“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” — Galatians 6:2
There’s something sacred about being a caregiver. It’s a calling of compassion, grit, and resilience. But let’s be honest—it’s also one of the loneliest roles in the world.
Especially if you’re raising a child with special needs, navigating a diagnosis, or carrying the weight of invisible battles that few see and fewer understand. The world keeps spinning, and while everyone else seems to get a breather, you’re still on the clock—physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
I know this road well. When my daughter Madison was younger and working through her early challenges and diagnoses, I often felt like I was barely holding it together. I was exhausted. Isolated. Smiling on the outside while quietly falling apart inside.
People meant well, but few truly understood the weight of what I was walking through. I needed help—but more than that, I needed a God-rooted support system that didn’t just cheer from the sidelines, but was willing to jump in the trenches with me in prayer and encouragement.
Over time, the Lord began teaching me how to build that kind of circle. It didn’t come all at once, and it didn’t look like I expected—but it made all the difference. If you’re in a lonely place right now, here’s what helped me, and what I believe can help you, too.
Start with prayer. Invite God into your loneliness.
So often, we try to fill our empty spaces with noise or busyness. But God is not intimidated by your loneliness—He’s deeply moved by it. Before I ever connected with anyone else, I had to first connect with Him. I began to pray specifically for the support I needed.
I stopped praying vague prayers like, “Help me, Lord,” and started praying bold, targeted prayers:
“Lord, send me people who understand this journey.”
“Lord, surround me with women of faith who will pray with me.”
“Lord, help me find safe spaces where I can breathe.”
And slowly, God answered. Not with a crowd, but with a handful of real connections—some online, some through mutual encouragement, some who walked parallel paths and spoke the same language of survival and hope.
Write out what you’re longing for in your support system, and bring it before the Lord. He hears, and He cares.
Be brave enough to be honest.
One of the hardest things for caregivers to do is be real. There’s this unspoken pressure to always be strong, to be composed, to keep pushing no matter how frayed the edges feel. But the truth is—healing begins in honesty.
I had to get past the default answers like “I’m good” or “We’re managing.” I started sharing more openly in trusted spaces online, especially with other moms who understood what sensory overload looked like, or what it felt like to sit in IEP meetings while holding back tears. I didn’t have to explain everything—they just knew.
Vulnerability didn’t make me weak. It opened the door to community.
Reach out to someone this week—even if it’s just through a private message or a comment thread—and let yourself be a little more open than usual. You may find that the moment you speak up, someone else breathes a sigh of relief and says, “Me too.”
Look for connection that fits your season.
In the thick of caregiving, especially raising a child with unique needs, time and energy are limited. I didn’t have the capacity to attend a weekly group or long in-person meetups. But I did find encouragement online.
There were blogs, message boards, and faith-based social media communities that reminded me I wasn’t alone. I could jump in when I had a moment, find encouragement, share a prayer request, and feel supported—all while still being fully present for Madison.
It wasn’t about joining a formal group. It was about recognizing I needed connection, even if it came through a screen.
If you’re in a season where your time is limited, that’s okay. Ask God to show you the right-fit community—whether it’s a Facebook group, an Instagram page that pours into you, or a few trusted friends you can message when it gets hard.
Build a prayer circle—even if it’s digital.
One of the greatest gifts in my life is having a few people who will pray when I send a simple text. I don’t need to write out the whole story. I can just say, “It’s a rough day—please pray.” And I know they will.
That kind of backup is priceless.
Sometimes they’ll respond with a scripture. Sometimes it’s just, “I’ve got you.” Sometimes I’ll see a message hours later that says, “Still praying.” It’s not constant chatter—it’s quiet power behind the scenes. It’s knowing I’m covered, even when I feel like I’m running on fumes.
You don’t need dozens of people. Even two or three can make a world of difference. Create a thread or a message group with a few trusted friends and keep it rooted in prayer, not pressure. Just real people lifting each other up when it matters most.
Accept help when it’s offered.
This one took me a while to grow into. For years, I told myself that if I needed help, it meant I wasn’t doing enough. But that’s not truth—it’s pride wrapped in performance.
God never expected me to carry everything alone.
There were people who would offer to help, and at first I’d say, “Oh, it’s okay—I’ve got it.” But eventually, I realized I didn’t have to be superwoman to be a good mom. Sometimes letting someone help was the best thing I could do for both me and Madison.
Letting someone run an errand, or text a verse, or just be a listening ear made the load lighter. Not because the circumstances changed, but because I wasn’t holding it alone anymore.
This week, if someone offers support, don’t immediately brush it off. Pause. Consider that it might be God’s answer to the very prayer you’ve been praying.
Rebuild trust after disappointment.
If you’ve ever felt let down by people—or even by the church—it can make reaching out again feel scary. I’ve had my own moments where I felt invisible or misunderstood, even in faith spaces.
But I want to encourage you: don’t let past pain rob you of future healing.
There are people out there who will get it. Who will love without judgement. Who will show up, even if it’s just in small, faithful ways. Sometimes it just takes time—and discernment—to find the ones God has for your heart.
Ask God to bring healing where past connections hurt, and courage to try again. You don’t have to leap in. You can ease into new relationships slowly, prayerfully, and with boundaries.
Celebrate small victories together.
Support isn’t just for breakdowns—it’s also for breakthroughs.
I’ll never forget when Madison hit a major milestone at work. It was a moment only a few people understood fully, but the ones who did? They celebrated big. That’s what real community does—it recognizes what others might overlook and cheers you on anyway.
Sometimes just being able to message someone and say, “You won’t believe what just happened!” and have them genuinely rejoice with you—that’s ministry in itself.
Share your small wins. Let someone else clap with you. Because in this journey, even tiny steps forward are worth celebrating.
You are not alone.
If you’re reading this and still feeling isolated, please hear me: God sees you.
He sees the tears behind the closed door. He sees the strength you muster up each morning. He sees the moments when you wonder if you’re enough—and He whispers, “You are. Because I’m with you.”
He has not forgotten you. And He is already weaving together connections, encouragement, and strength for your journey. Don’t give up. Don’t isolate. Open your heart just a little more this week—and let Him begin rebuilding your support system with His love at the centre.
A Prayer for You
Heavenly Father,
You see every caregiver reading this right now. You know the silent battles, the exhaustion, the moments when they wonder if they’re truly making a difference.
I ask that You would meet them right in their season. Wrap them in peace. Surround them with people who will pray, encourage, and walk beside them in grace.
Break off the lies of isolation. Heal every place where relationships have hurt instead of helped. Rebuild trust, restore joy, and refresh their spirits.
Give them the courage to ask for help, the wisdom to receive it, and the discernment to know who is safe. Let them find strength not just in You—but in the community You’re building around them.
Let them know they are seen. Loved. Covered. And never alone.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.