“For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust.” — Psalm 103:14 (NLT)
Introducing The Middle of the Night Musings
This came to me in the middle of the night when I couldn’t get back to sleep — something I’ve started calling Middle of the Night Musings. It’s a very midlife woman thing. The house is quiet, my mind won’t settle, and instead of fighting it, I lean in. God often meets me there. The idea for this blog came to me during one of those times.
The Plan That Looked Good on Paper
I wrote something in last week’s blog, and I meant every word of it sincerely.
I mapped out a weekly rhythm — slow mornings, intentional movement, time carved out for the three courses I paid for. Two hours twice a week for two of them. One hour once a week for the other. It looked reasonable on paper. Honestly, it looked kind. Like I was finally giving myself something structured but soft and something I could actually sustain.
But as I was writing it, I felt a prompting that told me I was still putting too much pressure on myself. The Lord was talking to me.
It was a quiet, persistent resistance every time I looked at that plan. It was a low, but consistent hum of too much that I kept trying to talk myself out of.
Lord knows I don’t want to admit that because on paper the plan feels doable. Besides, I’d just published a whole blog about grace, rhythm, and not treating structure like a scoreboard. And here I was — doing exactly that with the plan I’d designed to prevent it.
That stayed with me for days.
Capacity. That’s the Word.
Here’s what I’m sitting with, honestly: maybe I’m not honoring or fully understanding my capacity right now.
And I’ll be even more honest — I’ve been struggling with feeling lazy. Which, if you know me, is almost laughable. I worked nights — 12-hour shifts for over 25 years, as a single mother raising my son during that time — and took classes part-time, pushing for A’s in everything. I know what hard work looks like.
But that’s what Type A wiring does. When your output doesn’t match your expectations, your nervous system can quietly file it under “moral failure.” Rest starts to feel suspicious. A slower pace feels almost irresponsible. Even an unfinished goal can feel emotionally loud in a way that’s hard to explain.
But I need to say this clearly — to myself as much as to you:
You are not lazy because your capacity has changed.
Capacity is not fixed. And in this season, mine is being shaped by stress, emotional load, healing, midlife hormonal shifts, rebuilding, mental fatigue, and carrying more than one version of myself at once.
That doesn’t make me lazy. It makes me human.
When Ambition Outpaces Capacity
My Type A personality is still very much here. She’s ambitious and goal-oriented, and she genuinely believes that if she organizes things well enough, she can do it all. She can manage the courses, the blog, strength training, brand-building, healing, and the rest. All of it, on a schedule, with intention.
And she’s not wrong to want those things. Those goals are real, and they matter — writing, building something meaningful, helping women, getting stronger. None of that is shallow. None of it is ego.
But I’m in a season where my capacity and ambition aren’t moving at the same pace. And that gap — between who I’ve been and what I can actually carry right now — is where the friction lives.
Even when I create a gentler plan, the old mindset can follow me right into it. That’s not failure. That’s awareness. I thank God for that, because awareness is where the honest work can begin.
Letting Go of the Fight
There’s another thing I’ve been thinking about in those quiet middle-of-the-night hours.
I don’t actually need to worry about how much time I have left on this earth. I have no control over that. None of us does. What I can control is how I steward the life I have — how I treat myself, how I show up, how I move through this season with as much grace, patience, and intention as I can honestly manage.
Part of that stewardship, for me, has meant letting go of mourning the woman I used to be. It’s been an ongoing struggle in this season, and I think that’s part of why managing my capacity has been so difficult.
Here’s a small but real example: I stopped coloring my hair. I’m embracing my gray. Fighting it started to feel like too much work — and honestly, like a fight I didn’t need to be in. I can still look good, feel pretty, and show up vibrant and alive with silver hair. So why spend the energy pretending otherwise?
(And to be clear — I am not making a statement about anyone else’s choices. You do you. I might go back to blonde one day for a spell. It’s unlikely, but not impossible. This is simply about what’s right for me in this season.)
That’s what I mean by embracing the season instead of fighting it. If my capacity is less than it once was — honor that. Embrace it. Release what once was without shame and without grief. That’s growth. No matter how long it takes.
The same principle is showing up everywhere for me right now. I’m letting go of the rigid schedule I had mapped out for the courses I paid for. I will plan for 1 hour per course — and then build in flexibility from there.
Scheduling my blog to post Wednesdays at 5 AM stays — that’s anchored. Going to the gym on Fridays (unless I’m not well) is also an anchor. But everything else requires flexibility. And flexibility has been one of the hardest things for my Type A self to accept in any season of my life.
There’s even flexibility built into my strength training. I might plan to deadlift a working set of 5 at 200 pounds, and my body might say no. So maybe it becomes one set of 3 at 200 pounds, with a back-off set of 5 at 185 pounds. Or two sets of 3 at 200 pounds instead. Right now, pushing through doesn’t work for me. I’m learning to hear that as information, not defeat. I’m still showing up — just listening and honoring what my body can actually do that day instead of forcing a number I set in advance.
Flexibility isn’t lowering the bar. It’s reading the room.
This capacity may also be temporary. Who knows what’s ahead? Maybe it expands again. Maybe this isn’t my forever pace — just my honest pace right now. Either way, I don’t need that answer today.
If It Feels Like Pressure, That’s Just What It Is
For me, right now, slow mornings should be every morning.
I’m not saying that as a strategy or a recovery tool to cross off a list. Every morning — unless there is somewhere I genuinely have to be or something I genuinely have to do — I’m going to take it easier.
And I’ll be honest — being unemployed right now is not ideal. It’s a real financial reality, and I’m not romanticizing it. But one of the unexpected blessings of this season is that slow mornings are actually available to me. That is a provision showing up in an unlikely form. I’m choosing to receive it.
So if a plan feels like pressure — that’s exactly what it is. And I have to honor that and make the adjustment, even when part of me wants to push through anyway. Grace in this season is not just letting myself move more slowly. It’s also accepting that not everything can fully bloom at the same time.
That is harder for me than I want to admit.
But seasons naturally emphasize different things. And this one is asking me to learn how to build a meaningful life without emotionally overloading myself in the process (like I used to). Not to shrink. Not to give up. To stop trying to compress healing, rebuilding, purpose, fitness, faith, and future dreams into one urgent season because I’m afraid of running out of time.
I’m not running out of time. I’m being stewarded through it.
He Already Knows My Frame
I’m in the messy middle season of my life right now, and it’s full of many messy middles. And God is showing me who He is through it all — when I lean on Him and pay attention.
That’s what those quiet hours are for, not for worrying, planning, and replanning. But to talk to, trust in, and lean on Jesus. It’s trusting that He already knows what I’m carrying and what I can carry — because He made me. Oh, what a friend we have in Jesus.
“For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust.” — Psalm 103:14 (NLT)
God knows my capacity even when I don’t. He isn’t disappointed by it. He isn’t rushing me through it. He’s present in it—if I truly slow down long enough to notice. Spending time with the Lord is refreshing. (Psalm 23:3)
All I have to do is trust God. Look to Him. Talk to Him. He will get me through it.
And yes, I’m still here, still in the messy middle. Still figuring it out and still becoming.
This struggle with capacity feels like yet another messy middle in a season that’s been full of them.
That is not small. That is everything.
If you want to sit with this a little longer, here are a few questions to journal on:
- Where in my life might I be confusing a change in capacity with failure or laziness?
- What would it look like for me to honor my current season instead of resisting it?
- Where might God be inviting me to release pressure and trust Him more fully in this season?
Life is a faith journey. Walk boldly.
Be brave enough to listen to your body when it says “too much,” and make the adjustment without guilt.💜
Be faithful enough to release the former version of yourself with honor, not mourning.💜
Be kind enough to trust that God knows your frame and that this season is not the end of your story.💜
You are not lazy because your capacity has changed. You are human, healing, and still being held by the Lord. Walk boldly through the middle — even when the middle is messy.
If you’re in your own messy middle too, you’re not alone here.
— Tami Zanele
Need a writer who gets it? Someone whose words sound like a real woman actually lived them? That’s what I do. Let’s connect.
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