When Jesus Took a Nap: Why Self-Care Isn’t Selfish
By Ross Hendrickson
Years ago, a friend of mine told me he was going to take a “self-care day.” I laughed. Out loud. I thought he was joking.
At the time, I was balancing a full-time workload, raising kids, responding to people in crisis, and pretending that the caffeine in coffee was the same thing as rest. A self-care day? That sounded like something you got once a year if the planets aligned and your entire to-do list magically vanished.
But here’s what I’ve learned. If you wait until everything is done to take care of yourself, it will never happen. And if you don’t intentionally build in space to rest, life will eventually force you to stop. Usually not in ways you get to choose.
And if you enjoy a good example from the Bible, then let’s start here… Jesus napped in a boat.
In the middle of a storm. While the disciples were freaking out. Waves crashing. People yelling. Complete chaos. And there He was, sleeping on a cushion.
Not because He didn’t care. Not because He wasn’t strong enough to push through the storm. But because He knew how to rest.
Somewhere along the line, a lot of us picked up this belief that taking care of ourselves is selfish. That if we’re not pushing, striving, or sacrificing for others, we’re somehow not doing it right. But maybe rest isn’t the opposite of work. Maybe rest is part of the work.
Jesus didn’t wait for perfect peace to rest. He rested in the middle of the storm. That feels important.
A few years back, I found myself feeling drained and snappy. Not just tired, but worn thin. Everything felt heavier than it should have. My motivation was off, my patience was shot, and I had the emotional range of a stapler.
It all came to a head on a Saturday morning. I was folding laundry, just trying to catch up, and I found a single sock without a match. That sock broke me. I sat down on the floor, laundry basket in my lap, and just stared at it.
My wife found me sitting there like I was trying to solve a complex math equation using only fabric softener. She asked what was wrong, and I surprised myself when I said, “I don’t even know what I need anymore. I’m just tired. Of everything.”
That was my wake-up call. Not a lightning bolt. Just a slow realization that I couldn’t keep living like I was a machine. I needed to reconnect with myself. I needed a reset.
So I started small.
Ten minutes alone in the morning with no phone. Walks without turning them into a workout. Actually eating lunch instead of skipping it. Saying no to things that didn’t fit. I went to bed a little earlier. I stopped pretending that burnout was just part of being a grown-up.
I began remembering who I was again. And that made all the difference.
One thing that helped me more than I expected was reconnecting with hobbies. Somewhere between work, parenting, and trying to keep everyone fed and functioning, I had forgotten what I actually enjoyed doing.
So I gave myself permission to revisit old hobbies and try new ones. I picked up fantasy football again, and let me tell you, drafting a team gave me an unexpected jolt of joy. I was trash-talking with friends, over-analyzing matchups like a true professional couch coach, and having fun. Actual fun. Not productive, not meaningful, just fun.
We need to find those activites that are life-breathing into us, instead of sucking the life out of us. For some people, it might be painting, gardening, running, baking, or getting lost in a good book. For others, it might be learning guitar or joining a recreational kickball league, even if your knees protest halfway through the warm-up. The point is not what it is. The point is that it helps you feel like a person again. Someone with interests and joy and personality beyond your obligations.
Hobbies remind you that you are more than what you do. And sometimes they help you laugh again.
When people hear “self-care,” they often picture bubble baths and spa music and someone getting their nails done while sipping a fancy drink. And hey, if that’s what recharges you, go for it.
But for most of us, self-care is way less glamorous.
Self-care is turning off your email after dinner. It’s leaving work at work. It’s drinking water like you actually believe your body needs it. It’s choosing to rest instead of numbing out with scrolling or binge-watching.
It’s giving yourself permission to slow down without asking anyone for it.
It’s recognizing that your worth is not measured by how much you produce or how many people you please. It’s letting yourself be human.
Self-care is brushing your teeth and calling a friend, and eating a vegetable once in a while. It’s going to therapy. It’s knowing that burnout is not a badge of honor and stress is not a personality trait.
Let me introduce you to someone. His name is Pete.
Pete is a therapist and a dad. He’s been married for over two decades and is known for being the guy who always shows up. Clients love him. Friends rely on him. Neighbors wave when he walks by because he once fixed someone’s garbage disposal in the middle of a rainstorm just to be helpful.
But Pete is tired. He doesn’t always admit it, but it shows.
He wakes up in the middle of the night thinking about other people’s problems. He zones out when his wife talks because he’s still thinking about a conversation he had earlier that day. He says things like “I just need to push through this week” every single week.
Pete skips meals. He skips rest. He skips himself.
One day, during a session with a client, the person says, “I feel like I’m constantly showing up for everyone else, but I’ve forgotten how to show up for me.”
Pete nods in agreement, and it hits him. He’s doing the exact same thing.
So he makes a change.
He starts small. A quiet cup of coffee in the morning without his phone. A walk around the block just to breathe. He takes one evening a week and does something for no reason other than it makes him feel like himself again. He starts to laugh more. He listens more closely. He yells less. He sleeps better.
The people around Pete notice the difference.
Turns out, when Pete started taking care of himself, he had more to give. Not less.
You don’t have to wait for a breakdown to prioritize your well-being.
You don’t have to earn rest.
You don’t need permission to breathe, recharge, reset, or just exist as someone other than the fixer or helper or scheduler or solution-finder.
You are allowed to matter in your own life.
Your health is not selfish. It is essential. The people you love need you to be well, not just available.
Taking care of yourself isn’t about escape. It’s about restoration. It’s about showing up for your life with more presence, more patience, and more clarity.
And yes, sometimes it means doing absolutely nothing for a little while.
We live in a world that rewards overwork and glorifies burnout. But what if the bravest thing you could do today is stop? Just for a moment.
What if your worth is not based on how much you hustle?
What if you gave yourself permission to breathe?
You are not a machine. You are not a robot. You are not the solution to everyone’s problems.
You are a person with needs. And those needs are not an inconvenience. They are part of being human.
So maybe today, take five minutes and check in with yourself.
Are you tired? Are you overwhelmed? When was the last time you did something just because it brought you joy?
Start there. Start small. Start now.
Self-care is not a luxury. It is not something extra. It is not selfish.
It is you, learning how to live with more peace. More clarity. More resilience.
It is you, finally giving yourself the same compassion you so easily give to others.
And if anyone gives you a hard time about it, just remind them that even Jesus took a nap in a boat.
Addicted to Disconnection: why the Marriage Isn’t Just About the Bottle
By Ross Hendrickson
Let’s just name the awkward truth: addiction can bulldoze a marriage. Whether it’s alcohol, drugs, gambling, sex addictions, or any other compulsive behavior, addiction doesn’t come strolling quietly through the door. It crashes in uninvited, wrecking intimacy, eroding trust, and hijacking conversations that were supposed to be about date night or the in-laws, not the empty vodka bottle in the garage.
As a couples therapist and someone who spent two years working in IOP, PHP, and residential substance use treatment, I’ve seen how addiction takes center stage in relationships. It becomes the loudest voice in the room. And often, couples show up to therapy convinced that if they can just get rid of the addiction, they’ll finally be able to breathe again.
And that’s partly true. But only partly.
Addiction is a blaze. It’s urgent. It destroys. But too often, it’s fueled by deeper emotional dry spells. You know, the unspoken resentments, chronic loneliness, performance-based worth, or years of subtle disconnection. When couples come in, addiction often gets blamed for everything. And sure, if one partner is selling the family car for scratch-offs, yes, we need to address that first.
But the deeper work usually reveals something quieter. We haven’t known how to reach each other in a long time.
So yes, the fire has to be put out. But the soil beneath it is where the healing happens.
One thing addiction is really good at is lying. It whispers things like:
“This is my problem, not a marriage problem.”
“Once I stop, everything will go back to normal.”
“They just don’t understand me. This helps me cope.”
And if we’re honest, the non-using partner often buys into those lies, too. It’s easier to point to the empty bottle than to talk about the emptiness between us.
But addiction rarely travels alone. It brings shame, secrets, fear, and codependency along for the ride. Couples stop being allies and start becoming wardens and inmates. Or rescuer and rebel. Or parent and child. The marriage stops feeling like a partnership and starts feeling like a battleground.
And all the while, connection – the very thing both partners desperately need – gets buried under blame, silence, or exhaustion.
If addiction is present in the marriage, here’s the hard truth. We have to start there.
No one can rebuild a bridge while the fire is still burning underneath it.
That’s why, in many of my couples cases, I’ll pause the relational work until the substance or behavioral addiction has been stabilized. That might mean:
• The addicted partner starting or returning to individual therapy
• A referral for an addiction assessment
• Connection to AA, Celebrate Recovery, or SMART Recovery
• A willingness to set boundaries that prioritize safety and healing
In some cases, the healthiest starting point is even a temporary separation – not to punish, but to protect both partners from further harm.
It’s not always what couples want to hear, but it’s necessary. Because we can’t talk about vulnerability when someone is still hiding vodka in the laundry basket. We can’t rebuild trust when honesty is still a moving target.
The goal isn’t perfection. The goal is stability.
Let’s not forget that addiction impacts both people. The partner who isn’t using often becomes hyper-vigilant, emotionally exhausted, and full of silent questions.
“How did I miss the signs?”
“Why do I feel responsible for their choices?”
“Can I trust myself again?”
This person isn’t just a bystander. They’re often the ones holding it all together, walking on eggshells, or making excuses to the kids and extended family. They may not be the ones with the addiction, but they’ve been pulled into its orbit.
And they need support too.
In my work with couples, I often encourage individual therapy for both partners. Sometimes you need your own space to breathe before you can come back to the shared work of repair.
Once the addiction is no longer actively harming the relationship, when the secrets slow down and the partner is working a program or staying accountable, that’s when we get to the real roots.
This is where therapy starts sounding a lot less like a courtroom and more like a confessional.
We begin to ask:
When did you first start feeling alone in the relationship?
Where did the respect begin to erode?
How have you learned to protect yourself instead of connecting?
What unspoken wounds are you both still carrying?
Couples who’ve walked through addiction recovery together often have more insight, more humility, and more emotional awareness than many others if they’re willing to do the work.
I’ve seen marriages that looked scorched by addiction come back stronger than before. Not because they returned to what they were, but because they built something new—something honest, sustainable, and rooted in grace.
For couples who walk with faith, and many of my clients do, addiction brings up even deeper struggles. There’s often guilt, fear, and a sense of spiritual failure.
“I thought we were doing everything right. Church, prayer, community.”
“Where was God in all this?”
“Am I supposed to forgive and forget?”
To those couples, I say this. Grace is not the absence of boundaries. And healing doesn’t require pretending everything is fine.
God’s not shocked by addiction. He’s not wringing His hands in heaven, wondering how this slipped past the elders’ meetings. He’s in the trenches with you, grieving the loss, lighting the next step, reminding you that healing is possible, one day at a time.
Sometimes, the most sacred act in a marriage is telling the truth. Not just to each other, but to God. And then choosing to show up again anyway.
If this is your marriage where addiction has stolen time, trust, and tenderness from your relationship, please know you are not alone. Help is available. And healing isn’t reserved for the lucky ones.
It’s slow, yes. Messy, absolutely. But I’ve sat with couples in the darkest chapters, and I’ve watched them write new ones. Ones filled with real connection, courageous conversations, and quiet moments of rebuilding. It starts with telling the truth and letting someone walk with you as you heal. Don’t feel like you have to do this all on your own.
Fear’s Greatest Hits: The Lies that Keep Us Up at Night
By Ross Hendrickson
Fear is a full-time DJ in your brain, spinning the same greatest hits on repeat. You know the ones:
“You’re Not Enough” (feat. Self-Doubt)
“This is All Going to Fall Apart” (remix by Catastrophic Thinking)
“If They Really Knew You…” (acoustic version)
And just when you think you’ve turned the volume down, fear grabs the aux cord again. It shows up in parenting. It shows up in marriage. It shows up when you’re trying to fall asleep, but your brain decides it’s time to rehearse every worst-case scenario you’ve ever imagined.
We like to think fear is something we can outgrow or outsmart. But the truth is, fear doesn’t care how mature you are. It just wants to run the show.
I learned that the hard way at 13 year old, on a basketball court, with sweaty palms and two missed free throws that somehow spiraled into a full-on identity crisis.
In 8th grade, I played competitive basketball. I wasn’t the star, but I could shoot and hustle. I had heart. I also had a tournament semifinal game where we were down by one, and I got fouled with seconds left.
Two free throws.
I missed them both.
At first, it was just disappointment. Then a few teammates started in with the jokes. One said, “Bro, even my grandma could’ve made those!” Another chimed in, “Next time, try opening your eyes!” And as I was walking off the court, someone shouted, “Were you aiming for the mascot?” I laughed too, because that’s what you do when you’re 13 and your soul is quietly crumbling.
But later that night, lying in bed, that tiny moment cracked something open. I started thinking, what if I’m not actually good under pressure? What if I’m just pretending to be good at this sport? What if everyone’s going to figure that out soon?
That fear didn’t stay in the gym. It followed me to practice, where I hesitated to shoot. It showed up in class, where I started second-guessing my answers. It showed up at home, where I got snappy with my siblings for no reason, or sat silently at the dinner table, swirling mashed potatoes around like I was conducting a sadness experiment.
My coach noticed. My parents noticed. I think even my cat noticed.
That’s how fear works. It doesn’t just mess with your performance. It gets personal. It changes the way you see yourself.
The older I get, the more I realize fear rarely kicks down the door. It sneaks in quietly. It whispers instead of shouts. And the whispers can sound eerily reasonable.
Maybe I’m too much for them.
Maybe I’ll mess up my kids forever.
Maybe I missed my window to become who I was supposed to be.
Fear grows like a spark in dry grass. And if you don’t catch it early, it doesn’t just light up your brain. It starts burning through your marriage, your parenting, your health, and your identity.
I’ve watched couples stop speaking honestly because fear told them honesty was too risky. I’ve seen parents spiral into burnout because fear said if you rest, everything will fall apart. I’ve counseled people who were so afraid of failing that they stopped trying altogether and called it wisdom.
Fear doesn’t just steal joy. It rewrites your story. It turns I’m tired into I’m failing. It turns we’re struggling into we’re broken. And maybe worst of all, it turns this is hard into I’m not enough.
The most destructive fears aren’t about the things around us. They’re about us.
Fear that says
I’m not a good enough spouse
I’m not cut out to be a parent
I’m too broken to be loved
I’ll always be the one who lets people down
These aren’t just anxious thoughts. These are identity-shaping beliefs. If we sit with them too long, they stop sounding like lies and start sounding like truth.
That’s when fear gets dangerous.
Because once fear becomes the narrator of your story, it doesn’t just affect your behavior. It changes how you see yourself. And when you start living from a place of fear instead of love, everyone around you feels it.
The Bible isn’t silent on fear. In fact, some form of “Do not be afraid” shows up over 300 times. Not because God expects us to be fearless robots, but because He knows how quickly fear takes over.
But here’s the good news. Scripture doesn’t just say “Don’t fear.” It tells us why we don’t have to.
“Do not fear, for I am with you.” (Isaiah 41:10)
“When I am afraid, I put my trust in You.” (Psalm 56:3)
“Perfect love drives out fear.” (1 John 4:18)
The antidote to fear isn’t control. Its presence. God’s presence.
When we remember that He is with us, for us, and not surprised by anything we’re walking through, fear loses some of its power. It doesn’t disappear completely. But it doesn’t get to be in charge anymore.
- Call it out: Name the fear. Out loud. Write it down. Bring it into the light. Fear thrives in silence and shame. You don’t have to let it.
- Interrupt the soundtrack: When fear starts spinning its favorite hits, hit pause. Ask yourself if this fear is telling you the truth or just a scary possibility.
- Anchor in truth: What does God say about you? Go back to Scripture. You are chosen. You are loved. You are not forsaken. That identity is unshakable even when life feels shaky.
- Let people in: Whether it’s your spouse, a friend, or a therapist, don’t fight fear alone. It gets a lot smaller when it’s shared.
- Give yourself grace: Fear doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. Jesus didn’t roll His eyes at people who were afraid. He moved toward them. He does the same with you.
I never became a basketball star. The Spurs haven’t called. But that 8th grade moment stuck with me for a reason. It was the first time I realized how quickly a little fear can turn into a wildfire when I let it name me.
Since then, I’ve had other fears. Bigger ones. More grown-up ones. And while I don’t have a perfect track record of handling them, I’ve learned this.
Fear doesn’t get to define me. God does.
So if fear has been running the show in your life lately, maybe it’s time to change the soundtrack. Maybe it’s time to remember that fear is a terrible boss, a manipulative narrator, and an absolutely useless motivator.
You are more than what fear says about you.
You are loved. Chosen. Held.
And most of all, you’re not alone.