I feel like a ZOMBIE

When numbness meets grace in an unusual place

Introduction

There are seasons when purpose fades into routine, and even the most compassionate hearts feel hollow. This story isn’t just about burnout—it’s about the quiet miracle of being seen, even when you feel invisible. It’s for every nurse, carer, or weary soul who wonders if their presence still matters.

The Shift

Kate used to wake before her alarm—heart racing with purpose, shoes laced with resolve. She was the nurse who remembered birthdays, who stayed late to comfort the anxious, who whispered prayers over sleeping patients.

She loved her job and her calling.

She had a gift. People said that when Kate was on shift, the poorly patients perked up.

She had a way of noticing the small things—adjusting pillows, catching symptoms early, speaking hope into the room.

She was focused. Determined.

She believed healing could happen, even on the hardest days.

But lately, something had changed.

She woke up one morning and didn’t feel anything.

No dread.

No excitement.

Just… blank.

She dragged herself to work, her body moving, her soul lagging behind.

She smiled at the receptionist, nodded at the doctor, checked vitals like clockwork.

But inside, she felt like a ghost in scrubs, drifting through the halls without purpose.

She watched a patient cough through the night and didn’t flinch.

She saw the numbers dip on the monitor and didn’t react.

She told herself, “Whatever happens, happens.” She didn’t care anymore.

She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t depressed. She was just… tired. Not the kind sleep could fix.

The kind that settles in your bones and makes you forget who you are.

Turning Point: The Prayer and the Patient

One night, Kate whispered a prayer “God, I’m really struggling. I need help.”

She hoped for a break—a lighter shift, a kind supervisor, maybe even a day off.

But the opposite happened.

Week one was brutal. Heavy caseloads. Endless alarms. No relief.

And then she saw him.

Room 309. Not her patient. But something tugged at her spirit.

He was dying. Blood pressure 40/20.

No family. No visitors. Alone in every sense of the word.

Kate didn’t know why she walked in. She just knew he wasn’t okay.

She checked his vitals, escalated to the doctor. The first doctor shrugged—“We’ll call the family. ”But Kate couldn’t let it go. She escalated again. The second doctor acted.

Week two, somehow, he was still alive... he became her patient.

Kate spent most of her shift in that room. Monitoring. Advocating.

She was drained. Done. She didn’t care what would happen to her anymore.

Then, one quiet moment, they were alone.

The patient turned his head, voice barely audible.

“I see what you’re doing… and I’m very grateful. Even though I want to help you, I can’t… because of my condition. I’m sorry… and thank you.”

Kate froze. Tears spilled before she could stop them.

Those words—weak, honest, undeserved—hit deeper than any paycheck.

They reminded her: She was the one with strength, the one who could care.

And somehow, God had ordained this moment.

She sat beside him and whispered:

“I am tired yes, but thank you for letting me see the grace God has given me. This conversation is already a miracle and I've been reminded that He's given me the strength to serve the one whom Jesus died for. That is everyone, that includes you.”

Five days later, the patient was discharged from the hospital.

Reflection

Kate’s story is a quiet resurrection. Not of her patient alone—but of her own heart.

When numbness threatened to steal her calling, grace met her in the form of a dying man’s gratitude.

This is the mystery of ministry:

Sometimes the breakthrough doesn’t come in rest, but in recognition.

Not in escape, but in encounter. Not in being strong, but in being willing.

Even when we feel like zombies, God still moves through us.

Even when we forget who we are, He remembers.

Closing Prayer

Lord, for every weary soul who feels hollow— Thank You for reminding us

that our presence still matters.

That even in numbness, You are near.

That every person we serve is sacred.

And that You never give up on us.

We just need to come to You, and find rest in You alone.

Thank You for making the burden lighter.

In Jesus name we pray. Amen.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

-Matthew 11:28-30-