Sacred Tides: What Devotion Looks Like When You’re Tired

Because Even the Devout Get Tired — But the Work Is Still Sacred.

by Iya Omi — Sacred Tides Series: Discovery, Part III

Opening Reflection

There was a time when tired meant not having the will or motivation to do anything.
It meant waking up and not taking a shower until late in the evening — not because I didn’t care, but because I could barely make it off the couch once I sat down.
It meant eating a bag of chips for dinner and staying curled up all day until my hips ached from stillness.

I had checked out of life.

It’s not that I didn’t care — it’s that I couldn’t connect to the part of me that did.
I wasn’t trying to neglect my physical or spiritual self; something deeper was happening, and I didn’t know what it was.
I wasn’t angry. I didn’t feel abandoned by Spirit.
But I did feel like I’d somehow abandoned myself.

At fifty-three, I felt like I should have had it together — but instead, I was lost in a fog.
Insomnia at night. Exhaustion during the day.
If I did sleep, I’d wake only to want to sleep again.
I stayed inside, always making plans I wouldn’t follow through on, slipping into three-day stretches of silence that felt like survival.

The Silence

Looking back, I realize that shutting down became my default setting.
When I felt empty, I disappeared.
When I felt overwhelmed, I went silent.
When life got too loud, I stopped listening — not to others, but to myself.

Understand — I wasn’t alone.
I have wonderful women I met at work who have become more than just colleagues.
I have sisters scattered in many places who would have lent me an ear, a shoulder, even welcomed me into their space.
But in my mind, everyone already had their own burdens to carry, and I didn’t want to add mine — especially when I couldn’t even put into words what I was feeling.

Even in my quiet, I learned how to fake it.
I could still laugh, still show up, still get the job done.
I just knew how to bury my pain deep enough that, on the surface, I looked fine.

I became so good at fooling others that I started to question myself.
Was I really going through something, or was I just being dramatic?
Then I’d hear what other people were facing — friends losing loved ones, getting their own health scares, relationships falling apart, losing jobs or homes — and I’d think, What the hell am I whining about?
Everyone else seemed to be in the middle of some real crisis, while I was sitting here drowning quietly in mine.

The Turning Point

The turning point didn’t come with thunder or revelation.
It came quietly — like the sound of my own breath after a long cry.

There wasn’t a single moment when I said, “I’m back.”
It was more like spirit starting to show up in small ways —
or maybe it was that I finally started showing up for spirit.
First, I heard my godmother’s voice — echoing advice she’s said to us, her godchildren, and that I myself have said to many women:
“Find a therapist.”

I had to give myself permission to admit that I needed help.
Technology can be divine sometimes, and when I found my therapist online, I felt nervous and excited at the same time.
Every week, we met. Every week, she listened.
She didn’t fix me; she gave me homework. She gave me tools.

It wasn’t the first session that brought me back — not even the fifth.
It took many sessions, a lot of homework, and a whole lot of back-and-forth with myself.
I was showing up to therapy, but I wasn’t yet showing up for me.
I had to make a decision, as my elders used to say — “pee or get off the pot.”

The more I showed up and not just told the truth, but studied it — the more I saw where my accountability lived.
I realized that seeking help through therapy worked hand-in-hand with my spiritual walk.
For years, I have served other women in their healing process — but I hadn’t truly been a servant of my own healing.
Maybe it wasn’t about being ashamed of the woman I was.
Maybe it was about understanding how she came to be — accepting her lessons, her choices, and seeing how those experiences shaped the woman I am.
Now, I ask myself: what parts of her wisdom can I carry forward into the woman I’m still becoming?

Relearning Devotion

Once I accepted that healing was a spiritual practice, I had to relearn what devotion looked like.
Not the kind that required ritual perfection or constant light — but the kind that was grounded, lived, and human.

Devotion started showing up in the smallest ways.
Washing my face in the morning instead of rolling back into bed.
Drinking a full glass of water before my coffee.
Lighting incense, not for ceremony, but because I needed to breathe something that felt clean.

It also meant decluttering my house so I could declutter my mind — clearing space to actually see the path and options that lay ahead.
It meant finding tools that could help me figure things out, and being willing to look honestly at my routines and habits.

I’ve come to understand that my elders are guides — not God.
They offer knowledge, they show us how to move, how to pray, how to tend our lives with discipline and grace.
But the work — the real work — is personal.
It’s an individual journey where we must take those teachings and actually put them into practice.
And there is no shame in saying, “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I need help.”

As I’ve been flowing back into my own calling, I’ve also had to face accountability for what I’ve neglected — the spaces I haven’t shown up for, the promises I let collect dust.
Part of devotion now means catching up with myself.
I remember the first time I went back to my shrine after a long absence.
In that quiet moment, I could almost hear Yemoja’s voice:
“I didn’t leave you. You set me aside.”

No matter what faith you follow, devotion isn’t about dressing up and putting on your best African outfit, your ilekes, or your Sunday best with the big hat and the bow on the side.
That’s all for show.
True devotion is about remembering the tools you’ve been given and putting them to work.
It’s about learning how to get up after a fall — and getting the lesson.
It’s about showing yourself grace while still facing accountability.
It’s about growing and being a better version of yourself for you.

It also meant watching my words and my temper.
Learning that lashing out in anger has lasting effects, because once words leave your mouth in spite, they can’t be taken back.
Learning that “sorry” doesn’t always heal the wound.
I had to learn to speak kindly to myself — but to always be honest with myself.

No, I didn’t become one of those women who wakes up at 5:30 a.m. to hit the gym and walk 10,000 steps.
But I did put on my shoes and walk half a mile — then another, and another.

No, I didn’t become that woman who journals every single day.
But I did keep something with me — a notebook, a note on my phone — so when thoughts hit, I could track them and revisit them later.

No, I didn’t become the woman who sits cross-legged in silence for an hour of meditation each day.
Sometimes, meditation came through movement — through my walks, through attempting to create a small garden (even though I’ll admit, I’m not exactly blessed with a green thumb), through getting my nails done, or yes… through sitting at my shrine for just ten to fifteen minutes of stillness.

Devotion also began to include going to the doctor, taking my medication properly, and addressing my prediabetes, perimenopause, and high cholesterol.
I’ve learned that the physical cannot sustain without the spiritual, and that the mental is the bridge that brings balance between the two.

I’ve also learned that organization, honesty, and accountability are sacred tools.
I’m structuring my routines, learning about finances, and shifting from dieting to truly nourishing myself.
Even though I watch YouTube and scroll social media — I use it as a tool for inspiration, not for comparison or trying to live up to something I cannot sustain.
I no longer look for instruction or one-size-fits-all answers.
I’ve learned to explore, stay open, take what benefits me, and leave everything else at the door.

I will never be the 5:30 a.m. gym woman — but I will be the woman who shows up ready to work.
I will never have my house perfectly clean seven days a week — but I’ll always assess my surroundings and release what no longer serves me.
I will never deny myself a new outfit or perfume — but I will be strategic with my spending, paying down debt and preparing for the freedom that comes with financial peace.

Because I’m not chasing perfection anymore — I’m building sustainability.
I’m learning to create a life that supports my spirit instead of draining it.

I don’t write this blog because I’ve mastered it.
I write it because I’m learning to understand it — to live it in real time, to find the sacred even in the struggle.

And as I kept showing up, I realized something else:
Spirit never left.
She had been waiting for me to slow down long enough to feel Her again.

The Lesson — Devotion in Real Time

These days, devotion looks different.
It’s not about how early I wake up or how long I meditate.
It’s about how willing I am to show up — even when I’m tired, uncertain, or still figuring it out.

Some mornings, I pray with words.
Other mornings, my prayer is silence and deep breathing before my feet touch the floor.
Some weeks, I tend to my ancestral altar — lighting candles, offering prayers, and giving thanks for their guidance.
Other days, I light candles throughout my home, not for ritual, but to bring peace and coolness to the space.
And on the days when I can do nothing else, the offering is simply me — sitting still, whispering, “Spirit, I’m here.”

I’ve learned that faith doesn’t demand constant motion — it asks for consistency of heart.
It’s not about doing everything right. It’s about doing the next thing with intention.

When I fall behind on routines or my house gets messy again, I don’t spiral into shame.
I remind myself that I’m not starting over — I’m just continuing, from where I am.
That’s devotion too.

Healing has taught me that Spirit doesn’t live in perfection.
She lives in progress, in patience, and in the pause between exhaustion and renewal.

Every time I choose gentleness over guilt, that’s worship.
Every time I choose honesty over performance, that’s prayer.
Every time I take one small step — whether it’s walking, stretching, or simply exhaling — that’s devotion in motion.

I don’t need thunder to know She’s with me anymore.
I hear Her in the quiet — in the whisper that says,
“You’re not behind. You’re just becoming.”

And in the words of Ms. Minnie from Designing Women,

“We ain’t what we should be, we ain’t what we gonna be,
but at least we ain’t what we was.”

Amen to that. Àṣẹ.

Author’s Note

Omi Yejide is an Iyanifa and Priestess of Yemoja.
She is a womb worker, herbalist, Reiki master, and meditation teacher dedicated to helping others reconnect with the divine within. Through her Sacred Tides writings and services, she explores the intersections of wellness, spirit, and womanhood — reminding readers that the body itself is holy ground.