It Wasn’t About the T-Shirt
There’s a T-shirt design sitting in a file on my computer right now. I opened it just before my grandmother passed, made a few edits, and I haven’t looked at it since. I think about it often — it sits in my mind alongside all the other things I want to do but haven’t. Nothing’s wrong with the design. Nothing’s wrong with the idea. I do acknowledge that I have a problem with perfectionism, but I just can’t seem to move it forward.
For a while, I told myself it was a fear problem — maybe I was scared it wouldn’t sell, scared of putting something new out into the world. There’s truth in that. But underneath it was something I hadn’t let myself say out loud yet: I am tired in a way that has nothing to do with my schedule. It is not a time problem. I’m currently unemployed, so I’ve had the time.
It’s a capacity problem. And if I’m honest, capacity is something I have a hard time even recognizing as real. Time, I get that. Effort, I know what that is — I’m skilled at pushing through to get things done. But capacity is much quieter than that. It doesn’t feel tangible in the way time and effort do. It feels easier to call myself unmotivated, unskilled, a scatterbrain, than to admit that I don’t have what it takes right now — because “I don’t have the capacity” feels like an excuse, even when it’s the truest thing I could say. That’s where the struggle begins for me. I know grief is real, but part of me still wonders whether I’m simply making excuses.
I am grieving. My grandmother’s passing earlier this year came while I was still grieving my dad’s death. I didn’t realize how grief could accumulate until things that once came easily suddenly felt difficult. Grief has a cost I didn’t fully understand until I was living inside it.
The Cost Nobody Warns You About
We talk about grief as sadness — tears, a heavy chest, missing someone. Oh, that’s real. But grief can also quietly take away from the things you didn’t know it had access to—things like focus or creative energy. Or, the willingness to start something new when you’re not even sure you have the capacity to finish what’s already on your plate.
Grief doesn’t announce itself as the reason you’re procrastinating. It hides behind smaller, more manageable-sounding excuses — “I’m just busy,” “I’ll get to it soon,” “the timing isn’t right.” Those excuses seem true in the moment. But it’s taken me a while to realize that the timing was never actually the issue. My grief was.
This isn’t laziness. It isn’t a lack of discipline. It’s the honest account of a heart that’s carrying more than it’s shown anyone — including yourself.
Grace Is Not the Same as Giving Up
I have to be careful with myself, and perhaps you do too: recognizing that grief is costing you capacity can quietly turn into permission to abandon everything. That’s not what this is.
Giving yourself grace doesn’t mean the T-shirt design is dead. It doesn’t mean the dream is over. It means setting it down for a season without treating that as failure. Sometimes, grace gives God room to continue His work of renewing you before asking you to carry more. Rest is not retreat, and get this, a pause is not a period.
There is a difference between “I’m quitting this” and “I’m not ready for this right now.”
And that’s okay. The first closes a door. The second just closes it for a little while, until you have what you need to open it again.
I believe that grace—real grace—won’t ask you to explain yourself, nor will it demand that you justify why you’re grieving or why your capacity has changed. God’s grace meets us where we are. It isn’t something we have to earn. It doesn’t require a timeline for when you’ll be “back to normal.” Instead, it gently meets you where you are today—grieving, tired, still faithful, still moving, even if the moving is slower than it used to be.
What Grief Can’t Take Away
I don’t have this fully figured out (I rarely do). I’m not writing this from the other side of it, with a clean lesson wrapped in a bow. I’m writing from the messy middle again, right in the thick of it—still learning what my own capacity actually looks like right now instead of what I wish it looked like.
I’m so thankful that God doesn’t measure my faithfulness by my output. He isn’t waiting on the T-shirts, the next YouTube video, or the next blog post to be pleased with me. He wants me to open my heart to Him. He’s near to the brokenhearted, and He’s patient with the tired.
“He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.” — Isaiah 40:29–31 (NIV)
Growing weary isn’t a sign that we’ve failed God. It’s an invitation to depend on Him. He promises to strengthen us when we’re weary because He is faithful to sustain us. That doesn’t mean grief suddenly disappears, or our capacity immediately returns. It means we don’t have to carry this season of grief in our own strength, even on the days when nothing visible gets done and even on the days the T-shirt file stays closed.
Grief may reduce your capacity, but it won’t stop God’s work of renewing you from the inside out.
So, if you’re in a season where your capacity doesn’t match your ambition, and you’ve been quietly beating yourself up over it, I hope this gives you permission not to give up. Be honest about how tired you really are. Don’t pretend to be stronger than you are today.
Open your heart to God because He’s always near.
Tell Him honestly what’s happening in your life. Tell Him you’re tired, discouraged, or afraid you’ve lost your way. Then be still long enough to listen. Ask Him for guidance. Sometimes all you need is His direction for the next step, and that can make all the difference.
What does stillness look like? Stillness might look like sitting quietly with God for ten minutes before your day begins. Or it might be taking a walk without earbuds, leaving room for your mind to settle and your heart to hear from Him.
One day, as I walked on the nature trail, the wind suddenly stirred the leaves all around me. In that moment, I experienced God’s presence so deeply that it felt as if He were gently reminding me, “Daughter, I’m right here with you.” That moment brought peace to my heart, and sometimes that’s exactly what we need before we take the next step.
Sometimes faithfulness in this season looks less like doing more and more like doing the next right thing God has placed in front of you. Grace doesn’t ask you to carry tomorrow’s load today. It invites you to be faithful with today’s strength.
Life is a faith journey. Walk boldly.
💜 Be honest about your capacity. God already knows where you are.
💜 Receive God’s grace without confusing it with giving up.
💜 Trust that God is renewing you day by day, even when you can’t yet see it.
— Tami Zanele
