When the Fast Stopped Feeling Quiet (Days 8–10)
- 1 day ago
- 3 min read
By the time I reached the middle of the fast, something had shifted.
The first several days had been quieter than I expected. I had gone into the fast thinking something dramatic might happen, powerful spiritual moments, or a huge emotional breakdown or breakthrough, but instead, the early days felt steady and reflective. I walked, I journaled, I rested, took drives through nature, and I noticed things about myself that had been buried under a busy life.
But somewhere around the second week, the experience became different.
It wasn’t dramatic on the outside. My days still looked simple: morning check-ins with the doctor, quiet walks, journaling, resting, prayer, and occasionally time with my therapist. Nothing about the schedule had changed. But internally, things felt more exposed.
By then, my body had mostly adjusted to not eating. Hunger wasn’t the loudest voice anymore. Instead, what I noticed most was the absence of all the ways I normally comfort or regulate myself. There was no food to soften the edges of the day. No work projects to dive into. No schedule to manage. No constant interaction with other people. No social media.
There was just space. And space has a way of bringing things to the surface.
Some mornings I woke up feeling calm and grounded, convinced that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Other mornings, I woke up with a quiet heaviness sitting in my chest before the day even began. Nothing terrible had happened. Nothing was wrong. But the emotions I had spent years managing seemed closer to the surface than usual.
I began to realize how often in my normal life I move quickly past what I feel. I solve problems. I stay busy. I take care of people. I move forward, often without taking the time to process what I was doing or feeling.
But during the fast, there was nowhere to move.
If I felt lonely, I had to sit with loneliness.
If I felt uncertain, I had to sit with uncertainty.
If I felt restless, I had to sit with restlessness.
At times, I caught myself wanting to solve everything at once. My mind would run ahead to the big questions in my life — relationships, purpose, the future — as if I could think my way to clarity.
But I kept challenging myself not to think past the clarity in front of me.
Not to prophesy about the future.
Just to stay still.
The longer I stayed in the fast, the more I sensed that God wasn’t asking me to figure anything out.
He was asking me to stay present.
That was harder than I expected.
I have spent most of my life in motion — building, helping, leading, solving, planning, rescuing. Stillness felt unnatural to me, even when I had chosen it intentionally. Part of me kept wanting the fast to produce clear answers so I could move forward again.
Instead, what I experienced was something quieter.
In the middle of the uncertainty, there was also a steady sense that I wasn’t alone in it. My prayers became simpler than usual. I didn’t have polished thoughts or long reflections. Many days, the most honest prayers were just a few words.
Help me stay present.
Help me trust You.
Show me what is true.
Sometimes that was all I had to offer.
Looking back, I think these middle days were when the fast stopped being an experience and started becoming a surrender.
Not a perfect surrender. Not a dramatic one. Just a growing willingness to stay in the quiet long enough to hear what had been waiting underneath all the motion.
At the time, I didn’t fully understand what was happening. I only knew that something inside me was slowing down in a way that felt both unfamiliar and deeply needed.
More to come…
For those who are walking a similar season, I've included links below to a few earlier reflections that helped shape this journey:
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