Ain’t That A VHIT
By Von C. Howard
I’ve learned that being “strong” can sometimes mean being silent for too long.
There have been seasons in my life when I felt like a glass filled right to the brim. Work responsibilities. Family obligations. Community commitments. Church. Leadership. Deadlines. Expectations were both spoken and unspoken. I was grateful for all of it. Truly grateful. But if I’m honest, there were moments when I wasn’t just busy, I was full.
Not fulfilled. Full.
And when you’re that full, it’s rarely a major crisis that pushes you over. It’s something small. A misunderstood comment. A delayed response. An extra request added to an already packed schedule. Just one more drop and suddenly your tone changes. Your patience shortens. Your energy shifts. You don’t recognize yourself in your own response.
I’ve sat in my car a few minutes longer than necessary before walking inside, just trying to gather myself. I’ve gone quiet in rooms where I’m normally engaged. I’ve answered simple questions with more edge than the situation deserved. Not because I didn’t care but because I was at capacity.
And what makes that space heavier is how easily it’s misinterpreted.
When I’ve pulled back to protect my peace, it has sometimes been labeled disengagement. When I’ve said no, some heard selfishness instead of stewardship. When I’ve grown quiet, others assumed distance rather than depletion. But the truth was simpler: I was trying not to spill.
Accumulation without release will do that to you. Being dependable, reliable, and available can quietly become unsustainable if you never pause to pour some of it out. Strength, when left unchecked, can turn into silent strain.
And I know I’m not alone in that.
Parents feel it. Professionals feel it. Students feel it. Caregivers feel it. Leaders feel it. Anyone who carries responsibility for others knows what it means to operate at the edge of their capacity. The details differ, but the internal dialogue is often the same: If one more thing happens, I don’t know how I’ll respond.
Managing life at the brim requires honesty with myself first. I’ve had to admit that resilience is not infinite. That rest is not a reward for exhaustion. That boundaries are not betrayals. They are wisdom.
Sometimes that means saying no without a long explanation. Sometimes it means turning the phone off. Sometimes it means having a hard conversation. And sometimes it simply means sitting still long enough to feel what I’ve been ignoring.
I’m still learning. I don’t always get it right. There are days I hold too much and spill anyway. But I’m beginning to understand that spilling doesn’t mean I’m broken, it means I reached a human limit.
Life will always try to add just one more drop. The growth comes in recognizing when your glass is full and having the courage to protect the brim before everything overflows.
