Being Strong Isn’t the Same as Being Called to Everything
There’s a kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.
Not physical tired.
Not even emotional tired.
It’s the exhaustion that comes from constantly engaging.
Constantly responding.
Constantly explaining.
Constantly standing in fights that don’t actually move your life forward.
Lately, I’ve been sitting with a quiet realization.
I’m not tired because I lack strength.
I’m tired because I’ve been spending strength where it was never assigned.
And that hits different.
Because strong people are expected to handle everything.
We become the voice of reason.
The truth-teller.
The fixer.
The educator.
The one who can “take it.”
So we jump into arguments.
We correct misinformation.
We absorb people’s projections.
We carry conversations that were never meant to be ours.
And slowly, our spirit starts to dim.
What makes it heavier is this question I keep turning over in my heart:
If I stop engaging, will people think I’m weak
Or scared
Or avoiding truth
Or backing down
But here’s the truth I’m learning.
Silence is not surrender.
Boundaries are not fear.
And disengaging from chaos is not the same as abandoning purpose.
When I look at Scripture, I don’t see God applauding constant engagement.
I see Him honoring focus.
Nehemiah understood this long before we had comment sections and social media timelines.
He had one assignment. Build the wall.
And while he was doing exactly what God called him to do, the noise showed up.
Mockery. Distraction. False urgency. Invitations to argue. Invitations to explain. Invitations to come down and address people who had no intention of helping him build anything.
Nehemiah didn’t insult them.
He didn’t defend himself.
He didn’t debate motives.
He simply said he couldn’t come down because he was doing a great work.
That one sentence carries so much wisdom for today.
Because the moment you step into what God has called you to do, the distractions come dressed as responsibility.
As righteousness.
As “speaking up.”
As “educating.”
As “standing your ground.”
But not every fight is a calling.
The Ethiopian texts echo this same truth quietly but powerfully.
Baruch, who walked closely with Jeremiah, wasn’t assigned to fix the people’s rebellion or convince everyone to change. His responsibility was to preserve the word. To protect what God placed in his hands.
When Baruch carried that responsibility alone, he grew weary.
Not because the assignment was wrong, but because the weight around it was heavy.
And that feels familiar.
We are living in a time where outrage is rewarded.
Reaction is expected.
And disengagement is misunderstood.
People want your energy on demand.
They want you to explain history, politics, race, faith, and morality in a comment box.
They want access to your emotional labor without offering respect, curiosity, or growth in return.
And strong people keep showing up.
Until they burn out.
I’ve started to recognize when I’m outside my assignment.
It shows up as constant irritation.
A heaviness before I even open an app.
The feeling that I’m responding more than creating.
That I’m explaining more than building.
That I’m defending instead of resting.
That’s not weakness.
That’s misalignment.
Purpose energizes.
Distraction drains.
Here’s the part that’s uncomfortable but freeing at the same time.
Some people are not meant to understand you in this season.
Some conversations are not meant to be resolved.
Some arguments are not meant to be won.
And some battles exist solely to pull you away from what you’re actually called to do.
Strong people burn out when they fight outside their assignment.
Not because they aren’t strong enough.
But because strength was never meant to be used everywhere.
I’m learning that my peace is not optional.
My focus is not negotiable.
And my assignment deserves protection.
I don’t owe everyone my voice.
I don’t need to attend every argument I’m invited to.
And I don’t have to prove truth to people who are committed to misunderstanding it.
This isn’t avoidance.
It’s wisdom.
This isn’t silence.
It’s discernment.
This isn’t stepping back from truth.
It’s stepping deeper into purpose.
When I stay in my lane, my strength returns.
When I stop fighting unnecessary battles, my clarity sharpens.
And when I honor my assignment, exhaustion no longer has the final word.
Strong people don’t burn out because they’re weak.
They burn out because they’ve been carrying what was never theirs.
And I’m choosing, intentionally, to stay where I’m assigned.
Pam's Pulse 