From Seminary to Sanity: Adjusting to Life After Running Myself Into the Ground

Life has seasons. Some are full of joy and refreshment. Others are a grind—a long, grueling stretch where the only option is to put your head down and push forward.

Seminary, for me, was the latter.

I was once told by a pastor—who had never attended seminary—that it was a cemetery. I agree, but not for the reasons he meant. I died a little bit, but not because seminary drained the life out of me. I did that all by myself.

You see, I thought I could balance it all: full-time job, part-time pastor (which is a cute phrase that has little basis in reality), husband, father of two college students living across the country, and a “more than half-time” seminary student (as FAFSA and the IRS so kindly define it). Oh, and I was co-pastoring a church plant—a task that requires energy, creativity, and, preferably, more than five hours of sleep per night.

To say I was stretched thin is an understatement. Early mornings for work, late nights buried in theological textbooks, and whatever time was left went to ministry, family, and whatever housework hadn’t been neglected for too long. I’d like to say I carved out time for rest, but the reality was that any free moment was spent either reading, writing, or recovering from reading and writing.

But now—seminary is done. My coursework is complete. I’m waiting on final grades, and in a few months, I’ll walk across a stage, diploma in hand. Until then, I am learning to repurpose my time, retrain my mind to write in a way that doesn’t sound like an academic paper, and return to a space where I can contemplate theology and life without the pressure of a due date.

I’m also learning to breathe again. Learning to embrace a pace that doesn’t require caffeine as a survival tool. Learning to read for the sake of enjoyment and not just for research. Learning what it feels like to have an evening where I’m not racing to finish an assignment.

The exhaustion was real, but so was the growth. Seminary stretched me to my limits, but in the process, I learned endurance. I learned that even when it feels like I have nothing left to give, God is still working—renewing, shaping, preparing.

“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.”

2 Corinthians 4:16-17

Now, as I adjust to life after seminary, I’m stepping into a new kind of renewal—learning what it means to slow down, to think deeply without a deadline, and to embrace the work God has for me in this season.

Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 4:16-17 have encouragement for me and for you today, regardless of the season or transition of season in which you find yourself.

Renewal is a Daily Process. 

Even in exhaustion, God’s renewal is not a one-time event. It’s an ongoing work. Now, as I step into this new season, I’m reminded that slowing down doesn’t mean stagnation—it means allowing God to restore what has been depleted. The “inner self is being renewed day by day” (2 Cor. 4:16).

Hard Seasons are Momentary.

Seminary felt like an unending marathon, but in hindsight, it was a brief season of preparation. The same is true for any difficult transition—what feels overwhelming now is shaping something greater. “For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” (2 Cor. 4:17).

Change is an Invitation to Trust.

Letting go of old rhythms and stepping into the unknown is unsettling, but every transition is an opportunity to trust that God is leading forward. He is not just the God of past endurance but of present renewal and future glory.

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