Dispatch #001 When the People Closest to You Can’t Carry You

Galatians 1:10 “For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.”

Proverbs 4:23 “Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life.”

Some relationships drain you more than any battlefield ever could. And the worst part? You keep hoping they won’t.

You walk through the door hoping this time they’ll notice you lit up over something good.
You mention a win—small or big—hoping for a spark in their eyes. But it doesn’t come. Just the same tired sigh. The same why-do-you-even-bother look.
And suddenly the fire in you starts choking on the smoke of their bitterness.

You try to stay positive, try to believe they’re just tired. But after a while, tired becomes toxic.
And their negativity doesn’t just weigh down the room—it crawls inside you.

You stop sharing the creative stuff. The joyful stuff. The sacred stuff. Because every time you do, it dies in their silence. Or worse—their critique.

You start hiding the best parts of yourself because handing them over gets you nothing but bruises. You smile less. You speak less. You sit in the driveway a little longer before going inside. Because home doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels like a place you survive.

And then comes the shame.

Shame that you still need their approval. Shame that you still care what they think. Shame that you get angry when they don’t meet you halfway. And when it finally breaks out of you—when you collapse under the weight—it comes out sharp. Loud. Ugly.

And now you’re the problem. Too emotional. Too sensitive. Too much.

So nothing changes. Except you.

You get quieter. Harder. More alone.

This isn’t about blame. It’s about what this kind of slow erosion does to a soul. You don’t even want to resent them—but some days, you do. You don’t want to be alone—but some days, it feels safer. You don’t want to stop believing in hope—but it keeps getting trampled by someone who doesn’t.

Here’s the hard truth: Sometimes the people closest to you can’t carry your light. Not because it’s too heavy. But because they’ve forgotten how to hold anything sacred. And that’s not your fault.

You don’t have to dim to survive. You don’t have to bleed quietly to keep the peace. You don’t have to crucify your joy on the altar of someone else’s unresolved pain.

Yes, love them. Yes, be kind. But protect the part of you that still believes. Still dreams. Still worships.

Because the Sovereigns didn’t light your fire just to let someone else snuff it out.