It’s Okay to Not Be Okay:
A Caregiver’s Honest Journey Through Fear, Faith, and the Peace That Passes Understanding
By Frank Wyatt | Caregiver, Believer, Human Services Professional
To my fellow caregivers, believers, and anyone who needs to hear this tonight — I want to be real with you.
As a caregiver, as a follower of Christ, and as a professional in the human services field, I know what it feels like to carry more than you can hold. I know what it means to be strong for everyone else while quietly crumbling on the inside. And I’ve come to believe that one of the most powerful and countercultural things a person of faith can do is simply say:
“It’s okay to say we’re not okay.”
Today was a hard day. And I want to tell you about it — not for sympathy, but because I believe your story matters, my story matters, and when we share them honestly, somebody gets set free.
Caregiving Is Real. The Weight Is Real.
My mother is 95 years old. Let that sink in. Ninety-five. She is still living at home — and for that, I thank God with everything in me, because so many people cannot say the same about their loved ones. That alone is a miracle worth pausing for.
But caregiving is not without its hard days. Today she was struggling — going back and forth with pain, and also dealing with her lower dentures not fitting right. It sounds like a small thing. But if you’ve ever watched someone you love wrestle with discomfort day after day — something you can’t just fix — you know it is anything but small.
We’ve tried different approaches. We watched a video together one evening — me and my mom, side by side — on how to make it work better. And we keep trying. But some days, the solution just isn’t there yet.
And that’s when the caregiver’s fear quietly creeps in.
I found myself almost afraid to speak it. Not wanting to give voice to worry. But I had to be honest with myself — and with God: I have fear. And fear, unaddressed, can quietly become the mindset I walk in instead of the wisdom of God.
Do Your Part. Let God Do His.
Here is what I kept coming back to today — the truth that reoriented everything for me:
I can’t carry what isn’t mine to carry. I can’t control what isn’t mine to control. My only job is to do my part — and trust God to do His.
When I cooperate with God, I find my lane. I do what I can do. And then I release what only He can handle. That’s not passivity — that’s partnership with the Creator of the universe.
And when I’m walking in that space, I don’t need to have unrealistic expectations of other people either. Because the truth is — everybody is dealing with something we don’t even know about. Everybody is carrying something invisible.
How would I feel if I were my mother? How would it feel to be 95, to need help with the simplest things, to depend on others for your daily comfort and care? That question changes everything about how I show up.
The Peace of God Is Available to You Right Now
I want to tell you something that is not just a phrase for a church bulletin — it is a lived reality that I experienced today even in the middle of the hard:
The peace of God is resonant. It is available. And it doesn’t require everything to be resolved first.
I am confessing the Word of God over my life and over my family. I am choosing to walk in His wisdom rather than my worry. I am choosing gratitude — for my mother’s 95 years, for a home she can still live in, for small victories and ordinary blessings that most people overlook.
And I want to have the right attitude. Not a performance. Not a pretense that everything is fine. But a genuine posture of trust — even when it’s hard, even when I’m afraid, even when I don’t have all the answers.
Because God is in control. And that is enough.
A Word to Every Caregiver Reading This
You are not alone. What you are carrying is real. And you deserve to have your voice heard.
Reach out to someone tonight — a friend, a counselor, a pastor, a support group, or even just someone who will listen. Your voice matters. Your story matters. You are not invisible, even when it feels that way.
And in the middle of the hard days — don’t forget to look for the small blessings.
Thank God for what is still here. Thank God for what hasn’t been taken. Gratitude is not denial — it is the discipline of seeing clearly.
Let’s Start a Conversation
If you are a caregiver right now — whether you are caring for a parent, a child, a spouse, a sibling, or a dear friend — I want to hear from you.
💬 What does a day look like for you?
💬 What do you struggle with that you wish somebody understood?
💬 What would you want people to know about what you are carrying?
💬 Where do you find your peace?
These are the conversations we need to be having. Not just in church hallways and waiting rooms — out loud, in community, where people can actually help each other.
Community is how we make it through. Let’s talk.
🙏Frank Wyatt
937-242-8520
frankwyatt@gmail.com