Today, I wanted to talk about the season God has me in right now. Sometimes, moving forward means revisiting the place where we first learned to protect ourselves. The place where something happened that changed how we saw life, other people, and even ourselves. Somewhere along the way, we developed ways to feel safe. And sometimes, those same protections become the things we struggle to surrender.
In this season, I’m learning to recognize how fear and distrust have shaped my life. For some time now, I’ve wanted to face my fears. In some areas, I have, and I’ve discovered that things weren’t nearly as bad as I imagined. But so much of what frightens me is the unknown. My mind prepares scenarios: what might happen, what I should watch for, and what other arrangements I should make just in case.
Preparation can be useful. But what happens when I’ve done everything I reasonably can and still can’t allow myself to rest? When preparing becomes an endless attempt to control what is beyond my control? In the areas I perceived as too hard, I often avoided taking the next step. I made my life comfortable enough to manage.
But what was that comfort costing me?
How much time had I spent anticipating rejection? How many opportunities had I talked myself out of? How often had I kept people at a distance because being known meant risking embarrassment or disappointment?
And then came the question that made me sit still:
Lord, I love You. I know I need You. But do I trust You?
Now, allow me to explain.
Some of the fear and distrust I carry began long before I understood them. Families can pass down ways of thinking and surviving. We learn what to expect from people, what to hide, and whether it feels safe to speak. We may carry those lessons into adulthood without ever asking whether they still belong in our lives. I’ve found myself held hostage by the words, “That’s just how I am.” But why am I this way? What am I protecting myself from? And what might need to change?
For me, some of the answers were rejection, shame, and embarrassment. So much of my fear was tied to something I could never fully control: other people’s opinions of me. That fear may sound familiar. We talk about the lives we want to live, but taking a step toward them means someone might see us struggle. Someone might misunderstand. Someone might not approve. So we wait. We prepare a little more. We tell ourselves we’ll move when we feel more confident.
But I had to ask myself whether some of my reasons for waiting had become excuses.
What if following God required me to be seen trying before I had everything figured out? What if I needed to accept help, admit uncertainty, or risk disappointing someone? I began to recognize how tightly I was holding on to a version of myself: the woman who had it together, who was independent, who didn’t need anyone. I had valued that independence without fully considering what it was doing to my relationships—with God and with people. It had become difficult to admit need, even while I was saying that I needed Him.
That was uncomfortable to acknowledge.
As I reflected on God’s warning to Cain in Genesis 4, I was struck by the responsibility to respond to what God brings to our attention. Cain was warned about sin’s desire to master him. I began asking what I had allowed to influence my own choices without examining it.
How often was I choosing based on what would please God? And how often was I choosing based on what would protect my image? I wanted to be accepted. If I could be smart enough, attractive enough, successful enough—if I could accomplish and accumulate enough—perhaps no one could dismiss me.
But how much would ever be enough to make me feel secure? There would always be another opinion, another achievement, another person whose approval I couldn’t guarantee. I could spend my life proving myself and still struggle to believe I was worthy of love.
And in all that striving, what would happen to the woman I was becoming?
There is nothing wrong with working hard, building something meaningful, or wanting stability. But I have to examine what is driving me. Am I pursuing something because it serves a purpose, or because I hope it will finally silence my insecurity? Am I making room to love people along the way, or postponing that until I feel successful enough?
Those are questions I’m still learning to answer honestly.
This season is teaching me to bring that honesty into my relationship with God. I can acknowledge that I’m afraid without deciding that fear must direct my next step. I can ask for wisdom, make reasonable preparations, and accept that I won’t be able to guarantee every outcome. I’m also learning that needing support does not make my faith less sincere. Sometimes, receiving help requires the very humility I’ve been praying to grow in.
For me, surrender begins with admitting what is actually in my heart.
The fear. The desire for approval. The exhaustion of trying to stay in control. The part of me that wants to trust God but still wants to know exactly how everything will turn out.
I can bring all of that to Him in prayer. I don’t have a finished testimony about this season yet. I’m still walking through it. But I’m beginning to understand what my familiar comfort has cost me, and I want to make different choices.
So this is where I’m starting:
“Lord, I submit my heart, my mind, and my soul to You. Help me recognize where fear is directing my choices. Give me wisdom to know the next step and courage to take it. Teach me to receive love, accept help, and trust You with what I cannot control.”
If you recognize yourself in any of this, perhaps there is a question worth sitting with today:
What have I been protecting myself from—and what has that protection cost me?
You don’t have to answer it all at once. I certainly haven’t. But we can begin with honesty and allow God to guide us from there.May the love of God be with you as you continue your journey.
God bless.
