Is it okay to feel both exhausted and panicked?

You’re exhausted from the sprint but wired with the panic of being lapped. How can you be both completely drained and utterly frantic at the same time? It’s the signature ache of a race you never signed up for—watching everyone else’s highlight reel while your feet feel glued to the track.

The psalmist gets it. 'Save me, O God,' he cries, 'for the waters have come up to my neck. I sink in the miry depths, where there is no foothold.' That’s not just poetry about water. It’s the exact texture of this fear: the slow, sucking pull of comparison, the flood of 'not enough' that rises to your chin. You’re not failing at swimming. You’re exhausted because you were never meant to tread water in this particular ocean.

Here’s the gift buried in his desperate prayer: the very act of naming the deep water is an admission that you can’t touch the bottom. It’s a white flag waved from the middle of the flood. And that flag is your permission to stop. The rescue isn’t a technique for better swimming; it’s a strong arm pulling you out of the race entirely. Your worth was never stored in your lane position. Your place was never determined by your pace.

The miry depths where you feel stuck? They prove you’re human, not a machine. The exhaustion makes perfect sense. So let the frantic energy drain out through your sinking knees. The race is a mirage. The only real thing here is the solid ground of being loved, right where your feet finally stop moving.

Let that truth be the ground beneath you. No response needed.