They Don’t Know How Much I’m Carrying

Read

Hebrews 4:15 "For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin."

Think

Some days you hold it together in public, but you’re falling apart in private. You show up with a smile, give the right answers, get the job done—and inside, you’re barely holding on. Maybe no one sees the tension you’re carrying at home, the medical scare you haven’t told anyone about, the loss that still hasn’t healed, or the self-doubt that hits you the second the door closes behind you. But even if they don’t see it, you feel it—and it’s exhausting.

There’s a unique kind of pain that comes from being both known and misunderstood. When people assume you’re okay because you’re high capacity. When they take your consistency for invincibility. When they thank you for your strength, but never ask about your soul. And somewhere along the way, you stop expecting anyone to really understand what you’re carrying, so you just tighten your grip, push through, and tell yourself, “This is just how it is.”

But the gospel says something radical: Jesus sees every ounce of it—and he understands. Hebrews 4:15 isn’t abstract comfort—it’s divine empathy. It tells us that Jesus is not a distant deity demanding strength from weak people. He’s a Savior who entered our weakness, who carried emotional, spiritual, and physical pain firsthand. He was misunderstood by his friends, rejected by his hometown, betrayed by people he trusted, and crushed under a burden no one else could see coming. If anyone knows what it’s like to be silently overwhelmed, it’s him.

And because of that, he doesn’t just save us from sin—he sits with us in our suffering. Not with vague comfort, but with shared understanding. Not as a God who looks down in pity, but one who kneels down in solidarity. That means the things you’re carrying don’t have to be hidden from him. The weight you don’t talk about doesn’t disqualify you from his presence—it actually draws him in closer.

Sometimes, the healing begins when you stop pretending you’re fine. You don’t have to be everyone’s hero. You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to not have it all figured out. The world may reward performance, but Jesus honors honesty. And his strength flows most freely in the cracks of your weakness, not in your polished self-presentation.

But even beyond that, this verse isn’t just about Jesus’ empathy—it’s an invitation. The very next verse (v.16) says we can “approach the throne of grace with confidence.” Not with shame. Not with reluctance. Not with the fear that we’re too much. But with full, wide-open access to mercy, help, and sustaining grace. You don’t have to carry this alone. You’re seen. You’re known. You’re held. And even when the people around you don’t fully understand what’s going on inside, Jesus does.

Apply

Let someone into the weight. Choose one trusted person and open up about something you’ve been carrying silently. You don’t need to explain everything—just let yourself be honest. And if you're not ready to talk, ask someone to pray for you anyway. Don't walk this road alone when Jesus has given you people to walk with.

Pray

Jesus, sometimes I feel like no one really sees what I’m carrying. But you do. You understand the things I can’t even put into words. Thank you for meeting me in that hidden space—not with judgment, but with gentleness. Help me have the courage to let someone else in and teach me to receive your strength instead of faking mine. In Jesus’ name. Amen.