my friend Connie: I don’t have a formula to hand you. There isn’t one. We each have to figure out what “care, don’t carry” looks like in our own life, in our own ministry, in our own family.
But if you’re feeling numb… if you’re emotionally exhausted, spiritually foggy, or compassion-fatigued to the point of collapse, it might be worth asking:
Am I carrying something I was only ever meant to care about?
Let’s be people who love deeply. Let’s show up and stay soft. But let’s also stay awake to our limits, our assignments, and our real role - because only One is meant to carry it all.
And friend, it’s not us.
Just like God to bring this to my inbox just when I need it most. Thank you, Jess, for this!
I love this. Is there a book written about this?