The Exhaustion Epidemic: Why Self-Optimization Is Sabotaging Your Soul
by Pastor Heidi Mills, MDiv
I'll sleep when I'm dead. I have so many plates spinning. I'm working myself to the bone.
These phrases have become the unofficial mantras of our generation. We live in a world that worships at the altar of self-optimization, where every aspect of our lives—from our morning routines to our spiritual practices—must be constantly upgraded, refined, and perfected. Just like our phones demand endless updates, we've been conditioned to believe we need constant leveling up to become the optimal version of ourselves.
But what if this relentless pursuit of becoming our "best self" is actually keeping us from the peace and transformation we're desperately seeking?
I've been thinking about this a lot lately, especially after one of the busiest weeks I've had in a long time. I pulled several 12-hour days, got so locked into accomplishing the next task that I didn't look up from my computer for hours. And when I finally surfaced to prepare for this message about why self-optimization is a trap, I had to laugh at the irony. Here I was, trying to optimize every single second to complete everything on my to-do list while preparing to preach about why that very mindset is problematic.
Talk about missing the point of my own sermon.
But maybe that's exactly where we need to start—with the recognition that we're all caught in this web of perpetual improvement, spiritual checklist-making, and exhaustion disguised as productivity. The good news? There's an ancient path that offers a radically different way forward.
The Myth of Self-Optimization
In our city, hustle culture has turned exhaustion into a status symbol. We wear our busyness like a badge of honor, believing that the next promotion, title change, or crossed-off to-do item will finally mean we've arrived. Social media feeds us an endless stream of productivity hacks, fitness trends, and optimization tools that promise to make us better, faster, more efficient versions of ourselves.
This pressure extends into our spiritual lives too. We're bombarded with spiritual "shoulds"—we should read our Bible more, pray more, attend church more. Any spiritual slip-up creates a persistent sense that we're never enough for God, that our worth is somehow tied to our ability to perform perfectly in every area of life.
"The issue is that self-optimization addresses the 10% of our lives that is focused on doing and leaves the remaining 90% of our being untouched."
Don't get me wrong—there's nothing inherently wrong with wanting to grow or improve. That's part of being human. The problem is that self-optimization focuses almost exclusively on doing while leaving our being completely untouched. We become human machines, constantly upgrading our output while our souls remain unchanged.
I love the dopamine hit of crossing items off my to-do list as much as anyone. I thrive on accolades for a job well done. But I also beat myself up whenever I make a mistake, and I feel guilty when I fall behind on my spiritual practices. This is the exhausting cycle of optimization culture—always striving, never arriving, measuring our worth by our productivity.
An Ancient Alternative: The Path of Spiritual Formation
What if I told you there's a 2,000-year-old alternative to this modern madness? Christian mystic Henri Nouwen describes spiritual formation as "the gradual development of the heart of God in the life of a human being." Notice what's missing from that definition—any mention of performance, productivity, or perfection.
Spiritual formation has never been about what we do or becoming perfect in God's sight. It's about who we are becoming in Christ. It's about transformation that happens not through our striving but through our being—through learning to abide in God's presence and allowing that presence to slowly change us from the inside out.
To explore this, I want to look at one of the most profound stories in the Gospels: the Transfiguration of Jesus, found in Luke 9:28-36. This story offers us five crucial insights about what real transformation looks like, insights that follow an ancient spiritual pathway Christian mystics have traveled for centuries.
Creating Space for God's Renewal
The story begins with Jesus at the peak of his ministry. He'd been going nonstop—healing the sick, feeding the hungry, proclaiming God's mercy. Sound familiar? But here's what's remarkable: Jesus doesn't get seduced by the persistent allure to keep doing more for God. Instead, he prioritizes being with God.
The text tells us that "about eight days after Jesus said these things, he took Peter, John, and James and went up on a mountain to pray" (Luke 9:28). That timing is intentional. Historically, the eighth day has been considered a day of new creation, coming directly after the Sabbath—the day of rest. New creation is only possible when you create space and time to rest.
For Jesus, as a first-century Palestinian Jew, mountains were sites of profound spiritual transformation. But climbing that mountain meant taking a step back from his hectic life. In the ancient spiritual tradition, this is called purgation—the practice of saying no to certain habits, practices, and activities so we can say yes to a deeper union with God.
This requires taking inventory of our lives and discovering how we can create space for a true encounter with God. Unlike Jesus, most of us can't drop everything and climb a mountain. But we can all find moments of rest in the middle of our regular lives.
For me, these moments often come when I'm walking to work listening to music, or in the shower letting my mind lie fallow, or singing along to my favorite worship songs. For you, it might be taking a few deep breaths in your car before going inside to cook dinner, or stretching at your desk after a meeting that definitely could have been an email, or wandering through the park without your phone and actually hearing the birds instead of the relentless pings of notifications.
"These moments open up new ways of being with God. Throughout this exploration, we'll discover how practices like Sabbath, sacred self-care, and boundaries enable us not just to do, but to be."
Seeing Reality More Clearly
As Jesus prayed on the mountain, something extraordinary happened: "the appearance of his face changed and his clothes flashed white like lightning" (Luke 9:29). This moment echoed Moses' encounter on Mount Sinai, where he too radiated God's presence. But here's the difference—while the ancient Israelites couldn't look directly at Moses when he descended the mountain, the disciples were able to look at Jesus face to face.
For most of Jesus' ministry, people debated his identity. Was he the second Moses? Elijah returned? John the Baptist resurrected? The Transfiguration revealed the truth: Jesus was the Son of God, the Messiah they had been waiting for, fully human and fully divine.
This is what mystics call illumination—the process where the clouds part and reality shines through. But this revelation wasn't just about Jesus' identity; it was about God's ongoing plan for restored relationship with creation. When Moses and Elijah appeared to speak with Jesus, the disciples realized he was the fulfillment of the law and the prophets.
Here's what's beautiful: according to 2 Corinthians 3:18, we're called to a similar transformation. "All of us are looking with unveiled faces at the glory of God as if we were looking in a mirror. We are being transformed into that same image from one degree of glory to the next degree of glory."
Notice what's absent from this passage—any mention of right behavior or spiritual checklists. Instead, transformation happens as we discover God's glory and gaze upon divine presence. The power doesn't come from our ability to perform for God, but from God working through us.
This is where the practice of discernment becomes crucial. Discernment is learning to see how God sees. Each of us faces enormous questions: Should we stay in this city? Start a family? Take that job? How do we respond when the world seems to fall apart around us?
None of these questions have easy answers. But when we learn to gaze at Jesus and see how he sees, we begin to discern the path forward. Maybe, like Elijah on the mountain, God is speaking to us in a still, small voice. Maybe, like the Israelites in the wilderness, we can see God in what seems opaque at first.
Staying Awake in a World That Wants Us Asleep
Here's where the story gets hilariously relatable. While Jesus is casually discussing God's plan for all humanity with Moses and Elijah—two of the most significant prophets in history—the disciples can barely keep their eyes open. "Peter and those with him were almost overcome by sleep, but they managed to stay awake and saw his glory" (Luke 9:32).
This response is too real. In our society, we're constantly barraged with endless stimulation while simultaneously facing intense political turmoil and daily stressors. We're tired. It's exhausting being "on" all the time, and I definitely felt that after the week we've all had.
But here's the problem: when we numb ourselves to the stress and grind of daily life, we also numb ourselves to the reality of what God might be doing in our midst. Imagine if the disciples had stayed asleep—they would have missed seeing their hopes realized.
"Staying awake in such a broken world is a serious thing."
There have been countless moments over the past few months when I've gotten home from work so exhausted that I just collapse on the couch, unable to do anything for the rest of the evening. But in a city fueled by hustle, when we distract, numb, or crash out instead of experiencing true rest, we create a recipe for burnout that traps us in the very cycle we're trying to escape.
When we take a step back and allow ourselves to see what God is working in our midst, we start to notice tiny glimmers of hope. Maybe we turn our phones off for thirty minutes and enjoy dinner with a friend. Maybe we turn toward our neighbors when they're going through tough times and offer comfort. Maybe we pay attention to the people we pass on the sidewalk.
These small acts of presence open us up to what God is doing around us. This isn't about doing more—it's about being present enough to see the tiny shoots of God's plan bursting forth in unexpected places.
Resisting the Urge to Enshrine Our Revelations
Peter's response to the Transfiguration perfectly captures our human tendency to try to preserve moments of illumination. "Master, it's good that we're here," he says. "We should construct three shrines for you. One for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah" (Luke 9:33).
Peter is so relatable here. Who wouldn't want to stay in a moment literally shining with God's presence? Our pursuit of God often looks like trying to collect mountaintop experiences. I remember college retreats where I soaked in God's presence all weekend, never wanting to leave by Sunday afternoon.
But most of our lives aren't on the mountain. We inevitably have to descend into the valley of our regular lives, and the comedown can be brutal. When I returned home from those mountaintop experiences, trying to manufacture that feeling of being "on fire for God" never worked.
That's because our spiritual lives can't be enshrined or memorialized. The mountaintop experiences are merely vistas where we can see how God has been showing up in the valley of our lives all along.
Sometimes life forces us into dark places where everything, even God, seems absent. These moments—what mystics call "the dark night of the soul"—cannot be optimized or Instagrammed. Underneath the surface of our lives, we all carry events that have shaken our faith, hidden insecurities and fears that make the world seem dark and opaque.
Part of spiritual formation is learning to simply sit with God in those moments without trying to fix, whitewash, or optimize them into shining testimonials. When we recognize God's presence even in darkness, it leads us into profound intimacy with the divine.
The Slow Work of Listening and Waiting
After Peter offers to build shrines, God declares: "This is my son, my chosen one. Listen to him" (Luke 9:35). What happens next fascinates me. After witnessing the Transfiguration, after literally hearing from God, the disciples are speechless. They don't tell anyone what they've seen.
Their actions immediately afterward make me wonder if they were really listening. Right after descending the mountain, they fail to heal a boy with an unclean spirit, then bicker about who among them is the greatest. Talk about missing the point.
How can they experience such profound revelation and seemingly remain unchanged? When we have moments of insight, it's tempting to try to optimize them immediately—to turn our lives around and become completely different people overnight. But this is just another version of the self-optimization trap.
Our spiritual formation isn't about being perfect before God. It's about moving toward God every single day. The disciples still didn't get it when they denied Jesus and abandoned him at the cross. But after the resurrection, Peter leaped out of the boat and swam toward Jesus. At Pentecost, they received the Holy Spirit and dedicated their lives to proclaiming God's more beautiful gospel.
The Transfiguration planted a seed, but it took the rest of their lives to taste the fruit of that moment. Our spiritual lives work the same way.
A Different Way Forward
If you fall into the trap of self-optimization, bite off more than you can chew, or get sucked into the vortex of busyness—that's just human. I invite you in those moments to lovingly turn your attention back toward God, where you're already fully loved regardless of anything you do or don't do.
There's no rush to your spiritual formation. God is always inviting you into deeper union, regardless of your struggles. Whether you're overwhelmed by your to-do list, facing big decisions about jobs or relationships, or wrestling with past trauma, God invites you to simply sit and abide in divine presence.
This isn't about a single mountaintop experience—it's about communing with God in every aspect of our lives. So please, don't try to change everything at once. That's the myth of self-optimization talking. Instead, start small. Consider how God might be showing up in the daily reality of your life.
Maybe union with God looks like a moment on your metro commute where you settle into your body and take a few deep breaths. Or it's laughter with friends that bubbles over during happy hour. Or it's that moment when you play with your cat, cuddle with your dog, or take a long walk in nature.
As Jesus promised his disciples and promises us: "And lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age" (Matthew 28:20).
Reflection Questions:
Where in your life do you feel most trapped by the myth of self-optimization? What would it look like to create space for rest and presence in that area?
When have you experienced God's presence in the ordinary moments of your life rather than during "mountaintop" spiritual experiences? How might you pay more attention to these everyday encounters with the divine?