Why you can’t feel spiritual when you’re in survival
So, it seems I'm still learning a lesson- one that I touched on in my last post. We are now a few weeks into this dip a day stuff and I seem to be still learning the same lesson...It's cold. And facing the cold is quite a challenge. You need energy from the get-go to even start a dip. To face the moment when your skin shrinks and your breath is taken away, and you want to be back in bed with a cuppa.
More specifically, the moment when I am in the water was supposed to be the spiritual bit. The bit where I feel most connected to God. In prayer, peace and when all things click into place. But here is my issue. When I am in the water is the exact moment when I feel the least spiritual of all. Im freezing, all i can think about is the water and the cold and my body.
And what I’m realising is this: when you’re in survival mode, it’s nearly impossible to be spiritual. Your body is screaming "Get out!" Your brain is scanning for threats. You’re tense, guarded, braced. And in that place, you can’t really listen. You can’t really pray. You can’t even be fully present. Or at least I can't.
You aren't the master of the cold. So the cold becomes a teacher.
And here's the thing: a lot of us are in cold water all the time, metaphorically speaking. Not by choice. Not for Lent. Just... life.
For some, it’s depression. That grey fog where even brushing your teeth feels like its too much. For others, it’s anxiety—this buzzing alarm system that never turns off. For others still, it’s the hunger in your belly or the dread of checking your bank account. These aren’t abstract spiritual ideas. These are survival situations.
And when you’re just trying to keep the lights on—emotionally, mentally, financially—spirituality can feel like a luxury. Like something for people with energy. Or margin. Or peace.
But here’s what I’m beginning to believe: it’s not that spirituality isn’t for you when you’re in survival mode. It’s that it looks different. It’s quieter. Smaller. Maybe it’s just sitting in the bath and crying and saying one honest sentence to God. Maybe it’s asking for help. Maybe it’s letting someone else hold the faith for you, just for a bit.
Survival doesn’t cancel your spirituality. It just shifts the language.
In the Bible, I love the story where Elijah—fresh off this massive spiritual high, calling down fire from heaven just collapses under a broom tree and begs God to take his life. He’s done. Burned out. Terrified. Hungry and alone.
It’s one of those moments in scripture that’s uncomfortably human. This prophet, a giant of faith, reaches his absolute limit. And he doesn’t hide it. He doesn’t pray some polished prayer or put on spiritual airs. He just breaks. Falls apart in the wilderness.
And what does God do? He doesn’t roll his eyes. He doesn’t say, "C’mon man, toughen up. You’ve already got miracles under your belt!" No. He sends an angel who touches him gently. Gives him food. Lets him sleep. Then wakes him again with more food. More rest. Not once does God try to spiritually bypass Elijah’s exhaustion. Because God gets it.
God knows that sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is eat a proper meal and take a nap. Because God knows you can't walk forty days and nights to the mountain if your blood sugar’s low and your cortisol’s through the roof.
Spiritual life doesn’t start with a mountaintop. It starts with a meal. A nap. A little bit of kindness for your nervous system.
Sometimes, there's nothing to prove, nothing to do, no race to be won. and God know this. So, cut yourself a break.
You might not be able to feel spiritual when you are in survival.
