The Weight We Carry, and the Grace of Letting Go

The story of how it was too heavy to carry, and then someone did. 

Sometimes we can carry one another’s burden. And sometimes we can’t (Justin is sharing on this in the next blog).  But when we can - should we?

I’ve learned that the answer is a sacred yes. 

I’m deeply grateful that in the moments I’ve needed it most, I have a community willing to step in—extravagantly, faithfully—desiring to carry what is too heavy for me to carry alone.

There have been many moments like this. But one recent example was from our family trip to the Poconos. The vacation was better than we imagined. Just getting there took every ounce of energy I had—but once we arrived, I felt something I hadn’t in years: lightness. Soul-deep lightness. 

That gift came largely because we made the intentional decision to bring a caregiver with us—someone who allowed all of us to step into vacation mode. For one whole week, I got to be wife, mama, aunt, sister, daughter, and friend—not primarily caregiver.

Our Caregiver, Nicole, epitomized Christ’s likeness with quiet strength as her every action said “let me carry it this week”.

Nicole, with our crew! Forever grateful to A Week Away Foundation for sending us away! It was the push out the door I needed :)

Before I go further, let me be 100% clear: I love Justin—profoundly. Maybe that’s why this hurts so deeply. So, when I use words like “heavy load”, “ weight”, or “burden”, I’m not talking about Justin - I’m talking about ALS. The disease itself is the suffocating weight. Justin knows it best; he bears it most. Still, I choose to carry my part every day - because of love. 

“Let Me Carry It This Week”

Nicole made it so clear: she came on this vacation to serve our family so we could truly enjoy it—together. She loved us through her caregiving, knowing that by caring for Justin well, she was giving me something rare and needed: rest.

All week long, I kept replaying this vivid image in my mind - me, hunched over, carrying a heavy pack. And Nicole, quietly and resolutely, unfastening the straps, lifting the weight off my back and strapping it securely onto hers: “Let me carry it this week, so you can rest,” she’d say—not with words, but with her actions.

With weary-but grateful- eyes I had no fight left in me to deny help, only a quiet nod. My body had grown so used to the weight, it didn’t know how to stand upright. As the pack came off I replaced it with guilt, lighter- yes, but heavy in its own way and I carried that until she warned me “release it. It’s only a week.”

So I tried.

The guilt gave way to joy. My back straightened, the pain softened and my headaches faded. I found myself smiling - not as practice, but as my default. I tune my ears towards different priorities - kids calling me to play, asking for snacks, collecting ferns to make mossy homes on boulders for their fire newts, and corralling stampeding feet ready for the lake!  

I was lighthearted. I wasn’t practicing joy—I was living in it. For a few sacred days, I got to be free-spirited again-a version of myself I missed.

We squeezed every last second out of our vacation week! Nicole took all the kids’ bags and mine in her car so we could spend precious extra minutes lingering at the lake with just Justin’s gear. That gesture alone deserves a medal. 

We drove home rested, feeling incredibly proud of ourselves and full of stories. Even dreaming of a take II 🙂 

The Crash of Re-Entry

But—coming home?

It was brutal.

The weight that was lifted off me for a week was casually put back on, and it didn’t feel casual; it felt crushing. 

I knew it was coming, but my mind and body couldn’t grasp how after only a week it felt so foreign. Help came, but it felt more like a softening of a blow as the straps were being tightened onto my back. 

I had to jump right in- unpack all the things so we could do all the things, kids’ needs were clashing with Justin’s needs- we all had some re-learning to do with our rhythms out of whack. After three bathroom transfers in just a few hours my body instantly reverted to fight-or-flight. Headaches flared. My body tensed up. 

I kept saying “I don’t want this anymore. We’re over it. We did our time, God, we’re tired.”  I wasn’t walking away—but we all agreed it was hard being home. 

My tears are often private, but this day my kids watched me fold to the floor, not fully understanding the weight I never let them carry. I let them admire our strength, not wear it, but there I was—undone.

But something beautiful happened.

Benny crawled into my lap crying with me as he spoke gratitude for me and faith in healing. Talia held my hand and offered her own trust in God’s timing. Their simple faith stirred something in me. Justin, in his own anguish and limits, gave me space. Probably only asking for half of what he truly needed—a grace I don’t take for granted. That night he read the most precious prayer over me, and I wept more.

There was no blame. Just shared weariness over a hard reality that no one asked for but we’re all pushing through together.

The Levity Taught Me

Days later, and my body adjusted. I nearly forget those hot tears and heavy moments but the contrast of “re-entry” with lake like in one day was too sharp- it felt cruel.

It helped me to remember and call on the buffers we’ve built in. We’ve organized support. We’ve accepted help: care coverage, laundry help, groceries, cleaning, playdates... That’s how we ride the waves without getting tossed.

The levity I felt on vacation—and others noticed—taught me something vital: the weight is real. And I can’t carry it alone. Sometimes, you don’t realize how heavy something is until someone helps you set it down.

We’re still climbing. And still tired. But we’re not alone.

We've become bowlers! This was our Father's Day activity!

Christ’s Call: Bear One Another's Burdens

I’m amazed how loving God and loving others isn’t just a moral principle- it’s actually a command (Mark 12:30-31), and also a guideline for how to live rightly (James 2:8)! 

So, when Paul encourages us to “Bear one another’s burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ”, (Galatians 6:2), I’m reminded that one way to love God and others is to bear their burdens. 

The word burden here means “a weight of personal and eternal significance.”

I carry a heavy burden because I choose love. Love requires that I stay. I choose it daily because love looks outward. So, there must be purpose to carrying others’ burdens!

How to Help (Successfully)

Helping can be sensitive for both sides. But here’s what Nicole did that made her support feel like a gift, not an intrusion:

• She didn’t make me feel guilty.There was no “you owe me” or “I’m doing you a favor.” Just quiet, steady presence.

• She made it clear: this was our family vacation.We could ask for space and she wouldn’t take offense. And made it her mission to help us experience it.

• She anticipated needs before I had to name them.I didn’t have to manage her. She has watched, learned, and stepped in with grace, and let me know when she needed help.

• She understood the deeper why. She wasn’t overwhelmed by the support we needed. She leaned in.

• She respected our rhythms.She didn’t try to fix or change our way of life. She honored it.

• She welcomed our family.Even with friends and family visiting all week, she adapted and showed up, despite our unique flavor of crazy! 

• She made rest feel safe.I didn’t feel like I had to earn my rest or watch the clock. She created space for me!

  
  

Carry-on

As a caregiver, you carry on because you love... and because you must. But when someone steps in, even temporarily, it reveals just how much you’ve been carrying all along.

Taking a break on vacation felt like exhaling a deep breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I was given the rare gift of rest—of stepping away, of remembering myself apart from the rhythm of caregiving. But re-shouldering the load after laying it down was harder than I expected. 

And I’m carrying forward what this experience taught me:

• Lessons for caregivers: in planning for rest and re-entering gently.

• Lessons for helpers: in bearing burdens with tenderness.

• Lessons for all of us: maybe someone near you is carrying something heavy. Maybe your shoulder could help them keep going.

  
  

And I hope this image stays with you and stirs you to love in action: someone gently unfastening the straps of another’s burden, saying with humble courage, “Let me carry it for a while”.

To my community: I’ve experienced Christ most vividly through you. I’m so grateful. Deeply, overwhelmingly grateful.