Letting Go of What Was Never Mine to Carry
- Cristina Fischer
- May 21
- 6 min read
Updated: Jun 21
How Overfunctioning Almost Broke Me, and How God Redefined Leadership Through Trust
I remember sitting at my kitchen table, shoulders aching, brain spinning, heart heavy. No one had asked me to carry it all—but I had picked it up anyway. The calendar was packed. The to-do list never ended. And deep down, I was angry. But mostly at myself.
I couldn’t even name it at first—it wasn’t “burnout” exactly. It was more like… over-responsibility. If something was slipping, I grabbed it. If someone dropped the ball, I ran to catch it. I called it leadership. I told myself I was being faithful.
But truthfully?
I was afraid. Afraid of being seen as weak. Afraid of things falling apart. Afraid that if I didn’t hold it all together, it would prove I was never really called to lead in the first place.
It was the day I realized “faithful” had become frantic… that the Lord began to speak.
It didn’t happen overnight. At first, I just filled in the gaps—volunteered for the extra task, stayed late, rewrote the plan so it would actually get done. And people noticed. They said things like:
“You’re such a rock.”
“I don’t know how you do it all.”
“You’re the glue holding everything together.”
I let those words shape me more than I realized. The praise felt like proof I was doing something right. That I was needed.
That I mattered.
But slowly, something shifted. I stopped delegating—not because there was no one else, but because I didn’t trust they’d follow through.
I stopped asking for help—not because I didn’t need it, but because explaining felt harder than just doing it myself. I even stopped praying about certain things, not out of rebellion, but because deep down I believed: God gave this to me, so I’d better not drop it.
What began as faithfulness morphed into overfunctioning.
And overfunctioning always leads to isolation.
No one really knows you when you’re too busy holding everything up.
I started to feel resentment. Quiet, growing resentment toward the very people I loved. Not because they were careless—many weren’t. But because I had created a culture where they didn’t have to carry what I kept taking on.
One night after a long day, I caught myself snapping at my husband—not because he did something wrong, but because I was exhausted from carrying invisible weight. A to-do list in my head. Emotional burdens for staff. The pressure to succeed spiritually, financially, professionally—all while smiling like I had balance.
That night, God interrupted me. Not with a rebuke. With a question.
“Did I ask you to carry all of this?”
I didn’t answer right away. My pride wanted to say yes. But the truth was… no.
God never asked me to be the Savior of my own calling. He asked me to be obedient—and obedience includes trust. Trust that He’s big enough to move when I rest. Trust that others are capable and anointed too. Trust that releasing control is not the same as abandoning my post.
The next few weeks were awkward. Convicting. Healing. I had to go back and apologize—to my husband, my team, even to God. Not for working hard—but for placing my identity in what I could hold, rather than who held me.
I started saying sentences that felt foreign at first:
“I can’t take that on right now.”
“Let’s talk about a better structure.”
“I don’t need to be the one who fixes this.”
And something beautiful happened. The people around me didn’t fall apart. Some even rose up in ways I never expected—because I finally got out of the way.
That’s when I learned something I now coach others through:
Overfunctioning isn’t a leadership style. It’s a fear response.
And God never leads from fear.
Moses and the Weight of Leadership - Letting Go
One of the most liberating revelations God gave me during that season came through a passage I had skimmed over before: Exodus 18.
Moses was leading the Israelites through the wilderness after their deliverance from Egypt. He was the man God spoke to face-to-face. The one who raised the staff, split the sea, and carried the weight of a nation. A spiritual giant.
And yet… he was burning out.
“Moses took his seat to serve as judge for the people, and they stood around him from morning till evening.” (Exodus 18:13, NIV)
He thought he was being faithful. Accessible. Dedicated. But from the outside looking in, it was chaos.
His father-in-law, Jethro, watched this unfold and basically said:
“What you are doing is not good.” (v. 17)
He didn’t say Moses was lazy. He didn’t say the people weren’t important. He said it wasn’t sustainable.
“You and these people who come to you will only wear yourselves out. The work is too heavy for you; you cannot handle it alone.” (v. 18)
Because I had been telling myself that carrying all the weight was godly. That saying yes to everyone was Christlike. But here was Moses—the appointed, anointed leader—and God used Jethro to lovingly rebuke him:
Faithfulness is not about doing everything. It’s about doing what is yours to do.
Jethro’s advice wasn’t just practical—it was spiritual. He taught Moses to teach others, to raise up capable leaders, and to entrust them with responsibility. To shift from doing everything himself to equipping others to share the load.
Moses listened. He delegated. He let go of what was never his to carry alone.
This wasn’t just an ancient leadership model—it was a divine rhythm.
And if Moses had to learn it, so do we.
Even Jesus modeled this.
He didn’t heal every person, travel to every region, or solve every dispute Himself. He trained twelve. He sent out seventy. He withdrew to pray. He trusted that the Father was still moving even when He wasn’t physically present.
That undid me.
Because somewhere along the way, I had equated rest with irresponsibility… delegation with danger… and boundaries with selfishness.
But Scripture shows us: it is godly to lead with limits.
It is godly to say, “This is too heavy for me.”
Not because we’re weak, but because we are human—and only God is limitless.
Reflection and Takeaways
If any of this feels uncomfortably familiar, I want you to know—you’re not failing. You may just be functioning in a way you were never meant to.
God did not design you to carry it all. He designed you to walk with Him, and to co-labor in community.
Here are a few signs you might be overfunctioning:
You’re exhausted, but don’t feel like you have permission to rest.
You feel guilty when others don’t meet expectations—even if they weren’t yours to manage.
You resent being the “go-to” person but fear letting others step up.
You spiritualize burnout by calling it sacrifice or faithfulness.
You believe, deep down, that if you don’t do it… no one will.
Take a moment and ask:
What have I picked up that God never asked me to carry?
Where am I trusting my own effort more than God’s ability to move?
Who around me could rise, if I stepped back just enough to let them?
A short prayer to begin the release:
Father, I lay down what You never asked me to carry. I repent for thinking it was all up to me. Show me what is mine to steward—and what is Yours alone. Teach me to trust Your timing, Your people, and Your power. In Jesus’ name, amen.
This is not weakness. This is wisdom.
Closing
The day I finally let go of what wasn’t mine to carry didn’t feel heroic. It felt shaky. Awkward. Even a little exposed. But it was holy ground. Because it was the first time in a long time I stopped performing and started trusting.
If you’re caught in the same cycle—overfunctioning, overcommitting, overextending—I want to tell you something I wish someone had told me:
You don’t have to prove you’re called by exhausting yourself.
God never asks you to wear burnout as a badge of honor. He asks you to walk in obedience, to lead in love, and to trust Him enough to rest.
If this story resonated with you, I’d love to help you unpack it personally. You can schedule a coaching session with me or explore resources like the Faith Foundations devotional series.
You’re not meant to carry the world.
You’re meant to walk with the One who already does.
Comments