“I’m here, for as long as it takes.” I’ve said it more times than I can count. And I meant every one of them. What I didn’t fully understand is how much that hope-filled phrase would cost me. I’m learning it now, in real time.

I’ve taught this concept for years in recovery circles. In our book, The Uncovery, George A. Wood and I make the case plainly: recovery doesn’t take twelve steps, or thirty days, or even three years. When you’re walking with people through it, recovery takes … well, as long as it takes.

I still believe it. And I live it daily, personally and professionally. But the statement has a shadow side nobody warned me about. And if you, too, are called to love and lead people who are struggling with addiction, mental health problems, and thoughts about suicide, I think you deserve to know.

The Story We Were Handed

Most of us who grew up in church were handed a script, usually without anyone saying it out loud: it’s not okay to not be okay. People need you to be okay. So you smile, you show up, you keep pouring, and whatever is breaking in you gets pushed below the surface where it won’t inconvenience anyone.

I got a double dose of that script. My parents were leaders in our church, which meant our family’s mental health wasn’t just personal; it was in the job description. We were expected to keep it together, to look the part, to be the ones other people could lean on without ever needing to lean on anyone ourselves. Be strong. Be steady. Be, basically, perfect.

That unreasonable expectation fueled a decades-long battle with my own mental health that I fought almost entirely in secret. That “be perfect” script may work for a season. But it will not survive contact with “as long as it takes.”

You cannot sustain an open-ended commitment to someone else’s healing on a diet of stuffed emotion and borrowed strength. Healers can get wounded through the very act of healing. We burn out because we thought caring for our souls and ourselves wasn’t part of the job description.

Here’s what I’m having to relearn: healers need healing too.
The one holding space needs someone to hold space for them.
That’s not a failure of calling. It’s the cost of it.

What Jesus Actually Modeled

We like to hold Jesus up as the ultimate example of relentless, no-limits love. And he was. But we conveniently skip the parts where he stepped away, even when people were still standing in line for him.

“The next morning, Jesus got up long before daylight, left the house while it was dark, and made his way to a secluded place to give himself to prayer.”

Mark 1:35 TPT

This wasn’t a one-time retreat. It was a rhythm. And it didn’t go over well with everyone. When Simon and the others finally tracked him down, they weren’t gentle about it:

“Everyone is looking for you—they want you!”

Mark 1:37 TPT

Read between the lines and you’ll hear the same thing healers still hear today:

But people need you!
Where were you?
How could you leave?

Jesus didn’t apologize or rush back to meet the demand. He’d already made his choice to be with the Father, and he made it again in Capernaum when the crowd physically held onto him, begging him to stay. His compassion for them was real. It was also bound by rhythms of retreat that frustrated the people closest to him.

“Are you weary, carrying a heavy burden? Come to me. I will refresh your life, for I am your oasis. Simply join your life with mine. Learn my ways and you’ll discover that I’m gentle, humble, easy to please. You will find refreshment and rest in me.”

Matthew 11:28–29 TPT

That invitation isn’t only for the person in crisis. It’s for the one sitting across from them, week after week, year after year, absorbing the full weight of someone else’s story. If you’re the one people run to, chances are you’re weary too. You need the oasis, even if it costs you the approval of people who wish you’d never leave the room.

Self-Care and Soul Care Aren’t the Same

Somewhere along the way, the church started treating self-care as suspicious: almost self-indulgent, definitely secondary.

As if the mark of real ministry is running yourself into the ground for the people you love.
As if needing care yourself is proof you weren’t cut out for this work in the first place.
As if your own soul doesn’t need tending to every now and then.

That’s not discipleship. It’s spiritual abuse. Burnout, wearing a halo.

It also helps to differentiate between self-care and soul care, because they’re not doing the same job.

Self-care is the practical maintenance: sleep, nutrition, an actual day off, the doctor’s appointment you keep instead of reschedule. Anything from bubble baths to paying the bills, as long as it keeps you functional enough to keep showing up.

Soul care goes deeper. It’s letting God, and often another trusted person, tend to the parts of you that ministry misses: being known instead of just being useful, letting someone else lead for once, and allowing yourself to be held when you just can’t hold any more.

Truth is, you can have great self-care habits and still be starving for soul care. Most of us were never taught to ask for either.

Hurt people hurt people. And healed people heal people. But healers need healing, too.

“His tracks take me to an oasis of peace near the quiet brook of bliss. That’s where he restores and revives my life.”

Psalm 23:3 TPT

If you’ve spent years being the one who shows up and stays for as long as it takes, know this: you’re invited to be led by still waters, too.

What This Is Costing Me Right Now

I’m walking with several people right now whose healing has no finish line. I mean that with more love and less complaint than you might expect.

This is the work I believe in. It’s costing me exactly what I told everyone else it would cost. My time. My energy. My emotional margin. Occasionally, my peace. And if I’m honest, there’s still a part of me that wants a clean resolution, one I’m not going to get on any schedule I control.

I didn’t account for just how much soul care I would need to carry all this faithfully. I need rest, true Sabbath. I need clear, fair boundaries. I need trauma therapy and antidepressants. I need to say “no.” And most of all, I need Jesus. I’m powerless as a healer without him. We all are.

That’s why we need this soul care. Not as an indulgence we earn once we’ve proven our devotion, but as the very thing that makes the devotion sustainable.

Jesus gave his whole life for us. He also went up the mountain alone to pray. Both things were true of the same love. And they are still true for us today.

As Long As It Takes, For You Too

The love that stays “for as long as it takes” is real. It’s also expensive.

Staying with the person God gave you and stepping away to tend your own soul were never in conflict for Jesus, and they don’t have to be for you either. And the God who asks you to stay is the same God who says, “Come to me” (Matthew 11:28 TPT).

Sweet friend, you cannot pour from a cup that no one is filling. Even Jesus didn’t try. Be filled to overflowing in his powerful name, and be the kind of spiritual companion who knows your worth.

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