When Struggle Becomes Sacred

I grew up in a faith tradition where struggle was sacred. Where self-sacrifice was the mark of a good woman, and suffering—quietly and with grace—was seen as a rite of passage.

Maybe you did, too.

We were taught to serve. To give. To carry. To endure. And to do it all with a smile, because, as we were told, “God gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers.”

That phrase stayed with me. For years, it shaped how I showed up in life and leadership. I thought the heaviness I felt was holy. That pushing through pain was proof of my strength and faith. That denying my own needs for the sake of others was noble—even necessary.

But what happens when that struggle becomes a way of life? When sacrifice stops being a choice… and becomes an expectation? When your calling to serve turns into a lifetime of exhaustion, masked as purpose?

For many high-achieving women, especially those deeply rooted in spiritual communities, the line between leadership and martyrdom is razor thin. We lead with conviction. We pour into others. We give everything we've got to our families, our churches, our careers.

And somewhere along the way, we lose ourselves.

The Theology of Struggle

Many of these beliefs are not accidental. They have been shaped by centuries of faith traditions that exalt suffering as a virtue. From the early church’s emphasis on self-denial to the reverence for saints who endured hardship for the sake of righteousness, sacrifice has been embedded in spiritual narratives as a pathway to divine favor.

Christian theology, in particular, has long lifted up the image of Christ—the suffering servant—as the model for leadership. Die to self. Take up your cross. Offer yourself as a living sacrifice. These teachings were meant to cultivate humility and devotion, but over time, they became entangled with cultural expectations of gender, duty, and endurance. Women, especially, were expected to embody an unwavering generosity—giving until they had nothing left.

The result? A generation of leaders who carry the weight of service as an unspoken requirement. Who equate exhaustion with righteousness. Who mistake depletion for devotion.

The Cultural Reinforcement of Overwork

Beyond theology, cultural narratives reinforce this expectation of relentless giving. Black and brown women, in particular, often inherit a legacy of resilience that glorifies survival over rest. We are expected to carry generations, uphold communities, and be the steady, reliable force that keeps everything together.

In leadership, this manifests as overcommitment and burnout disguised as success. We work harder, push further, and rarely pause—because we’ve been taught that rest is indulgent, that ease is suspect, that slowing down is a betrayal of the people who rely on us.

But what if we refuse this expectation? What if leadership could mean pouring into others without draining ourselves?

Unlearning Sacrifice: A New Theology of Thriving

There comes a moment when the burden outweighs the blessing. When exhaustion no longer feels noble—just heavy. And in that moment, a shift is required, a sacred unlearning of the belief that suffering is proof of purpose.

For me, the shift was quiet. There was no dramatic revelation—just a slow weariness that no prayer or planner could fix. Beneath my success was a dangerous belief I hadn’t yet challenged: That my worth was tied to my willingness to struggle. Once I named it, everything changed.

This isn’t about abandoning faith. It’s about returning to a version of faith that includes you. A faith where rest is holy, where boundaries are biblical, where joy is a form of resistance. Leadership can be sacred work. But exhaustion is not a prerequisite for impact. We need a new framework—one where women are allowed to be powerful and peaceful, ambitious and aligned. Where purpose-driven work does not require depletion.

Reclaiming Wholeness in Leadership

How do we shift? How do we unlearn the myth that sacrifice is synonymous with leadership?

1. Interrogate the inherited beliefs. What have you been taught about struggle? About leadership? About your own capacity for ease? Start questioning the scripts you’ve internalized.

2. Redefine success. Is success truly about giving everything you have? Or can it include sustainability? Can you allow yourself to succeed without burning out?

3. Practice sacred self-preservation. What would it look like to honor yourself as deeply as you honor your commitments? To embrace boundaries as a form of devotion rather than guilt?

We can honor what we’ve inherited… and still choose to heal beyond it.

If you're feeling that quiet nudge—that something needs to change, that success shouldn't feel so heavy—you’re not alone. You’re not weak. And you’re certainly not less faithful for wanting to lead from a place of wholeness, not hustle.

You are allowed to thrive. Not after the work is done. Not when everyone else is okay. Not when you've proven you're strong enough.

Now. In this season. In this body. In this life.

Let that be your sacred truth.