Athletes and Mental Health Series (8 posts)
but recently I found myself taking time to sit with it again—not from a distance, but personally.
The reality is, we all find ourselves in difficult places at times. Seasons where the weight feels heavier, where clarity fades, where the internal battle is harder to articulate. Life has a way of holding both tension and beauty at the same time.
What I’ve been reminded of is that these moments are not unusual, and they are not disqualifying. They are part of the human experience. And for those of us walking in faith, they are often the very places where God meets us most clearly.
There’s a quiet assumption in leadership that strength should be steady, visible, and unwavering. If you’re leading well, encouraging others, carrying responsibility with consistency, it can start to feel like you’re supposed to live above the weight instead of walking through it. But that’s not how life works, and it’s not how faith works either.
There are moments when the noise fades, when the momentum slows, and what’s left is a kind of internal stillness that doesn’t feel peaceful—it feels exposing. Those are the moments when the doubts get louder, when insecurities feel less manageable, when even small failures seem to echo more than they should. You keep showing up, but internally you feel worn down, tired of trying to measure up. The psalmist gives language to that kind of moment: “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” (Psalm 13:1). That cry isn’t polished—it’s honest.
What’s striking is how familiar that experience is when you read the Psalms. The people who wrote them weren’t distant from God; many of them were deeply entrusted by Him. And yet, they speak with a level of honesty that cuts through any illusion that leadership or maturity eliminates struggle. They talk about being overwhelmed, saying things like, “My guilt has overwhelmed me like a burden too heavy to bear” (Psalm 38:4). They acknowledge internal unrest: “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me?” (Psalm 42:5).
There’s also this instinct to hide. Not necessarily from people in obvious ways, but internally—to compartmentalize, to push down what feels too heavy or too messy to bring into the light. Over time, that kind of hiding can become so effective that you start to lose clarity about what’s really going on inside you. You keep functioning, but something in you feels distant. And yet, Scripture gently confronts that instinct: “If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me…’ even the darkness will not be dark to you” (Psalm 139:11–12). The places we retreat to are not hidden from God.
Failure and insecurity have a way of distorting perspective, especially in leadership. The weight of responsibility can amplify every misstep. Words we wish we could take back, decisions we second-guess, expectations we don’t meet—these things linger. The psalmists don’t ignore that weight. They name it. But they also begin to turn within it. Even in the middle of distress, there is a shift toward trust: “But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation” (Psalm 13:5). The circumstances haven’t necessarily changed, but something deeper has.
That’s where something begins to shift for us as well. Not instantly, and not always dramatically, but steadily. The same voices that cry out in frustration begin to speak with confidence—not in themselves, but in God’s presence. “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me” (Psalm 23:4). The valley is still there. The difference is that we are not alone in it.
For those of us who lead, that matters. Because the goal isn’t to become people who never enter dark spaces. The goal is to become people who know what to do when we’re there. People who don’t isolate completely, who don’t let shame define the moment, who don’t assume that being there means we’ve failed. Instead, we begin to recognize those spaces as places where God meets us with intention. As the psalmist writes, “He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire” (Psalm 40:2). The movement begins with Him.
There’s also a longer view that begins to form. The Psalms carry this quiet confidence that the present moment isn’t the final outcome. There is an expectation—not always immediate, but certain—that restoration will come. That joy will return. That what feels heavy now will not always feel this way. “Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5). That promise doesn’t rush the night, but it reframes it.
Over time, you begin to see that being found in those places changes you. It deepens your awareness of grace. It softens your responses to others. It reshapes how you measure strength. And it reminds you that the effectiveness of your leadership is not rooted in your ability to avoid struggle, but in your willingness to remain connected to God within it. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).
What I’ve come to understand is that the dark spaces don’t disqualify us. If anything, they refine us. They strip away the illusion that we can carry everything on our own and bring us back to the truth that we were never meant to. Because in the end, the story isn’t about how well we hold ourselves together. It’s about a God who meets us, restores us, and leads us forward again.
Or, in the simplest terms, just like this song says—He still finds us in dark spaces.
Verse 1
When the noise of the world goes quiet on me
And the shadows say what I don’t want to see
I retreat to a place no one else knows
Where the ache runs deep and the silence grows
Worn down by the weight of a thousand tries
Chasing “perfect” through a thousand lies
Every word that missed, every step misplaced
Feels like scars I can’t erase
I’m hiding so well, I’m losing myself
In the doubt, in the fear, in the stories I tell
Chorus
But You find me in dark spaces
Where I’ve buried all my shame
When I’m lost in my own hiding
Still You call me by my name
Through the fear and all my failures
Through the silence and lonely places
I don’t have to fight the shadows
‘Cause You find me in dark spaces
Verse 2
Tired of fighting what I can’t outrun
Every battle feels already done
Jaded by the arrows I didn’t see
Even careless words still cut through me
I’m suffocating under who I should be
Every flaw just magnified in me
But grace breaks in where I fall apart
And whispers truth back to my heart
When I’m sure that no one else could understand
I feel Your mercy take my hand
Chorus
Yeah, You find me in dark spaces
Where I’ve buried all my shame
When I’m lost in my own hiding
Still You call me by my name
Through the fear and all my failures
Through the scars I can’t erase
I don’t have to fight the shadows
‘Cause You find me in dark spaces
Bridge
No depth too low, no night too long
No broken place where You don’t belong
You walk right in, You bring the light
You speak to the dark and call it life
And I will rise, not on my own
But by the love that won’t let go
Chorus
You find me in dark spaces
And You lead me back to grace
When I thought I was forgotten
I can feel Your warm embrace
And in time this heart will heal
I’ll see hope upon my face
I will smile again in the light
‘Cause You found me in dark spaces
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