The Weight of Worthlessness

Finding Emotional Freedom After Financial Hardship

Introduction

I originally wrote this in 2018/early 2019 when my husband and I were going through a very challenging life transition. It took a long time to process, and I wish I could say I easily recognized what the Lord was trying to teach us while we were in the thick of it. In reality, we had very little hope, and that transitional season was actually the beginning of a spiritual battle my husband would face for years—one in which God would teach us many lessons. Some of those lessons were easier to adapt to and apply, while others collided with human pride, entitlement, and a stubborn persistence that we misdirected toward areas where God was trying to give us freedom. My hope is to continue sharing more of these lessons and reflections over time.

The Tension of Faith and Failure

I could feel it coming, like a low, ominous rumble before a storm. It might have been false, but deep down I knew it was a precursor to disaster. We had taken what felt like a well-intentioned leap of faith—complete financial surrender—and were now surrounded by silence.

I’d tell myself, this is a judgment-free zone. Welfare, assistance, and handouts aren’t moral failures; they’re lifelines. But when you’re used to working hard, earning your way, and having a full life, the contrast is jarring. It’s okay to cry, to feel self-pity. Just don’t stay there too long, I’d whisper to myself.

The exhaustion was like drowning. You gasp for air so often that eventually your lungs begin to fill with fluid. Packing up your belongings feels like packing away your identity. Watching your material possessions leave one by one feels like watching your worth drain out of you. A negative bank balance can make you feel truly worthless.

“Remember our other house?” my kids would ask.
“This is Grandma’s house now,” I’d answer. Moving in with my parents felt like crossing an invisible line. How many people actually live with their families? More than you think. But when creditors call, letters pile up, and agencies refuse to work with you, you have to find community where you can.

We lost our home—again.
We squeezed into a small space and made it work: eight people, three generations, and blurry boundaries. Roles shifted. My little unit was no longer mine. My self-worth, once tethered to my career, evaporated.

I had been a highly educated married woman with two kids, two cars, a house, and a six-figure salary. Now I was back in my childhood home, walking the same streets, sleeping in the same room—but this time with a husband, two children, and a dog. I felt like the troubled 16-year-old my mother had once tried to protect her other children from. What do you do with that?

My worth as a mother felt diminished. My worth as an adult felt diminished. I just wanted to feel like an adult again.

I learned quickly that materialism is a poor anchor. Temporal things slip away no matter how tightly you hold them. Advice poured in from well-meaning people: Apply here. Do this. You shouldn’t live with them—you need to get out. Education meant nothing when I couldn’t find a job. Friends faded when I had no time for myself. Even my pastor’s messages, which once gave me hope, began to sound like misguided promises.

Medication, Merlot, or meditation? Some days, that felt like the menu of survival.

I tried to balance pity with pursuit. I worked as hard as I could on whatever I could, all while being constantly reminded of how awful my situation was. Pay Caesar what is Caesar’s, the Bible says. But how do you make sense of God’s promises when you’ve been stripped of everything? How is He worthy when you feel so unworthy?

People offered perspective: It could be worse. At least you have a roof. Think of those less fortunate. But those words, though well-meaning, often felt like salt in a wound. Being told that others have it worse didn’t lift my spirit; it only deepened my sense of worthlessness.

Devotional: The Anchor That Holds [Written Years Later]

Worthlessness is heavy. It drags you under like a weight around your ankles. Yet even in the depths, God does not abandon us. The Psalmist writes, “He reached down from on high and took hold of me; He drew me out of deep waters” (Psalm 18:16).

When you lose everything temporal, you can more clearly discover what is eternal. Your worth is not measured by your salary, your possessions, or your ability to “make it” in this world. Your worth is rooted in being God’s child—a truth untouched by the fleeting (although heavy) challenges of the world this side of heaven.

Moving back into my parents’ house taught me humility and interdependence. It reminded me that family and community are not failures, but lifelines. It stripped away the illusion that self-sufficiency is the same as dignity.

If you’re there now—buried under financial hardship, shame, or exhaustion—know this: You are not worthless. You are not disqualified. You are not forgotten. The very place you feel most diminished may become the soil where God rebuilds you.

Material things can be taken. Roles can be blurred. Status can be lost. But your identity as a beloved child of God stands. He will draw you out of the deep waters, and place your feet firmly on high places. 

Lord, help me to release my grip on what is temporary and hold fast to You, my eternal anchor. Teach me that my worth is not in what I own, but in Whose I am. Lift me from the weight of worthlessness and remind me of Your unshakable promises. Amen.