Tag: #ChristianEncouragement

When Old Wounds Shape New Decisions: What uncomfortable emotions can teach us when we're willing to stop running from them

When Old Wounds Shape New Decisions: What uncomfortable emotions can teach us when we’re willing to stop running from them

Posted on by mrsmonarch

Have you ever had a reaction to something that seemed a little bigger than the situation called for?

Someone makes an offhand comment, and it bothers you for days. You’re left out of a conversation, and suddenly you’re questioning where you stand with people you thought cared about you. An opportunity comes along that should feel exciting, but something about it leaves you feeling suspicious, unsettled, or strangely rejected.

You know the circumstances aren’t the whole story. But you can’t quite put your finger on what else is going on.

I’ve had moments like that. And one, in particular, taught me something about the value of paying attention to uncomfortable emotions instead of trying to shove them out of sight.

It began with a message from a woman whose work I admired. She was accomplished, well-known in her field, and someone I considered successful. She had come across my work and found it inspiring. Her message was complimentary, and I was genuinely encouraged by it.

Then came an invitation to join an organization she was involved with that she felt would help me “connect” with others I could network with. The cost was $50 a month.

Suddenly, my feelings changed.

What had started as a pleasant exchange left me feeling disappointed and, if I’m honest, a little used. An ugly little thought crept in: People always want something from you.

Now, I could have decided the woman had an agenda. I could have questioned her sincerity, dismissed the opportunity, and moved on with my day. That certainly would have been easier… 

Instead, I decided to sit with the feeling for a while.

Not because my feelings were necessarily right. Not because the woman had done something terrible. But because my reaction was telling me there might be more to the story than I could see at first glance.

I wanted to understand it. Why was something so seemingly small creating such a landslide of emotional turmoil in me??? 

The Trouble With Pushing Past Our Feelings

Many of us have learned to keep moving when something hurts.

We tell ourselves we’re being too sensitive. We minimize what happened. We find something else to do, make excuses for the other person, or tell ourselves it isn’t worth thinking about.

And sometimes, moving on is exactly what we need to do. We don’t have to dissect every uncomfortable moment or turn an ordinary disappointment into a personal-growth project.

But there’s a difference between choosing not to dwell on something and refusing to acknowledge what we’re feeling.

You see, when we automatically dismiss an emotion, we can miss an opportunity to learn something about ourselves.

Anger may be pointing to a boundary we haven’t acknowledged. Disappointment may reveal an expectation we never examined. Rejection may stir up an old belief that we aren’t wanted unless we’re useful to someone.

The emotion itself doesn’t always tell us the truth about the situation. But it can tell us where to look.

That distinction matters.

Our feelings deserve our attention, but they don’t automatically deserve the final word.

We can acknowledge what we’re feeling without assuming our first interpretation is correct. We can give ourselves permission to be uncomfortable without immediately assigning blame or rushing to make the feeling disappear.

Sometimes the most useful question isn’t Who’s at fault here?

It’s Why did this affect me so deeply?

So, I prayed about what I was feeling and asked God to help me look beneath the surface. Then I asked myself a question I hadn’t expected:

When was the first time I remember feeling this way?

And that’s when I remembered Connie.

Sometimes, the Present Takes Us Back to the Past

Connie was a girl in my third-grade class. She wasn’t simply popular. She had a kind of social authority that seemed to determine who belonged and who didn’t.

If Connie liked you, you were in. If she didn’t, you could find yourself on the outside looking in.

I remember the sting of that exclusion. I remember wanting to be accepted and feeling the powerlessness of not knowing how to change the situation.

Of course, I was a child. I didn’t have the emotional maturity or perspective to understand what was happening, much less make sense of what it meant about me.

But children draw conclusions.

Sometimes we take a painful experience and quietly turn it into a belief about ourselves or the world around us. We may decide we’re not interesting enough, not important enough, or not quite the kind of person others choose. We may begin to expect rejection before it happens, or become suspicious when someone shows us attention.

We don’t necessarily make these decisions consciously. But they can become part of the lens through which we interpret later experiences.

And years after third grade, I recognized a familiar feeling beneath my reaction to that initial invitation.

The circumstances were different. The woman who contacted me wasn’t Connie. I had no reason to assume she was trying to exclude or use me. An invitation to join an organization was not the same thing as a child being pushed outside a social circle.

But something about the experience had touched that old sense of being valued only when there was something for others to gain.

The feeling was familiar, even when the facts were not.

That realization didn’t mean my present-day concerns were imaginary. It meant I needed to separate what was actually happening from what the experience had come to mean to me.

And that is where the real work began.

What If We Looked Beneath the Surface?

When someone hurts or disappoints us, it’s natural to focus on what they did. Sometimes, that’s entirely appropriate. People can be selfish, manipulative, thoughtless, and downright unkind. Looking inward does not require us to excuse harmful behavior or take responsibility for someone else’s choices.

But even when another person has behaved badly, we can still learn something by examining our own response.

Why did this particular experience cut so deeply? What did I tell myself it meant? Have I felt this way before? And is the belief underneath my reaction actually true?

Those questions can reveal a great deal. For example: 

What wounds buried deep inside of me still long for healing? and … Where can I still experience significant personal growth? 

Perhaps being overlooked today reminds us of years of feeling invisible. Maybe a disagreement with our spouse awakens a fear that we’re not valued. Perhaps an unexpected request leaves us feeling used because we’ve spent years believing our worth depends on what we can do for other people.

The present situation may be real and worth addressing. But the intensity of our reaction may also be carrying something from the past.

When that happens, we have an opportunity to examine the meaning we’ve assigned to our experiences.

Consider the difference between these two thoughts:

People only want me when I have something to offer.

And:

I’ve had experiences that left me feeling valued mainly for what I could give. I need to pay attention to whether that’s happening now, without assuming that every request someone makes of me means I’m being used.

The first thought turns past pain into a rule about the world. The second acknowledges the pain while leaving room for present-day evidence, discernment, and a different outcome.

That’s emotional growth.

It doesn’t mean we force ourselves to think positively. It doesn’t mean we convince ourselves that everything is fine when it isn’t.

It means we become willing to question the conclusions we’ve carried for years.

We can ask whether an old belief still serves us, whether it reflects the whole truth, and whether there is a more accurate and mature way to understand what’s happening.

We may not be able to choose the first feeling that rises in us. But we can learn to choose what we do with it.

And that choice can change more than one uncomfortable afternoon. It can change the way we approach relationships, opportunities, conflict, and even ourselves.

God Can Meet Us in the Uncomfortable Places

For me, looking back at those early experiences helped me understand something else: the pain of being overlooked had made me particularly sensitive to women who felt unseen.

I knew something about what it was like to question your place in the room. I knew the ache of wondering whether you mattered to the people around you.

Over time, that understanding became part of the compassion I wanted to bring to my work.

Now— I don’t believe every painful thing that happens to us is necessary, good, or divinely arranged to teach us a lesson. Some things are simply painful. Some are unfair. Some leave wounds that take time and honest work to understand.

But I do believe God can meet us in those places and work in us through what we bring to Him.

Sometimes growth begins when we stop asking only, Why did this happen to me? and become willing to ask, What has this experience led me to believe—and is that belief true?

That question doesn’t erase what happened. It doesn’t make the past acceptable or require us to be grateful for being hurt.

But it does give us a way forward.

We can recognize the ways we’ve been shaped by our experiences without allowing those experiences to dictate every decision we make from here.

And we can invite God into that process—not to shame us for our reactions, but to help us see ourselves and others more clearly.

Understanding Gives Us Room to Choose

After reflecting on my reaction, I still had a decision to make about the invitation.

I chose not to join the organization. I had other priorities, and the commitment didn’t fit the season I was in.

But I could make that decision without needing to decide the woman was insincere or that the invitation was an attempt to use me. I didn’t have to turn my discomfort into a verdict about her character.

I could acknowledge my feelings, examine where they might have come from, consider the facts in front of me, and make a decision based on what made sense for my life.

That may sound like a small distinction, but it isn’t.

When we understand what is happening beneath our reactions, we create space between feeling and response. We no longer have to let an old wound interpret every new circumstance for us.

We can set a boundary without building a case against someone. We can acknowledge disappointment without deciding we’re being rejected. We can recognize a familiar pattern without assuming the present must end the way the past did.

And sometimes, when we do that work, we discover that the situation needs to change. Other times, we discover that the meaning we’ve attached to it needs to change.

Often, there is a little of both.

The point isn’t to find a way to make every situation comfortable. The point is to become more honest about what we’re experiencing and more thoughtful about how we respond.

That’s not weakness. It’s maturity.

 

The Next Time Something Stirs You

The next time an interaction leaves you unusually unsettled, I want you to remember this: you don’t have to solve it immediately. You don’t have to talk yourself out of your feelings, and you don’t have to act on your first interpretation.

Give yourself a little room.

Ask yourself:

  • What am I actually feeling? Name the emotion without judging yourself for having it.
  • What happened—and what am I telling myself it means? Separate the facts from the story your mind may be building around them.
  • Have I felt this way before? If the feeling seems familiar, consider when you first remember experiencing it.
  • What belief might be underneath this reaction? Are you assuming you’re unwanted, unworthy, unsafe, or responsible for keeping everyone happy?
  • Is that belief true in this situation? Look at the evidence. Stay open to what you may have missed.
  • What would a wiser response look like? You may need a conversation, a boundary, a change in expectations, or simply a more truthful way of seeing what happened.

You may not find an answer right away. That’s okay. Self-understanding isn’t a race, and not every emotion has a neat explanation.

Some situations require us to speak up. Some call for distance. Some reveal a pattern we need to work on. And some will turn out to be ordinary disappointments that we can acknowledge and release.

The goal isn’t to question yourself until you become responsible for everything that goes wrong. It’s to become curious enough about your own reactions that you stop handing the past so much authority over the present.

Because an uncomfortable emotion doesn’t have to be an enemy. Sometimes it’s an invitation to notice something that needs attention.

We don’t grow by pretending we’re never hurt, angry, jealous, disappointed, or afraid. We grow when we’re willing to be honest about those feelings, examine what they’re telling us, and decide whether the conclusions we’ve drawn still deserve a place in our lives.

That kind of work takes courage. It also takes grace.

We’re not going to get it right every time. We’ll still react before we think. We’ll occasionally misread a situation, uncover an old hurt, or discover a belief we’d rather not admit we’ve been carrying.

That’s part of being human.

But we can learn to pause. We can ask better questions. We can invite God into the places we’d rather avoid. And we can begin making choices from a place of greater understanding instead of simply repeating the responses we’ve learned along the way.

Progress is Messy. Transformation is Beautiful. Grace Makes it Possible.

Because God isn’t finished with you yet!

 

***If you’ve found encouragement here at BTBAB, sharing our posts helps other women find their way to this community, too. And if you’d ever like to support the work behind the words, you’ll find a Buy Me a Coffee tab here on the website. It’s a simple way to say thank you, and every contribution helps keep BTBAB running and its resources freely available to the women who need them. I’m grateful you’re here, and grateful for any way you choose to support this little corner of the world.

 

The Woman Behind the Words

The Woman Behind the Words

Posted on by mrsmonarch

Sometimes I wonder what picture comes to mind when you read something I’ve written.

Maybe you imagine a woman sitting in a quiet office, sipping coffee while she works through her latest thoughts. Perhaps you picture a team of people helping behind the scenes, making sure the website works, the emails go out, and everything looks as polished as it does on the screen.

I hate to disappoint you, but there’s a little more chaos behind this butterfly than you might imagine.

I dedicate approximately three days a week to this ministry, and that time encompasses far more than writing.

There’s the writing and editing, preparing the Tuesday and Friday community emails, maintaining the website, troubleshooting whatever decides to go wrong, creating content to help people find the work, and learning the technical pieces that don’t necessarily come naturally.

And all of this happens alongside my responsibilities at home and caring for my elderly father, who lives seven hours away.

But this isn’t a post declaring, “Look at how much I do!”

It’s simply a transparent look inside the framework of my life—as a daughter, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a friend, a child of the Most High, and a woman trying to use the gifts my Creator placed in my spirit.

Because there’s a real woman behind these words. And she’s living life in the trenches, just like you.

I’ve built a website, learned to use email platforms, created content across multiple channels, and continued developing this ministry despite my technical limitations.

But I’ll never be a web developer. I don’t have a marketing department. And I’m certainly not an expert in every platform I use.

Sometimes I make mistakes. Sometimes something takes far longer than it should. Sometimes I have to backtrack, figure out what went wrong, and try again.

And sometimes, in the middle of everything else, something slips through.

Like last week.

I knew I’d be out of town dealing with doctors’ appointments for Dad, so I scheduled Tuesday’s and Friday’s community emails in advance.

Only I got the dates wrong.

And both emails landed in your inbox on the same day!

Well, y’all… it happens.

I could beat myself up over it, make excuses, or decide I’m not cut out for this because I clearly haven’t mastered the art of scheduling an email.

Or I can recognize the mistake, correct what needs correcting, learn from it, and keep going.

Because a mistake doesn’t automatically invalidate the work.

I’m not sharing these details to excuse carelessness or lower my standards. I care about the quality of what I do. I take my responsibilities seriously, and of course I want to improve.

But there’s a difference between pursuing excellence and expecting yourself to be excellent at everything.

Readers see the finished product. They don’t see the revisions, the learning curve, the time spent troubleshooting, or the things we had to figure out along the way.

And neither do we when we look at other people’s lives.

We see the finished website, the successful business, the beautifully presented project, the woman who seems to have found her stride.

We don’t see the years she spent learning. We don’t know what she had to work through, what she still struggles with, or what remains unfinished.

We compare our behind-the-scenes reality to someone else’s finished presentation, then conclude that we’re not equipped to begin.

But the ability to do something meaningful doesn’t require mastery of every skill it takes to accomplish it.

You can have something worthwhile to say and still struggle with the technology needed to share it. You can have a vision without knowing every step required to bring it to life.

You can be capable in one area and still be learning in another.

And isn’t that how growth works?

We often underestimate what we’re capable of because we focus on what we lack.

We tell ourselves:

I’m not technical enough.

I don’t know enough yet.

I’m not naturally gifted at that.

I don’t have enough time.

I need to get better before I put myself out there.

And sometimes, those concerns are legitimate. There are skills we need to develop, responsibilities we need to honor, and limits we need to respect.

But sometimes, we turn a limitation into a permanent verdict.

There’s a difference between acknowledging that you don’t know how to do something and deciding you can’t learn.

There’s a difference between recognizing that your time is limited and assuming that meaningful progress is impossible.

And there’s a difference between being unprepared and being unwilling to look imperfect while you learn.

You may not be able to do everything. But you may be able to do far more than you’ve given yourself permission to attempt.

You don’t need a staff, a perfect website, a complete skill set, or a flawless plan to take the next responsible step.

You need to recognize what you have, be honest about what you lack, learn what you can, ask for help when necessary, and be willing to begin.

 

Faithfulness Doesn’t Require Flawless Execution

I believe God has given each of us gifts, opportunities, and responsibilities. What those look like will differ from one woman to the next. So will the seasons we’re walking through and the capacity we have available to us.

But we don’t have to be fully equipped for every part of the journey before we take the next step.

We can pursue excellence without making perfection our price of admission.

We can acknowledge our limitations without allowing them to become excuses for staying where we are.

And we can keep learning without treating every mistake as evidence that we should never have started.

Becoming who you were created to be doesn’t happen after you’ve finally gotten everything right.

It happens as you keep responding to what you’re learning, where you’re being stretched, and what the next season requires of you.

I’m still learning. I’m still figuring things out. And I’m still showing up.

Not because I’ve mastered it all, but because I believe the work matters.

And I suspect there are things that matter to you, too. Things you’ve thought about doing, creating, changing, or pursuing—but haven’t, because you don’t feel quite ready.

Maybe you need more time. Maybe you need to learn a few things. Maybe you need to ask for help or make a plan that respects the season you’re in.

Those are real considerations. Give them the attention they deserve.

But don’t automatically mistake not knowing how for not being capable.

You don’t have to become an expert at everything before you take your first step. You don’t have to eliminate every weakness before you begin using your strengths.

And you don’t have to wait for life to become perfectly manageable before you begin becoming the woman you were created to be.

There’s a real woman behind these words. She’s got responsibilities, limitations, things she’s good at, and plenty she still needs to learn.

She’s going to get some things wrong.

And she’s going to keep going.

Because progress is messy. Transformation is beautiful. And grace makes it possible.

Maybe you can give yourself permission to do the same.

Until Next Time,
Stay Brave My Friend! 


 

When Leadership Becomes Authority: What Did God Actually Ask of a Wife?

When Leadership Becomes Authority: What Did God Actually Ask of a Wife?

Posted on by mrsmonarch

There is a beautiful biblical principle that can become something very different when we turn it into a rule.

A husband is called to lead.

A wife is called to submit.

A wife is described as a “helper.”

Those ideas appear in Scripture. But somewhere along the way, many of us were handed a version of them that sounded a lot more like this:

He’s the man. You’re supposed to follow him.

And if he makes the decision, you go along.

If he is wrong, you pray.

If he is irresponsible, you endure.

If he is angry, you keep the peace.

If he makes a decision you believe is unwise, you submit anyway.

If something is morally wrong, well…

He’s your husband. What choice do you have?

 

That last sentence is where I want us to slow down.

Because there is a difference between biblical submission and passive obedience.

 

Sadly, in my years of working with women, I have come to realize that a vast majority of Christian women do not truly understand that submission and passivity are NOT the same thing! 

So after considerable prayer, BTBAB is being led to train women to discern between the two.

This post will probably create some mixed feelings. That’s okay! 

We have to realize that “feelings” aren’t supposed to be the basis for our actions. And long held family, social and church traditions shouldn’t be either!

Please don’t be quick to take offense. Stay with me… and let’s explore this, step by step, using biblical examples are our guide. 

First up in the concept that: 

Passive obedience isn’t biblical maturity.

There is a kind of obedience that looks spiritual on the outside but can actually become a way of avoiding responsibility.

“He’s my husband. I have no choice.”

It can sound humble.

It can sound submissive.

It can even sound deeply Christian.

But sometimes it is simply a way of handing responsibility to someone else.

And Scripture doesn’t give us permission to do that.

A woman doesn’t stop being a moral agent because she gets married.

She doesn’t stop bearing the image of God.

She doesn’t stop having a conscience.

She doesn’t stop being responsible for what she participates in, what she teaches her children, what she supports, what she permits, or what she calls right and wrong.

Her husband’s leadership does not become her conscience.

She answers to God, too.

That matters enormously when a marriage is healthy.

And it matters even more when it isn’t.

Because if we’ve taught women that “submission” means surrendering their discernment, we have created a theological framework in which a woman can be convinced that obedience to her husband requires disobedience to her own conscience.

That isn’t a small misunderstanding.

That’s a dangerous one.

Maybe “helpmate” doesn’t mean what we think it means

Genesis 2:18 says:

“I will make a helper suitable for him.”

The Hebrew phrase is ʿezer kənegdô.

And here’s where things get interesting.

Ezer can be translated “helper,” but that English word can carry an implication of subordinate assistance that isn’t inherent in the Hebrew term. In the Old Testament, ezer is also used of God as the helper of His people.

Kənegdô conveys the idea of something corresponding to him, suitable for him, or facing him.

There is legitimate scholarly discussion about exactly how the phrase should be rendered. But what it does not give us is a simple picture of a woman created to be a lesser person standing behind a superior one.

She is his corresponding counterpart.

His partner.

The one standing beside him.

And that becomes especially interesting when we look at the women Scripture actually gives us.

Because the Bible does not present women as a collection of quiet, passive observers waiting for men to tell them what to do.

Look at the women Scripture remembers

Consider Deborah.

She was a judge of Israel. People came to her for judgment, and she summoned Barak and instructed him concerning Israel’s military action (Judges 4).

Consider Abigail.

Her husband Nabal behaved foolishly and put their entire household in danger. Abigail recognized what was happening, acted decisively, approached David, appealed to his conscience, and prevented bloodshed (1 Samuel 25).

She didn’t wait for her husband to authorize her wisdom.

Consider Huldah.

When the Book of the Law was discovered during Josiah’s reign, royal representatives went to her for interpretation. Her words carried enough authority that the king’s officials took her message seriously (2 Kings 22).

Consider Esther.

She risked approaching the king because she recognized that silence could cost her people their lives.

Consider Jael.

Judges 4 tells us that Sisera, commander of an enemy army, fled to her tent. Jael acted decisively and killed him with a tent peg. Judges 5 later celebrates her action.

Consider the unnamed woman of Abel Beth Maacah in 2 Samuel 20.

This one may be my favorite for what we’re talking about.

Joab and David’s forces were preparing to destroy her city because Sheba, a rebel against David, had taken refuge there.

This woman came out and called to Joab.

She demanded to know why a city that was described as a peaceful and faithful city should be destroyed.

She learned that Joab wanted Sheba.

Then she went to the people of the city, persuaded them to act, and Sheba’s head was thrown over the wall.

The army withdrew.

The city was spared.

And Scripture doesn’t introduce her as a queen, prophet, judge, military commander, or wife of an important man.

It simply calls her a wise woman.

She saw a problem.

She spoke.

She questioned a man with military power.

She negotiated.

She persuaded her community.

And she helped save her city.

That’s a remarkable picture of what biblical womanhood can look like.

And then there’s another unnamed woman in Judges 9.

When Abimelech attacked Thebez, a woman dropped an upper millstone on him from the tower. He was mortally wounded, and his dying concern was that no one would say a woman had killed him.

The Bible is not giving us a handbook instructing women to throw rocks at men.

Obviously.

But these stories matter because they make one thing very difficult to argue:

Biblical women are not consistently portrayed as passive, voiceless, or incapable of decisive action.

The Scriptures contain women who discern.

Women who speak.

Women who confront.

Women who persuade.

Women who protect.

Women who lead.

Women who act.

Sometimes their actions occur precisely when the men around them are failing to see what needs to be seen.

That doesn’t erase the biblical distinctions between men and women.

But it should make us very cautious about turning “submission” into passivity.

So what has God entrusted to BOTH of them?

This is the question I think we sometimes skip.

We talk about what God entrusted to a husband.

Leadership.

Responsibility.

Protection.

Sacrificial love.

Provision.

Spiritual responsibility.

And those things matter.

But what has God entrusted to the wife?

Discernment.

Wisdom.

Conscience.

Influence.

Strength.

Responsibility.

Motherhood, for those who have children.

Spiritual formation.

The stewardship of her own choices.

And ultimately, accountability before God.

Marriage doesn’t erase those things.

A husband may lead the household, but he doesn’t become the woman’s conscience.

His leadership does not cancel hers.

And her husband’s responsibility does not become an excuse for her to stop exercising her own.

This is why I think the phrase co-laborer is sometimes more helpful than the mental picture many women have been given.

Not because husband and wife have to be identical.

Not because every decision must become a 50/50 vote.

Not because biblical marriage means nobody ever follows anyone.

But because both people are responsible participants in the life God has entrusted to them.

She was not created to be his shadow.

She was created to stand beside him.

When did leadership become unquestionable authority?

This is where things get messy.

Because Scripture does speak about husbands loving, serving, protecting, and leading.

Ephesians 5 is one of the passages most often brought into this conversation.

But notice what Paul actually says to husbands.

He doesn’t say:

You are the boss. Make sure she knows it.

He tells husbands to love their wives as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her (Ephesians 5:25).

That’s a very different picture of leadership than entitlement.

Christlike leadership is not a blank check for authority.

It is a call to sacrificial responsibility.

And Ephesians 5 begins with a statement that matters enormously to the conversation: “submitting to one another out of reverence for Christ” (Ephesians 5:21).

The relationship between that verse and the household instructions that follow is debated among scholars, including questions about the grammar and textual form of verse 22. There is legitimate disagreement about exactly how the passage should be structured and translated.

But there is no good reason to pretend the passage is simple.

The first-century household existed inside a very different social world than ours. The household instructions in Ephesians interact with that world while also placing substantial demands upon husbands.

So instead of grabbing one verse and building an entire theology of marriage around it, we should read the whole passage.

And perhaps ask a better question:

What kind of leadership is Paul actually describing?

Because if the model is Christ, then leadership cannot simply mean getting your way.

It means laying yourself down.

It means taking responsibility.

It means loving sacrificially.

It means using strength for the good of another person rather than using another person for the benefit of yourself.

That’s leadership.

And that’s a very different thing from unquestionable authority.

Submission is not the same thing as agreement

This distinction matters.

A wife can honor her husband without agreeing with him.

She can respect him without believing every decision he makes is wise.

She can submit in a particular area without surrendering her ability to think.

She can disagree without being rebellious.

She can say no without dishonoring him.

And she can refuse to participate in something she believes is wrong without becoming a “disrespectful wife.”

Because respect is not silence.

Submission is not agreement.

Leadership is not infallibility.

A boundary is not rebellion.

Those distinctions become especially important when the husband is making decisions that are not merely different from hers, but destructive.

What if he’s addicted to pornography?

What if he’s abusing alcohol?

What if gambling is destroying the family’s finances?

What if gaming has consumed his life to the point that his wife and children are neglected?

What if he’s having an affair?

What if he’s controlling?

What if he’s threatening?

What if he’s physically violent?

What if he is demanding that she participate in deception?

What if he is making choices that place their children in danger?

Is a wife supposed to say:

“Well, he’s the head of the household, so I have to support him”?

No.

That isn’t biblical submission.

That’s passive obedience.

And passive obedience can become a very convenient way to avoid responsibility.

A wife is not her husband’s moral shield

A woman does not become righteous by participating in her husband’s unrighteousness.

She doesn’t become more godly by helping him conceal it.

She isn’t required to lie for him.

She isn’t required to protect his reputation at the expense of truth.

She isn’t required to teach her children that destructive behavior is acceptable because “Daddy is the head of the house.”

And she certainly isn’t required to surrender her conscience because someone told her that doing otherwise would make her a rebellious wife.

Being your husband’s helpmate does not make you his accomplice.

A wife is not her husband’s moral shield.

And a husband’s leadership cannot absolve a wife of her own responsibility to discern whether the direction of their household is righteous.

Sometimes loving your husband means supporting him.

Sometimes it means encouraging him.

Sometimes it means following his lead.

And sometimes it means looking directly at him and saying:

“No. I cannot participate in this.”

That isn’t automatically rebellion.

Sometimes it is wisdom.

Sometimes it is courage.

Sometimes it is the most faithful thing a woman can do.

And then there’s the New Testament

The picture doesn’t suddenly become simpler once we get to Paul.

Romans 16 names women such as Phoebe, Prisca, and Junia in significant ways, and Paul’s letters refer to women as coworkers and people serving important roles within Christian communities.

Exactly how every title should be translated or understood is debated, particularly in the case of Junia and several terms associated with Phoebe. Modern scholarship continues to examine those questions rather than treating every English rendering as self-evident.

That matters.

Because translation is interpretation.

That doesn’t mean translations are deliberately corrupt.

It means moving words from Hebrew or Greek into English requires choices.

And English words come with baggage.

A word that sounds like “assistant” to a modern reader may not carry the same implications as the ancient term behind it.

A word translated “submit” can be understood within a larger sentence, argument, culture, and relationship.

And sometimes the assumptions of the reader become so familiar that we stop noticing them.

That’s where we need to be careful.

Some of our ideas about women may be older than we realize

Some of the most limiting ideas about women have been repeated so faithfully within Christian culture that many women have mistaken them for Scripture itself.

That is worth examining.

Not because Christianity needs to be reinvented every time society changes.

Not because modern culture gets the final word.

Not because every traditional interpretation is automatically wrong.

And certainly not because women should simply do whatever feels good.

Quite the opposite.

If we believe Scripture is authoritative, then we should be willing to examine what we’ve been taught against Scripture itself.

We should be willing to ask whether a particular teaching comes from the text—or from a tradition built around the text.

We should be willing to distinguish between:

What Scripture actually says

and

what we’ve always heard Scripture says.

Those aren’t necessarily the same thing.

So go back to Scripture

This is not an invitation to replace one authority with another.

Please don’t trade the church lady who told you what the Bible means for the internet personality who tells you what the Bible really means.

Don’t trade one guru for another.

And don’t throw Scripture away because somebody used it badly.

Open the Bible.

Not take my word for it.

Not replace one internet guru with another.

Not do whatever feels good.

Read it.

Read Genesis.

Read the stories.

Read the Gospels.

Read Acts.

Read Romans 16.

Read Ephesians 5 in context.

Read the difficult passages.

Read the uncomfortable ones.

Look at the women Scripture remembers.

Ask what the original words meant.

Ask what the surrounding culture assumed.

Ask what the text actually says.

And then ask the uncomfortable question:

Is what I was taught actually what Scripture says—or is it what generations of people have told me Scripture says?

That’s not rebellion.

That’s discernment.

And discernment is not something a woman has to surrender when she gets married.

She already bears the image of God.

She already has a conscience.

She already has responsibility before Him.

Marriage doesn’t transfer those things to her husband.

She answers to God, too.

So yes, there may be times when a wife follows her husband’s lead.

There may be times when she defers to his judgment.

There may be times when honoring him means laying down her own preference.

That’s part of loving another human being.

But there is a world of difference between choosing to yield and believing you have no choice.

One is an act of love.

The other can become passive obedience.

And a woman does not need to make herself smaller, quieter, weaker, or less discerning in order to become a godly wife.

She was created to stand beside him.

To help.

To speak.

To discern.

To encourage.

To challenge.

To love.

To serve.

To exercise wisdom.

And when necessary—

to say, “This is not right.”

Dear Ones, sometimes the most faithful thing a Godly woman can do is refuse to surrender the discernment He gave her.

I will leave you with a bit of homework this week: Read the verses I’ve provided. Ask for the Creator to show you areas where you have fallen subject to traditions that don’t quite line up with His original intent for Biblical Womanhood. You may be surprised at what He shows you. 

I pray peace and wisdom rain down upon you as you discern God’s perfect will for your current situation. 
Until Next Week—- 

 

Living a Purposeful Life: 10 Ways to Be Brave, Keep Showing Up, and Become Who You Were Created to Be

Living a Purposeful Life: 10 Ways to Be Brave, Keep Showing Up, and Become Who You Were Created to Be

Posted on by mrsmonarch

Originally published in 2018. Completely revised and expanded for our lives in 2026–Because we all are growing and changing, and Built To Be A Butterfly is, too! 🙂 

Have you ever spent time with a group of first graders and asked them that age-old question:

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

If you haven’t, you should try it sometime.

It is a glorious way to spend a few hours.

The answers come flying out of those little mouths with absolutely no concern for whether their dreams are practical, profitable, impressive, or even remotely possible.

Astronaut.

Veterinarian.

Teacher.

Professional athlete.

Artist.

Marine biologist.

Somebody inevitably wants to be a princess.

And why not?

At that age, the possibilities still feel wide open.

They haven’t learned yet to measure their dreams against their failures. They haven’t accumulated years of other people’s opinions about what they’re capable of. They haven’t built a mental Rolodex of every reason something might not work.

They simply imagine a future—and believe they might have something to do with creating it.

But here’s what has always struck me about that question.

I’ve never had a child look at me and say,

“When I grow up, I want to be miserable.”

Nobody says they want to spend their adult years buried under resentment, fear, exhaustion, loneliness, regret, or the constant feeling that they’re living somebody else’s life.

Nobody dreams of waking up one morning and realizing,

“How in the world did I get here?”

And yet…

For some of us, that’s exactly what happens.

Not because we woke up one morning and deliberately chose a life we didn’t recognize.

For most of us, it didn’t happen in one solitary choice.

The process happens slowly.

Here a little. There a little.

One compromise.

One fear-based decision.

One relationship we knew wasn’t healthy.

One dream we talked ourselves out of.

One opportunity we were too afraid to pursue.

One more time saying yes when everything inside us wanted to say no.

One more year spent surviving instead of becoming.

Until one day, we wake up and don’t recognize the life we’ve built.

We’ve talked about this before.

Our choices become patterns.
Our patterns create precedents.
And eventually, those precedents can become the life we’re living.

But that realization raises another question.

A really important one.

If our choices are helping create the life we’re living… what are we intentionally creating?

Because here’s the thing:

You don’t accidentally build a purposeful life.

You build it through the things you repeatedly choose to give your time, attention, courage, energy, and love to.

And that doesn’t mean you need a five-year plan.

It doesn’t mean you need to quit your job, sell your house, move across the country, and reinvent yourself before breakfast.

It means you occasionally need to stop long enough to look at your life and ask:

Is the life I’m building actually the life I want to be building?

That’s a question worth sitting with.

So let’s sit with it.

1. Admit when you’ve gotten off course.

You can’t change what you refuse to see.

Sometimes the first step toward a purposeful life is simply admitting:

“This isn’t where I want to be.”

Not because your entire life is terrible.

Not because you’ve failed at everything.

Maybe you’re simply tired of drifting.

Maybe you’ve spent so much time responding to whatever was screaming the loudest that you’ve forgotten to ask what actually matters to you.

Maybe you’ve spent years being everything everybody else needed and somewhere along the way, you stopped listening for God’s direction in your own life.

Whatever the reason, you don’t have to defend it.

You don’t have to produce a ten-page explanation for how you got here.

Just tell yourself the truth.

I’m off course.

That’s not the end of the story.

It’s the moment you finally know where you are.

And you can’t redirect a life until you’re willing to admit its current direction.

2. Decide what actually matters.

This sounds simple.

It isn’t.

Because we’re surrounded by an astonishing amount of noise telling us what should matter.

Be successful.

Be productive.

Have more.

Do more.

Look younger.

Stay relevant.

Make everybody happy.

Keep up.

Don’t disappoint anyone.

And somewhere in the middle of all that noise, we can lose track of a very important question:

What actually matters to me?

More importantly:

What matters to God?

What kind of woman do you want to become?

What do you want your life to stand for?

Who do you want to love well?

What gifts have you been given?

What keeps tugging at your heart?

What would you regret never attempting?

You don’t have to have all the answers.

But you do need to start asking better questions.

Because if you don’t decide what matters, something—or someone—will decide for you.

3. Pay attention to what gets your life energy.

Here’s where things get uncomfortable.

We all say certain things are important.

But our calendars, our bank accounts, our attention, and our energy often tell a slightly different story.

And I’m not suggesting you need to turn your life into a spreadsheet.

I’m asking you to pay attention.

What gets the best of you?

What gets your leftover energy?

What occupies your thoughts?

What do you make time for?

What do you consistently say yes to?

What do you consistently put off?

Because your time is voting for something whether you realize it or not.

So look at your actual life—not the one you intended to have.

What is getting your life?

And is that what you want to be giving it to?

4. Remember that your value comes before your accomplishments.

This one matters.

Because purpose can get twisted into performance awfully fast.

We start thinking:

If I accomplish enough, I’ll matter.

If I become successful enough, I’ll have value.

If I finally do something important, then my life will mean something.

No.

Your value isn’t something you earn by performing well enough.

You were fearfully and wonderfully made before you accomplished a single thing.

Your worth isn’t waiting at the finish line.

It’s already there.

And that changes the way we approach purpose.

We’re not scrambling to prove that our lives matter.

We’re learning how to faithfully use the life we’ve been given.

There is a difference.

A big one.

5. Start.

Eventually, thinking about it isn’t enough.

You’ve got to move.

Start before you’re ready.

You don’t need confidence.

You don’t need a five-year plan.

You don’t need to know exactly how this turns out.

You need a next step.

Maybe it’s a phone call.

Maybe it’s a class.

Maybe it’s a conversation you’ve been avoiding.

Maybe it’s pulling an old dream out of the drawer and looking at it again.

Maybe it’s finally admitting that something needs to change.

Maybe it’s ten minutes spent doing something you’ve been putting off for ten years.

It doesn’t have to be dramatic.

It just has to be movement.

Because purpose isn’t discovered entirely through thinking.

Sometimes you discover it by moving.

6. Do it scared.

I wish I could tell you that once you figure out what matters, the fear disappears.

It doesn’t.

Sorry.

Wouldn’t it be nice?

Fear will show up.

It will have questions.

It will have scenarios.

It will remind you of every time you failed before.

It will point out everything that could possibly go wrong.

And sometimes it will make a very convincing argument.

Listen to it if you need to.

Then don’t necessarily obey it.

Courage isn’t the absence of fear.

Sometimes courage is simply deciding that fear doesn’t get to make the final decision.

You can be afraid and still take the step.

You can be uncertain and still begin.

You can be terrified and still show up.

Have fear—and do it anyway. (And yes– It CAN be done. I’m doing it every time I push “publish” on this blog!) 

7. Let “good enough” be good enough sometimes.

Perfection has stolen enough already.

I used to live by the rule:

“If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.”

Age and experience have taught me something different.

Sometimes:

If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing—even if I get it wrong.

Because here’s what perfectionism does.

It convinces us that waiting is wisdom.

It tells us we’re not ready.

Not qualified.

Not polished enough.

Not knowledgeable enough.

Not certain enough.

So we wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Meanwhile, somebody with half our experience and twice our willingness to look foolish has already started.

Trying and getting it wrong is still movement.

It teaches you something.

It gives you information.

It builds courage.

It gets you five steps farther than standing still waiting for perfection to arrive.

And besides…

Perfection is a terrible traveling companion.

She makes you late for everything! Including the discovery of your best life! 

8. Let your past teach you.

This one may be especially important if you’ve spent any time recently looking honestly at the choices you’ve made.

Look at your past as a teacher, not your taskmaster.

Don’t deny it.

Don’t romanticize it.

Don’t pretend it didn’t hurt.

And don’t let it become the place where you live forever.

Learn from it.

Even the things that were completely outside your control can teach you something.

Pain can deepen compassion.

Loss can change your priorities.

Failure can expose what wasn’t working.

And sometimes, if we’re being really honest, we have to look at something we did and say:

“Yep. I screwed that up.”

That’s painful.

But you don’t have to waste a mistake.

You can learn from it.

You can make amends where necessary.

You can change your behavior.

You can choose differently.

You can mark that particular road on your map:

Been there.
Learned that.
Don’t need to go back.

You paid for that experience with blood, sweat, tears, time, or all four.

Don’t waste what it taught you.

We just spent time looking honestly at the choices that helped create the life we’re living.

Now comes the equally important part:

Don’t use what you discover to beat yourself up.

Use it to become wiser.

9. Make room to become.

Growth doesn’t happen very well in a life with no room for it.

And I’m not talking about adding another obligation to your already ridiculous to-do list.

I’m talking about creating some space where you can actually pay attention to your own becoming.

Read something that challenges you.

Study Scripture.

Journal.

Take a walk without your phone screaming at you.

Learn something you’ve always been curious about.

Listen to someone wiser than you.

Ask God some honest questions.

Get counsel when you need it.

Create something.

Sit quietly long enough to hear your own thoughts.

Try something you’ve never tried before.

Feed your mind.

Feed your spirit.

Feed your curiosity.

Make room to become.

Because you cannot keep pouring from a soul that is never allowed to be replenished.

And sometimes growth isn’t about doing more.

Sometimes it’s about finally making room for something deeper.

10. Practice gratitude without pretending life is easy.

Let’s be honest.

Sometimes gratitude feels ridiculous.

It’s hard to be grateful when you’re standing in the dumpster of life.

I know.

But gratitude isn’t pretending the dumpster doesn’t stink.

It’s refusing to believe the dumpster is the entire landscape.

There can be rain and flowers.

There can be grief and goodness.

There can be disappointment and hope.

There can be a terrible season and evidence of God’s faithfulness right in the middle of it.

Gratitude is a muscle.

We strengthen it by using it.

Not because everything is good.

But because everything isn’t only bad.

So look again.

What is still here?

Who is still here?

What did you survive?

What did you learn?

What are you capable of now that you weren’t capable of before?

What small beautiful thing showed up today?

Don’t let what’s hard become the only thing you can see.

So… where are we going?

Remember last week’s conversation?

We talked about the wagon.

Those horses pulling it.

People Pleasing.

Fear of Rejection.

Avoiding Conflict.

I Don’t Want to Be Alone.

Everybody Else’s Needs Come First.

I’ll Deal With It Later.

And that particularly stubborn one:

But They Did It First.

We talked about what happens when we keep feeding those horses and then wonder why the wagon keeps ending up in the same places.

And we ended with this:

Grab the reins.

But there’s another question waiting for us once we realize we have some say in the direction of our lives.

Where are we going?

Not where everybody else thinks we should go.

Not where fear says we have to stay.

Not where our past tells us we’re destined to end up.

Where are we actually trying to go?

Because grabbing the reins isn’t the destination.

It’s the beginning of intentional living.

And maybe you don’t know exactly where you’re headed yet.

That’s okay.

You don’t have to.

You just need to stop drifting long enough to choose the next road.

You don’t have to waste your life.

I don’t mean that harshly.

I mean it as an invitation.

You have been given a life.

Not a perfect life.

Not a painless life.

Not a life where every circumstance will cooperate with your plans.

We’ve talked about that too.

Sometimes life hands you lemons.

Sometimes somebody else hands them to you.

Sometimes you trip over the stupid things yourself.

Sometimes the storm comes whether you were ready or not.

You don’t get to choose every circumstance.

But you do have a say in what you do with the life that remains in your hands.

That’s where purpose comes in.

Purpose isn’t necessarily some enormous, earth-shattering assignment that arrives with trumpets and a spotlight.

Sometimes purpose looks remarkably ordinary.

It’s showing up.

It’s loving people well.

It’s using the gifts you’ve been given.

It’s doing the work that’s yours to do.

It’s caring when it would be easier not to.

It’s having the courage to try again.

It’s learning from your mistakes instead of building a home inside them.

It’s becoming more of the woman God created you to be.

And maybe, when all is said and done, that’s what I want most.

I want to be able to look back and know that I showed up.

That I cared.

That I used what I’d been given.

That I didn’t allow fear to make every decision for me.

That I didn’t spend my whole life waiting until I felt ready.

That I didn’t waste the experiences I paid for so dearly.

That I kept becoming.

And when the sun finally sets on my life, I hope people can say:

The world is a little better because she was here.

Because she showed up.

Because she was brave enough to keep caring—

even when it hurt like Hades.

So, friend…

What do you want?

Not what does everybody else want from you.

Not what would make you look successful.

Not what would make your life Instagram-worthy.

Not what would keep everybody comfortable.

What do you want your life to be about?

Maybe it’s time to start figuring that out.

Not tomorrow.

Not when life settles down.

Not when you’re finally confident.

Now.

One choice.

Then another.

Then another.

That’s how a purposeful life is built.

Not all at once.

Here a little.
There a little.

One brave step at a time.

Because God isn’t finished with you yet.

And there is still more to your story.

Until Next Time—Keep showing up! 

 

   

 

When We Betray Ourselves: What happens when keeping the peace means abandoning yourself

When We Betray Ourselves: What happens when keeping the peace means abandoning yourself

Posted on by mrsmonarch

There is a particular kind of heartbreak that is difficult to recognize while you are living it.

It doesn’t always look like betrayal.

Sometimes it looks like compromise.

Sometimes it looks like being patient.

Sometimes it looks like loving someone enough to make sacrifices.

Sometimes it looks like keeping the peace.

And sometimes it looks like slowly abandoning pieces of yourself because you’re afraid of what might happen if you don’t.

Until one day, you look around at the life you’re living and realize:

I didn’t just tolerate something. I participated in my own disappearance.

That’s a hard thing to admit.

But sometimes the truth needs to sting.

My grandmother used to call that an iodine and alcohol bath.

You know the kind.

You fall off your bicycle. You scrape your knee. There’s gravel and dirt ground into the wound.

And then comes the part where somebody who loves you pours something on it that makes you wonder whether losing the entire leg might actually be preferable.

It hurts.

But the purpose isn’t to punish you for falling off the bicycle.

The purpose is to clean the wound.

And sometimes that’s what honest self-examination does.

It stings.

But it cleans.

The Part We Don’t Want to Look At

Let’s get something straight before we go any further:

What someone else did to you belongs to them. (Yes, they could have been kinder. Gentlier. More faithful. More supportive. More considerate. I’m not excusing their bad behaviors.)

But what you choose to do with what happened belongs to you!

And that’s where this conversation gets uncomfortable. 

Because we can spend a tremendous amount of time asking:

Why did they do that?

Why didn’t they treat me better?

Why didn’t they love me the way I loved them?

Why did they take advantage of me?

Those are legitimate questions.

But eventually, another question has to enter the room:

What did I do?

Not what did they do.

What did I do?

What did I tolerate?

What did I repeatedly excuse?

What did I know but refuse to acknowledge?

Where did I say yes when I meant no?

Where did I abandon something important to myself because I was afraid of what I might lose?

And perhaps the hardest question of all:

What have my choices produced?

That’s not blame.

That’s accountability.

And accountability is where things can finally begin to change.

Personal Responsibility Is Painful

We don’t like to admit we made a bad choice.

We’d much rather explain it.

We were afraid.

We were young.

We didn’t know.

They pressured us.

We were trying to keep the peace.

We were trying to make the relationship work.

We were trying to be a good Christian.

We were trying to be loving.

And sometimes those explanations are completely legitimate.

But an explanation doesn’t erase a consequence.

And understanding why you made a choice doesn’t mean you have to pretend it was a good one.

Sometimes the most liberating sentence we can say is:

“I screwed up.”

I made a terrible choice.

I ignored what I knew.

I stayed too long.

I gave away too much.

I kept saying yes.

I kept going back.

I kept making excuses.

I kept hoping something would change while continuing to participate in the very pattern that was making me miserable.

That’s painful.

But there is something incredibly powerful about being able to say it.

Because once I can admit I made this choice, I can also begin to say:

I can make a different one.

That’s the part I don’t want us to miss.

Personal responsibility isn’t another brick to strap onto your back.

It’s the moment you realize you have your hands on the reins.

Look at the Wagon

Picture your life as a wagon.

You’re sitting in it, and the wagon is moving.

Maybe it’s moving toward peace.

Maybe toward health.

Maybe toward purpose.

Or maybe you’re sitting there wondering how in the world you wound up somewhere you never intended to go.

You’re frustrated.

You’re exhausted.

You’re looking around thinking:

How did I get here?

So you start looking for somebody to blame.

Maybe somebody pushed the wagon.

Maybe somebody hurt you.

Maybe somebody made a terrible decision that affected your life.

Maybe they absolutely did.

But eventually you have to look toward the front of the wagon.

Because there are horses pulling it.

And those horses have names.

There’s People Pleasing.

There’s Fear of Rejection.

There’s Avoiding Conflict.

There’s I Don’t Want to Be Alone.

There’s Everybody Else’s Needs Come First.

There’s I’ll Deal With It Later.

And then there’s that particularly stubborn horse:

But They Did It First.

Maybe you’ve been feeding these horses for years.

And every time you make another choice that reinforces the pattern, you hitch them a little tighter to the wagon.

Then one day you look around and realize:

These horses have been pulling me in the same direction for a very long time.

That’s when things get interesting.

Because you can sit in that wagon and complain about where you’re going.

You can spend years explaining why the horses behave the way they do.

Or you can finally reach forward…

and grab the reins.

Our Choices Create Precedents

This is the part of personal responsibility that I think we desperately need to understand.

Our repeated choices become patterns.

Our patterns create precedents.

And eventually, those precedents can become the life we are living.

Every time you override your own boundary, you’re teaching yourself something.

Every time you say yes when you mean no, you’re teaching yourself something.

Every time you silence your discomfort to keep somebody else comfortable, you’re teaching yourself something.

Every time you abandon a dream to keep somebody happy, you’re teaching yourself something.

Every time you accept disrespect because you’re afraid of what will happen if you don’t, you’re teaching yourself something.

You’re establishing a precedent.

This is what I tolerate.

This is what I sacrifice.

This is what I don’t talk about.

This is what I do when I’m afraid.

And eventually, you may not even recognize the behavior as a choice anymore.

You’ve practiced it so often that it feels automatic.

That’s how we wind up living lives we never consciously chose.

Not because we had no choices.

Because we made enough small choices in the same direction that eventually the direction felt inevitable.

It isn’t inevitable.

But it is ours to change!

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

Here’s where things get really interesting.

We’re very good at creating stories that make our choices feel reasonable.

I stayed because I loved him.

I kept quiet because I didn’t want conflict.

I gave up that opportunity because the timing wasn’t right.

I kept forgiving because that’s what good Christians do.

I didn’t speak up because I didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Maybe.

But what if there was something else underneath the story?

I stayed because I was afraid.

I kept quiet because I was terrified of what would happen if I told the truth.

I gave up the opportunity because choosing myself felt selfish.

I kept forgiving because I didn’t know how to admit I needed something to change.

I didn’t speak up because I was afraid my needs would make me less lovable.

Sometimes what we’re calling love is actually fear wearing love’s clothes.

And sometimes what we’re calling patience is really fear of making a decision.

Sometimes what we’re calling humility is really our inability to believe we’re allowed to have needs.

Sometimes what we’re calling forgiveness is simply our refusal to confront a pattern.

Again—this isn’t about beating ourselves up.

It’s about telling ourselves the truth.

Because a pattern doesn’t become healthy simply because we’ve gotten really good at explaining it.

What Are You Getting in Return?

Here’s another question worth asking:

What am I getting from continuing to make this choice?

We all make relational transactions.

We give love.

We give time.

We give forgiveness.

We give patience.

We sacrifice.

That’s part of being human.

But sometimes there’s a hidden transaction underneath all of that.

I’ll give up this if you’ll stay.

I’ll keep quiet if you’ll love me.

I’ll make myself smaller if you’ll choose me.

I’ll keep everybody happy if nobody gets angry.

I’ll surrender this dream if I don’t have to be alone.

And now we’re not simply giving.

We’re trading.

We’re giving away pieces of ourselves in exchange for something we desperately want.

Safety.

Belonging.

Approval.

Being needed.

Being chosen.

Relief from loneliness.

And if what we’re getting feels worth the price, we keep paying.

Until eventually the price becomes so high that we can no longer ignore it.

That’s often when the pain becomes impossible to explain away.

And sometimes that pain is exactly what finally wakes us up.

Selflessness Is Not Self-Abandonment

This matters, especially for women of faith.

We are called to love.

We’re called to serve.

We’re called to forgive.

We’re called to sacrifice.

But selflessness and self-abandonment are not the same thing.

Sacrifice says:

“I freely give something of myself because love calls me to.”

Self-betrayal says:

“I surrender something essential about myself because I’m afraid of what I’ll lose if I don’t.”

Those things can look remarkably similar from the outside.

But they’re very different on the inside.

One is freely given.

The other is fear making the decision.

God did not create you so that you could spend your life disappearing in order to keep somebody else comfortable.

And if you’ve been doing that, the answer isn’t to hate yourself for it.

The answer is to wake up.

Look at the choices.

Look at the pattern.

Look at where those choices have taken you.

And then decide what you’re going to do differently.

This Is Where Becoming Begins

There is a beautiful difference between condemnation and conviction.

Condemnation says:

“Look what you’ve done.”

Conviction says:

“Look.”

Look at the pattern.

Look at the choice.

Look at the consequence.

Look at the story you’ve been writing.

And now—

choose.

That’s the turning point.

Because recognition isn’t the destination.

It’s the doorway.

You don’t have to spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for choices you made when you didn’t know what you know now.

But neither do you need to protect yourself from the painful truth that some of those choices were bad ones.

Own them.

Learn from them.

Change them.

That’s growth.

And that’s where becoming gets really exciting.

Because personal responsibility means the direction of your life isn’t entirely in somebody else’s hands.

You get to have a role in what happens next.

Grab the Reins

You may not be able to change the past.

You may not be able to change another person.

You may not be able to change the circumstances you’re standing in today.

But you can change your participation.

You can stop feeding the horse called People Pleasing.

You can stop letting Fear of Rejection decide where the wagon goes.

You can stop allowing Avoiding Conflict to determine what you’re willing to tolerate.

You can stop hitching your future to I Don’t Want to Be Alone.

You can stop using Everybody Else’s Needs Come First as an excuse to abandon your own.

And you can finally retire that old excuse:

But They Did It First.

Maybe they did.

But they’re not holding your reins.

You are.

And that is very, very good news.

Because when you take responsibility for your choices, you gain the ability to make new ones.

And new choices create new patterns.

New patterns create new precedents.

And new precedents can create a very different life.

You Don’t Have to Keep Going That Way

Maybe you’re looking at your life right now and realizing you’ve been heading in a direction you don’t want to go.

Don’t waste that realization.

Yes, it may hurt.

Let it hurt.

Let the iodine sting.

Let yourself admit the things you’ve been unwilling to admit.

I made a bad choice.

I ignored the warning signs.

I kept choosing what was familiar over what was healthy.

I tolerated something because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t.

I participated in a pattern that is making my life miserable.

Those aren’t sentences of defeat.

They’re sentences of awakening.

Because now you know.

And knowing changes what is possible.

You can stop the wagon.

You can turn it around.

You can choose a different road.

You can learn new ways of responding.

You can establish new boundaries.

You can make different decisions.

You can become different.

Not because you were worthless before.

Because you’re finally willing to take the reins.

So What Story Are You Writing Now?

Maybe it helps to look at the whole thing like this:

What happened → What I did → What I learned → What I believed → What I repeated → What it produced → What I can now choose.

Look at that last part.

What I can now choose.

That’s the gift hidden inside accountability.

You don’t have to pretend you didn’t make the choices.

You don’t have to minimize their consequences.

You don’t have to dress them up in prettier language.

And you don’t have to stay trapped inside them forever.

You can look honestly at where you’ve been.

You can acknowledge the part you played.

You can grieve what those choices cost you.

And then—

you can grab the reins.

Maybe the life you’ve been living has been shaped by choices you wish you’d made differently.

Okay.

Now you know.

And knowing means you get to make the next choice differently.

So, girl…

Look at the wagon.

Look at those horses.

Look at where they’ve taken you.

And now—

grab the reins.

Because you don’t have to keep going that way. 

That’s not another brick on your back.

That’s handing you a pen— and giving yourself the authority to change the direction of your life story! 

Until Next Time, 

Squeezing the Lemons: Finding Growth in Life’s Bitter Seasons

Squeezing the Lemons: Finding Growth in Life’s Bitter Seasons

Posted on by mrsmonarch

Have you ever looked at your life and wondered how you got here?

Maybe there was a younger version of you who imagined life would look very different by now.

She had dreams.

She had plans.

She believed there were beautiful things ahead.

She laughed more easily. She had energy. She was filled with ideas and hope and possibility.

And then… life happened.

Responsibilities piled up. Disappointments came. People changed. Plans unraveled. Things you never imagined having to carry somehow found their way into your hands.

And one day, you looked in the mirror and realized you were tired.

Not just physically tired.

Soul tired.

The kind of tired that makes you wonder where that hopeful girl went.

Friend, if you’ve ever found yourself there, pull up a chair.

I’ve got coffee.

And I think we need to talk about lemons.

You Know Which Lemons I Mean

I’m not talking about the cute little yellow things sitting in a bowl on the kitchen counter.

I’m talking about the ones life hands you without asking permission.

The promotion you didn’t get.

The relationship you thought would last forever that didn’t.

The friendship that quietly disappeared.

The child you love but cannot seem to reach.

The financial struggle you never saw coming.

The diagnosis that changed the way you look at tomorrow.

The grief that rearranged your entire world.

The betrayal that made you question things you thought were secure.

The dream you worked so hard for that simply never happened.

Yeah.

Those lemons.

Life has a way of handing them to us.

And here’s one of the hardest things I’ve learned:

We don’t get to choose how many lemons end up in our basket.

Sometimes our own choices contribute to the mess we’re carrying. There are consequences in life, and wisdom sometimes comes from recognizing our part in them.

But sometimes we do everything we know to do.

We pray.

We try to make wise choices.

We love people well.

We show up.

We do our best to walk faithfully.

And the lemons still come.

That’s not necessarily evidence that we’ve done something wrong.

It’s simply part of living in a world that is not yet what God intended it to be.

Jesus reminded us that the sun rises on the evil and the good, and rain falls on the just and the unjust.

Faith does not give us immunity from hard things.

It gives us Someone to hold onto when the hard things come.

The Temptation to Sugarcoat

Now, if you’re anything like me, your first instinct when life gets bitter may be to figure out how to make it less bitter.

We want the shortcut.

The quick fix.

The explanation.

The five-step plan.

We want to skip ahead to the part where everything makes sense again.

Sometimes we even try to sugarcoat the season.

“Maybe it isn’t really that bad.”

“Other people have it worse.”

“I should be grateful.”

“I just need to have more faith.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

And sometimes those words are offered with good intentions.

But friend…

A lemon is still sour.

Pain is still pain.

Grief is still grief.

Betrayal still breaks something.

And you don’t have to pretend that something doesn’t hurt in order to have faith.

There is room in faith for tears.

There is room for questions.

There is room for disappointment.

There is even room for saying, “God, I don’t understand this.”

You can trust God and still be hurting.

Those things are not opposites.

So What Do We Do With the Lemons?

Eventually, when we’re ready, we have a choice.

We can spend the rest of our lives wishing the lemon had never landed in our basket…

or we can begin asking a different question:

“What can I learn from this?”

Not because the painful thing was good.

Not because we needed the suffering.

Not because God delights in watching us hurt.

But because God is remarkably good at bringing redemption out of things we never would have chosen.

That’s where the squeezing begins.

We squeeze out the wisdom.

Maybe this season taught you something about boundaries.

Maybe it showed you that you were stronger than you thought.

Maybe you learned to recognize unhealthy patterns.

Maybe you discovered that your identity cannot safely rest in another person’s approval.

Maybe you learned how deeply you are capable of loving.

Maybe you discovered compassion for people whose struggles you once couldn’t understand.

Maybe you learned to slow down.

To listen.

To pray.

To wait.

To say no.

To say yes.

To ask for help.

To receive grace.

To give grace.

Some lessons are expensive.

Some are painful.

Some arrive wrapped in tears.

But that doesn’t mean they are worthless.

Don’t Waste What You’ve Walked Through!

I’ve come to believe that one of the most beautiful things God can do with our painful experiences is allow them to become useful.

No—It doesn’t usually happen immediately.

In fact, sometimes the fullness of what He does with our pain isn’t recognized for a very long time.

There are seasons when the only thing we can do is survive the day.

And that’s okay.

You don’t have to turn your pain into a lesson before you’re ready.

You don’t have to find the silver lining while you’re still bleeding.

Sometimes faithfulness looks like simply getting through today with God beside you.

But eventually, the healing process gives us enough breathing room to look back.

And that’s when we may begin to notice something.

The woman who walked through that season isn’t exactly the same woman who came out of it.

Maybe she’s softer in some places.

Stronger in others.

More discerning.

More compassionate.

Less impressed by appearances.

More willing to tell the truth.

More comfortable saying, “I don’t know.”

More willing to sit beside someone else in their pain without trying to fix it.

Maybe she understands grace differently now.

Maybe she understands God differently.

Maybe she understands herself differently.

That’s becoming.

Not becoming perfect.

Not becoming someone who never hurts.

Becoming someone who knows, more deeply than she once did, who she is and Whose she is.

The Lemon Season Doesn’t Last Forever

And here is the part I never want us to forget:

The lemon harvest doesn’t last forever.

There will be seasons when the clouds break.

There will be laughter again.

There will be unexpected blessings.

There will be friendships that feel like sunlight.

There will be mornings when you wake up and realize that something inside you has become lighter.

There will be sweet fruit again.

And when that happens, I hope you’ll remember the woman you were when you were carrying lemons.

Because someday, someone else may sit beside you with a basket full of her own.

And you may be able to look at her—not with judgment, not with easy answers, but with understanding—and say:

“I know.

I’ve carried some lemons too.

You don’t have to walk through this alone.”

Maybe that’s part of what our bitter seasons can become.

Not something we would ever choose.

But something God can redeem.

Something that deepens us.

Something that teaches us.

Something that makes us more compassionate.

Something that allows us to become a safe place for someone else.

So, friend…

If you’re carrying lemons today, you don’t have to pretend they’re sweet.

You don’t have to rush through the season.

You don’t have to understand everything.

And you certainly don’t have to be grateful for the pain itself.

But when you’re ready, perhaps you can begin to ask:

What can I squeeze from this?

What wisdom?

What strength?

What compassion?

What deeper understanding?

What new part of myself is God gently bringing to life?

Because the lemon may be bitter.

But your story isn’t over.

And God is still at work in the becoming.

Until next time,


Want to keep the encouragement going?
Visit the BTBAB Etsy Shop to find encouragement cards and other resources created to meet you right where you are.

 

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where faith meets the journey of becoming

 

The Thread — Part 4: What Comes Next?

The Thread — Part 4: What Comes Next?

Posted on by mrsmonarch

NOTE: Hi Everyone! 

Just so we’re all on the same page, this article is the final piece to a 4 part series . Since each lesson builds upon what the previous article laid out, I hope you’ll go back to “Look for the Thread” (part 1), “How Hidden Beliefs Shape the Way We See the World” (part 2), and “Question Your Motivation” (part 3) before moving forward. These can be found on the right-hand column of the BTBAB homepage. 

Today’s Message: 


When you can’t change your circumstances, you can still begin changing what they have taught you to believe about yourself. 

 

We’ve spent the last three weeks looking for the threads which have been woven together to create the fabric of our lives. 

We started with what happened—and the meaning we gave to it. 

In week two, we examined the lens those interpretations and beliefs can create.

Last week, we went underneath our patterns and asked a harder question:

What is this behavior really getting me?

And now, here at week four—and the end of this mini-series— we’ve arrived at the question I think is hardest of all:

What do I do with what I’ve discovered?

Because this is where I don’t want to give you a ten-step plan.

I don’t want to tell you to simply leave a difficult marriage. 

Quit an unfulfilling job. 

Set the boundary.

Start over.

Take your power back.

Become confident.

Build the new life.

Yes— Sometimes those things are exactly what needs to happen.

And sometimes they simply aren’t possible today.

Maybe you don’t have the money.

Maybe there are children involved.

Maybe you’re financially dependent.

Maybe you’re caring for someone else.

Maybe you’re afraid.

Maybe you have nowhere to go.

Maybe you’re still trying to understand what is actually happening and you’re wrestling with grief. 

Maybe you have very few options that the outside world would consider reasonable.

And if that’s where you are, I don’t want to add another burden to your shoulders by suggesting that your inability to change your circumstances means you’re failing to change.

Because it doesn’t.

Maybe Transformation Isn’t Always “Changing Your Life” the way the world defines it. 

 

Transformation does not always begin with changing your circumstances. Sometimes it begins with changing what those circumstances have taught you to believe about yourself.

There may be things about your circumstances you cannot change today.

That does not mean there is nothing you can begin changing today.

If you can’t leave today, that doesn’t mean you have no agency.

You may be able to begin questioning the lie that you’re crazy.

You may be able to stop interpreting someone else’s betrayal as evidence that you’re unlovable.

You may be able to recognize:

“This is happening to me, but this is not who I am.”

You may be able to stop apologizing for having feelings.

You may be able to begin trusting your own perception again.

You may be able to whisper:

“Something about this isn’t right.”

even if you aren’t yet able to do anything about it.

Those are movements.

Tiny movements.

But movements nonetheless.

Sometimes the First Step Is Simply Listening to Yourself Again

I think this may be one of the most important places we can begin.

Because chronic invalidation can do something devastating to a person.

If someone repeatedly tells you:

You’re imagining things.

You’re too sensitive.

You’re crazy.

That didn’t happen.

You’re remembering it wrong.

You’re the problem.

Eventually, you can stop trusting your own internal compass.

You can become so accustomed to questioning yourself that you begin arguing with your own experience before anyone else even has the opportunity.

So perhaps the first question isn’t:

“What action should I take?”

Perhaps it’s:

“What am I actually experiencing?”

And then:

“Can I tell myself the truth about it without immediately arguing with myself?”

That is huge.

Not diagnosing the other person.

Not making a grand declaration.

Not pretending we know every fact of someone else’s situation.

Just reclaiming the right to say:

“This hurts.”

“This isn’t okay with me.”

“I feel afraid.”

“I feel betrayed.”

“I don’t understand why this keeps happening.”

“Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

That’s not weakness.

That’s awareness.

And sometimes awareness is the beginning of transformation.

Seeing Yourself Is Not the Same as Fixing Yourself

Notice what we’re not saying.

We’re not saying:

Fix yourself.

We’re saying:

See yourself.

Know yourself.

Tell yourself the truth.

Separate your worth from what is happening around you.

Take the next honest step.

Because sometimes the circumstances around you are genuinely painful.

Sometimes someone else’s choices are genuinely wrong.

Sometimes someone is lying.

Sometimes someone is betraying you.

Sometimes someone is disregarding your boundaries.

Sometimes someone is treating you in a way you never deserved.

And your first job isn’t to figure out how to make that person behave differently.

You may not be able to.

Your first job may simply be to stop allowing their behavior to become the voice that tells you who you are.

And What About God?

This is where I want to say something very clearly, especially to the woman who has been praying and praying and still doesn’t see the circumstances changing.

You may be asking:

“What am I doing wrong?”

“Why hasn’t God changed this?”

“Am I not praying hard enough?”

“Don’t I trust Him enough?”

No.

Your suffering is not proof that you have failed God.

Your unanswered prayer is not evidence that you don’t have enough faith.

Your difficult circumstances are not necessarily a spiritual report card.

And Scripture itself gives us permission to say:

“God, this hurts.”

That’s lament.

The Bible doesn’t sanitize suffering.

David asks, “How long?”

Job speaks honestly from his pain.

Habakkuk looks at injustice and asks how long it will continue.

And Jesus Himself weeps.

Lament is not unbelief.

Lament is what faith sounds like when faith is hurting.

There is room in faith for:

“God, I know You are there, and I don’t understand this.”

“I love You, and I’m angry.”

“I believe, and I’m exhausted.”

“I’m praying, and I’m still hurting.”

There is room for all of that.

You do not have to add spiritual shame to the pain you’re already carrying.

You don’t have to pretend:

“I’m fine. God is good. Everything happens for a reason. I’m just going to trust harder.”

You can tell God the truth.

Perhaps that is itself a tiny step toward transformation:

telling the truth in God’s presence instead of performing okay-ness for Him.

Agency Is Not the Same as Control

There is another distinction I think we desperately need to make.

Agency is not control.

You may not control:

  • whether someone tells the truth
  • whether someone respects your boundary
  • whether someone apologizes
  • whether someone changes
  • whether someone chooses faithfulness
  • whether someone treats you fairly
  • whether your circumstances resolve quickly

But you may slowly begin recognizing:

What is mine to carry?

What is not mine?

What have I begun believing about myself because of what someone else has done?

What tiny choice is actually available to me today?

That last question may be more powerful than it sounds.

Because the answer doesn’t have to be dramatic.

Maybe today the choice is simply:

“I will not call myself worthless because someone treated me as though I were.”

Maybe tomorrow:

“I’m going to write down what happened so I stop second-guessing myself.”

Another day:

“I’m going to tell one safe person the truth.”

Another:

“I’m going to spend ten minutes thinking about what I actually want instead of what everyone else wants from me.”

Another:

“I’m going to pray honestly instead of pretending I’m okay.”

Those things don’t necessarily change the marriage.

They don’t immediately change the bank account.

They don’t make the betrayal disappear.

But they can begin changing something deeply important:

the woman’s relationship with herself.

And that matters.

What Someone Does to You Is Not Who You Are

This brings us back to the thread we’ve been following all along.

Maybe the thread says:

I’m not enough.

Maybe it says:

I’m too much.

Maybe it says:

I’m unlovable.

Maybe it says:

I must have done something to deserve this.

Maybe it says:

If I were prettier, kinder, thinner, smarter, more submissive, more successful, more patient, more spiritual… maybe this wouldn’t be happening.

But what if we began pulling that thread apart?

What if we began separating what someone did from who we are?

Someone else’s betrayal does not make you unworthy.

Someone else’s dishonesty does not make you stupid.

Someone else’s rejection does not make you unlovable.

Someone else’s cruelty does not prove you deserved it.

Someone else’s inability to love you well does not mean you were impossible to love.

And your current circumstances do not get to become the final narrator of your identity.

Even when you cannot yet change your circumstances, you are not powerless to begin changing the story those circumstances are telling you about who you are.

That may be where transformation begins.

Not with a dramatic exit.

Not with a perfect plan.

Not with everything suddenly making sense.

Sometimes it begins with one sentence.

One truth.

One tiny refusal to believe the lie anymore.

You Don’t Have to Know What Comes Next

I think sometimes we believe we can’t move forward until we know where we’re going.

But what if you don’t?

What if you genuinely don’t know what comes next?

What if you’re still in the middle of the story?

What if all you can see is the next few feet?

Then perhaps you don’t need a ten-year plan.

You need the next honest step.

And sometimes that step is very, very small.

That’s okay.

You don’t have to untangle your whole life today.

You don’t have to become someone new overnight.

You don’t have to prove that you’re strong.

You don’t have to make a decision simply because someone else thinks you should.

You don’t have to know how your story ends before you can begin changing how you live inside the part you’re in.

And this is where I think we can finally return to the question we’ve been carrying through this entire series:

Does this thread still belong in the life I’m weaving?

Maybe the answer is yes.

Maybe something about that thread still serves you.

Maybe it needs to be strengthened.

Maybe it needs to be loosened.

Maybe it needs to be redirected.

Maybe it needs to be cut.

Maybe it needs to be replaced.

And sometimes, perhaps, it needs to be redeemed rather than discarded.

But you don’t have to answer all of those questions today.

Maybe This Is Where We Begin

Not with a happy ending.

Not with a solution.

Not with a bow.

A beginning.

Because now you can see.

You can see the thread.

You can recognize the lens.

You can question the pattern.

You can begin separating your worth from someone else’s behavior.

You can acknowledge what hurts without blaming yourself for hurting.

You can begin noticing where you have agency—even when your circumstances are limited.

You can tell the truth.

You can grieve.

You can lament.

You can take tiny steps.

And maybe the woman reading this cannot change her life this week.

Maybe she can’t leave.

Maybe she can’t fix the marriage.

Maybe she can’t make someone tell the truth.

Maybe she can’t make the circumstances change.

But maybe…

she can change one sentence she says to herself.

Maybe she can stop believing one lie.

Maybe she can name one truth.

Maybe she can recognize one thing that isn’t hers to carry.

Maybe she can give herself permission to lament.

Maybe she can take one honest step.

And maybe, for today…

that’s enough.

Because sometimes transformation isn’t about becoming strong enough to leave the hard place.

Sometimes it’s about becoming grounded enough to remember who you are while you’re still in it.

That doesn’t mean you have to stay there forever.

It doesn’t mean your circumstances don’t matter.

It doesn’t mean you should accept what is hurting you.

It means that you can begin becoming whole before your circumstances become whole.

And perhaps the woman who feels completely stuck needs to hear this most of all:

You are not powerless simply because you cannot change everything today.

You can still begin.

One truth.

One breath.

One boundary.

One honest prayer.

One moment of trusting your own perception.

One refusal to let someone else’s behavior tell you what you’re worth.

One tiny thing.

That’s enough soil for a seed.

And maybe that seed is where the next part of your story begins.

You are still becoming.

Not because you aren’t enough.

But because there is still life to be woven.

And perhaps now…

you get to choose the threads. 

 

Until Next Time, 

What Is This Behavior Really Getting Me? Question Your Motivation Before You Question Yourself

What Is This Behavior Really Getting Me? Question Your Motivation Before You Question Yourself

Posted on by mrsmonarch

NOTE: Hi Everyone! 

Just so we’re all on the same page, this article is part 3 of a 4-part series. Since each lesson builds upon what the previous article laid out, I hope you’ll go back to “Look for the Thread” (part 1), and “How Hidden Beliefs Shape the Way We See the World” (part 2) before moving forward. These can be found in the right-hand column of the BTBAB home page. 

We’ve spent some time looking for the threads.

We’ve considered how an experience can become an interpretation, how that interpretation can become a belief, and how that belief can quietly influence the lens through which we experience the world.

But there’s another layer we need to explore.

Because beliefs don’t simply sit quietly inside us.

They influence what we do.

They influence what we pursue, what we avoid, what we tolerate, what we fear—and sometimes, even the ways we try to change ourselves.

And this is where I want to ask you to become especially curious.

Not critical.

Curious.

Because the behavior itself doesn’t always tell us what’s happening underneath it.

Sometimes We Aren’t Even Consciously Aware of the Transaction

Human beings are remarkably good at learning what works.

When a particular behavior gets us something we want—or something we think we need—we’re more likely to repeat it.

Sometimes we aren’t even consciously aware of the transaction.

When I do this… I get that.

Maybe doing something perfectly gets you approval.

Maybe saying yes keeps the peace.

Maybe being needed makes you feel valuable.

Maybe staying busy keeps uncomfortable feelings at a distance.

Maybe looking a certain way gets you attention.

Maybe being independent protects you from having to need someone else.

Maybe accomplishing things helps you feel like you’re enough.

And eventually, the behavior can become automatic.

We stop asking why we’re doing it.

We simply think:

“That’s just who I am.”

But what if there’s more to the story?

What Does This Behavior GET Me?

This may be one of the most valuable questions we can ask ourselves.

Not:

“Why can’t I just stop doing this?”

But:

“What does this behavior GET me?”

Because if a behavior is repeatedly getting us something we need—or think we need—it’s going to be difficult to change simply by telling ourselves we should stop.

We have to understand the need underneath the behavior.

What does it provide?

Approval?

Attention?

Security?

Control?

Belonging?

Relief?

A sense of worth?

Protection from rejection?

Protection from disappointment?

Sometimes the answer may be uncomfortable.

That’s okay.

We’re not doing this inventory to prove that we’re secretly terrible people.

We’re trying to understand the map.

Because once we understand what a behavior has been accomplishing for us, we can begin asking whether we still need it to do that job.

Question Your Motivation

This is where things can get interesting.

We’re often far too quick to label behaviors as simply good or bad.

Exercise is good.

Eating well is good.

Working hard is good.

Setting boundaries is good.

Taking care of your appearance is good.

Pursuing a career is good.

Helping people is good.

Growing is good.

But the behavior itself doesn’t tell us everything.

Two people can do exactly the same thing for completely different reasons.

And that’s why we have to learn to look underneath the behavior.

Imagine Two Women Joining a Gym

One woman decides she’s going to get healthier.

She wants to exercise, take better care of her body, and become stronger.

That’s a good thing.

But another woman can walk into that exact same gym carrying a very different belief:

If I can just change my body enough, maybe I’ll finally be attractive enough.

Maybe then I’ll be chosen.

Maybe then someone will treat me the way I want to be treated.

From the outside?

They look exactly the same.

They’re both working out.

But underneath the behavior are two very different stories.

One is saying:

“I am already worthy, and I want to become healthier.”

The other is saying:

“Maybe if I become healthier, I will finally be worthy.”

And that distinction matters.

One is striving for worth.

The other is stewarding what she already believes has worth.

That’s why we’re not going to make a list of behaviors that are automatically healthy or unhealthy.

We’re going to learn to question our motivation.

Have I Made This Responsible for Telling Me Who I Am?

Here’s another question I want you to sit with:

Have I made this responsible for telling me who I am?

Have I made my appearance responsible for telling me whether I’m desirable?

Have I made my accomplishments responsible for telling me whether I’m successful?

Have I made someone else’s affection responsible for telling me whether I’m lovable?

Have I made being needed responsible for telling me whether I’m valuable?

Have I made my productivity responsible for telling me whether I’m worthy?

Because there’s a difference between stewarding something valuable and building your identity around it.

And that difference can be difficult to see when we’re standing inside the pattern.

Now, Take Inventory

Choose something you’re currently pursuing, changing, avoiding, or working hard to accomplish.

It doesn’t have to be something dramatic.

Choose something that makes you curious.

Then ask yourself:

What am I hoping this will give me?

Who am I hoping will notice?

What do I believe will change if I accomplish it?

What am I afraid will happen if I don’t?

And here’s one I really want you to consider:

If nobody ever knew I accomplished this, would I still want it?

The answer doesn’t have to be yes.

Wanting recognition doesn’t make you bad.

Wanting attention doesn’t make you shallow.

Wanting to be admired is human.

But your answer may tell you something about what role this goal is playing in your life.

And once again, we’re looking for the thread.

Go One Layer Deeper

Ask yourself:

Am I trying to change my circumstances—or prove something about myself?

Am I caring for myself—or trying to finally become worthy of care?

Am I moving toward health—or running away from shame?

Am I stewarding something valuable—or using it to build my identity?

And perhaps the simplest question of all:

Is this making me freer—or more dependent on the outcome?

Because healthy growth should ultimately create greater freedom.

Not necessarily an easier life.

Not necessarily fewer problems.

Not necessarily the outcome we hoped for.

But greater freedom in how we respond.

Your Transformation Cannot Control Someone Else

This may be one of the hardest truths in this entire conversation.

Healthy growth doesn’t give us control over other people’s choices.

You can become healthier and someone can still behave badly.

You can become more beautiful and someone can still reject you.

You can become more successful and someone can still envy you.

You can become more loving and someone can still be unkind.

You can communicate perfectly and someone can still misunderstand you.

Your transformation cannot be a bargain with someone else’s behavior.

Because otherwise, self-improvement can quietly become another form of magical thinking:

If I can just become enough, perhaps nobody will hurt me anymore.

But that’s not freedom.

That’s a cage with prettier wallpaper.

So What Are You Really Changing?

This is where I want us to pause.

Sometimes we’re changing because we’re genuinely growing.

And sometimes we’re changing because we’re desperately trying to escape the person we believe we are.

From the outside?

They can look identical.

But underneath them is a completely different message.

One says:

“I am already worthy, and I want to become healthier.”

The other says:

“Maybe if I become healthier, I will finally be worthy.”

So don’t just examine what you’re doing.

Examine what you’re hoping the doing will accomplish.

That’s where the deeper work begins.

Because transformation is beautiful.

Growth is beautiful.

Change is beautiful.

But transformation is healthiest when it flows from knowing your worth—not when it becomes an attempt to earn it.

Where This Leaves Us

We’re not finished unraveling the threads.

Not even close.

But perhaps you’re beginning to see why this investigation matters.

We started with an experience.

Then we looked at the interpretation.

Then the belief.

Then the lens through which we experience the world.

Now we’re beginning to see the patterns those beliefs can produce.

And once we can see the pattern…

we can begin asking an even harder question:

Does this thread still belong in the life I’m weaving?

That’s where we’re headed next.

Because sometimes a thread needs to be challenged.

Sometimes it needs to be pruned.

Sometimes it needs to be redirected.

And sometimes, perhaps, it needs to be redeemed.

But before we can decide what comes next, we have to be willing to see what we’ve been weaving.

And that’s the work we’re doing here.

Not becoming someone worthy.

Learning to live from the truth that we already are!

Until Next Time!

 

What Did I Learn About Myself? How Hidden Beliefs Shape the Way We See the World

What Did I Learn About Myself? How Hidden Beliefs Shape the Way We See the World

Posted on by mrsmonarch

NOTE: Hi Everyone! 

Just so we’re all on the same page, this article is part 2 of a 4-part series. Since each lesson builds upon what the previous article laid out, I hope you’ll go back to “Look for the Thread” (part 1) before moving forward. It can be found in the right-hand column of the BTBAB home page. 

Last week, I asked you to look for the threads.

Not to pull your whole life’s blanket apart.

Not to go digging through your childhood looking for something “terrible” that happened.

I simply asked you to notice the way your body responds to outside stimuli. 

A phrase you say when you’re overwhelmed.

A reaction that seems bigger than the moment.

A feeling that seems strangely familiar.

A little voice inside you that says:

“See? There it is again.”

Because once we begin noticing the threads, we can ask a deeper question:

What am I learning about myself?

And perhaps even more importantly:

Is how I interpreted my life experiences eons ago still influencing the way I experience the world now?

Think about my third-grade kickball story from last week.

I wasn’t delusional. Even as a young kid, I knew I wasn’t great at kickball. But I still wanted to play— to be included. To be chosen. 

So, when player after player was chosen, while I still stood there, waiting—hoping— it hurt. I was acutely aware that my peers didn’t think I brought much value to the table. 

I was embarrassed. And… I remember feeling very… small. 

The moment itself lasted only a few minutes. Recess ended. I went home. Life moved on. At first glance, it didn’t seem like a big deal. 

But a while back, I felt prodded to ask myself the question: what might a little girl carry forward from something like that?

Maybe nothing.

Or maybe she interpreted the experience as:

I’m not the one people want.

Other people are better than me.

I have to prove myself.

I have to work harder to be chosen.

I’m going to be overlooked.

Maybe even, “Stepping out to try new things will lead to disappointment and maybe even humiliation. It’s safer to not try!”

Notice that I didn’t say, “She learned she wasn’t wanted.”

Now let me be perfectly clear. The experience was real. The hurt was real.

But the conclusion she drew from it was an interpretation.

And interpretations aren’t necessarily absolute truth.

Especially when we’re young, we can come up with answers that make perfect sense to a child—but don’t necessarily tell the whole truth.

A child doesn’t have the perspective or life experience of an adult. She simply knows:

Something happened.

It hurt.

I need to understand why.

And sometimes the explanation she creates becomes a “thread”. A small piece of a growing manifesto that slowly becomes her operation manual. 

When a Thread Becomes a Lens

Here’s where things get really interesting.

The thread doesn’t just affect how I see myself.

It affects what I expect to find in the world.

Imagine a woman who interpreted an experience as:

I’m not the one people choose.

Years later, a friend forgets to invite her on an outing.

It hurts.

But something deeper may whisper:

“See? There it is again.”

Someone else gets the promotion.

“See? There it is again.”

A group makes plans without her.

“See? There it is again.”

Someone chooses somebody else.

“See? There it is again.”

Now, this does not mean she imagined those things.

It doesn’t mean other people’s choices don’t matter or impact us. 

And it certainly doesn’t mean every painful experience is somehow her fault because she’s “too emotional”. 

We’re exploring something more subtle:

The belief may influence what she notices, what she expects, and how she interprets what happens next.

If I’ve interpreted my experiences as evidence that I’m unwanted, rejection may become especially loud to me.

If I’ve interpreted my experiences as evidence that my needs are inconvenient, I may notice every sigh when I ask for something.

If I’ve interpreted my experiences as evidence that love must be earned, I may instinctively begin performing when I feel insecure.

The world hasn’t necessarily changed.

But the lens through which I experience the world has.

And that distinction is enormous.

Because we don’t want to tell women they’re overreacting.

We want to give them a reason their reaction might make sense.

Not to excuse every reaction.

Not to blame everything on the past.

But to become curious about what’s happening underneath the reaction.

“Why Is This Bugging Me So Much?”

You’ve probably said it.

Something happens.

Maybe it really is a little thing.

Someone doesn’t text back.

A friend seems distracted.

Someone criticizes your work.

You’re left out of something.

Someone chooses somebody else.

And suddenly you’re much more hurt, angry, anxious, embarrassed, or rejected than you expected to be.

“Why am I this upset?!”

Sometimes the answer is simply:

Because it hurt.

But sometimes there’s another question worth asking:

Is my reaction entirely about what is happening right now?

That isn’t an accusation.

It’s an invitation.

Because maybe today’s experience has touched an older thread.

Maybe you’ve felt this before.

And before.

And before.

See? There it is again.

What Would I Have to Believe About Myself?

Instead of immediately asking:

“What’s wrong with me?”

try asking:

“What would I have to believe about myself for this reaction to make sense?”

If I’m devastated because someone didn’t choose me…

What would I have to believe about myself?

If criticism feels like rejection…

What would I have to believe about myself?

If someone’s disappointment feels unbearable…

What would I have to believe about myself?

If I cannot rest without feeling guilty…

What would I have to believe about myself?

If I constantly need to be useful…

What would I have to believe about myself?

Maybe the answer is:

I’m not enough.

I’m replaceable.

I have to earn my place.

My needs don’t matter.

If I disappoint people, they’ll leave.

If I’m not useful, I’m not valuable.

Maybe.

Or maybe it’s something completely different.

We’re investigating, not diagnosing.

We’re trying to understand our emotional bandwidth.

Because sometimes we spend an enormous amount of emotional energy responding to something we don’t fully understand.

And what is not investigated is not fully understood.

Sometimes a Strength and a Survival Strategy Look Remarkably Similar

I’m not suggesting that every personality trait is secretly a wound.

Some of us really are independent.

Some of us genuinely love achievement.

Some of us are natural caregivers.

Those can be beautiful parts of who we are.

But when strong emotions arise from seemingly small events, we need to be open to the possibility that there may be old programming working quietly in the background—patterns our minds and nervous systems learned through repeated experiences.

Sometimes a strength and a survival strategy look remarkably similar from the outside.

A woman who is incredibly helpful might be generous.

Or she may have learned that being needed is how she earns her place.

A woman who is fiercely independent might be confident.

Or she may have learned that needing people isn’t safe.

A woman who works incredibly hard might be purposeful.

Or she may be trying to outrun the belief that she isn’t enough.

The outward behavior doesn’t tell us everything.

So what is driving me?

Am I moving toward something?

Or am I running away from something?

We’re not trying to answer every question today.

We’re learning to ask better ones.

Where Did I Learn This?

Once you’ve noticed a recurring reaction or belief, ask:

Where did I learn this?

Not:

Who is to blame?

Not:

Whose fault is this?

Simply:

Where did I learn this?

Maybe there is a memory.

Maybe there isn’t.

Maybe it was one experience.

Maybe it was a pattern.

Maybe it came from something someone repeatedly said.

Maybe it came from what nobody said.

Maybe you honestly don’t know.

That’s okay.

We’re not digging backward to build a case against anyone.

We’re trying to understand the map we’ve been using.

Because if I don’t know what shaped my map, I may never think to question whether that map is still accurate.

Is This Belief Still Serving Me?

And eventually, we can ask:

Is this belief still serving me?

Because a belief can begin as protection.

Maybe it helped you navigate a difficult season.

Maybe it helped you earn approval.

Maybe it helped you avoid rejection.

Maybe it helped you stay safe.

There is no shame in that.

But what protected us then doesn’t necessarily belong in the driver’s seat now.

We don’t have to condemn the younger version of ourselves for learning what she needed to learn.

We simply need to become curious about whether that lesson still belongs in our future.

Your Personal Inventory

So this week, I’m not giving you homework.

I’m giving you a map.

Think about one recent reaction that seemed unusually strong.

Not necessarily your biggest pain.

Just something that made you wonder:

“Why is this bothering me so much?”

Write it down.

Then ask:

What happened?

What did I feel?

Have I felt this particular feeling before?

What did I interpret this situation to mean about me?

And then sit with the uncomfortable one:

What would I have to believe about myself for this reaction to make sense?

If you’re willing, take it one step further:

Where might I have learned that?

And finally:

Is this belief still serving me?

Don’t force an answer.

Don’t manufacture a memory.

Don’t criticize yourself for what you discover.

Just become willing to see.

Because we’re not pulling the blanket apart.

We’re learning to recognize the threads.

And once we can see a thread…

We can begin asking what it has been weaving into our lives.

And that’s where we’re going next. 

The Hidden Beliefs Shaping Who You Are: Look for the Threads

The Hidden Beliefs Shaping Who You Are: Look for the Threads

Posted on by mrsmonarch

There is a phrase I have said more times than I can count.

Maybe you have said it too.

“I’m fine.”

Sometimes I actually am.

But there have been plenty of times when “I’m fine” meant something else entirely.

It meant:

I’m not fine at all.

I don’t know how to talk about this.

I don’t have time to fall apart.

I don’t know if this is a safe place to unpack it.

If I start talking about it, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.

Please don’t ask me again.

And sometimes, if I’m really honest, it has meant:

“If I can convince you I’m fine, maybe I can convince myself.”

I don’t think most of us do this because we’re trying to deceive anyone.

I think we do it because we’re trying to keep functioning.

We have things to do. People who need us. Jobs to finish. Meals to make. Messages to answer. Responsibilities to carry.

So we develop little phrases, little habits, little ways of moving through the world that help us keep going when something underneath us is hurting.

“I don’t care.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“I can handle it.”

“I’m just tired.”

“That’s just how I am.”

“I don’t need anybody.”

“I’ll deal with it later.”

Sometimes those things are true.

But sometimes they are cover stories.

And I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what might be underneath them.

Not because I want to diagnose us.

Not because I think every difficult experience from childhood is secretly some enormous trauma.

And certainly not because I think we need to spend the rest of our lives digging around in the past.

Quite the opposite.

I think there may be enormous value in becoming curious about the things we have been carrying without realizing we were carrying them.

Because before we start talking about growth, perhaps we need to know what we’re growing from.

You Can’t Grow an Acre in a Flowerpot

Our culture is absolutely fascinated with growth.

Be better.

Think better.

Eat better.

Exercise more.

Set boundaries.

Build confidence.

Become your best self.

Heal your inner child.

Raise your standards.

Change your mindset.

Set goals.

Get disciplined.

And some of that advice is genuinely good.

But I’ve been thinking about something:

You can’t grow an acre’s worth of garden in a ceramic pot on your porch.

Not without first considering the soil.

What’s already in it?

What’s growing there?

What has taken root?

What’s depleted it?

What’s been buried?

What has been watered?

What has been neglected?

What has been growing quietly beneath the surface while you were busy trying to plant something new?

I think our inner lives work much the same way.

Before we start throwing seeds of self-improvement into the soil, perhaps we should stop and take inventory.

Not because something is wrong with us.

Because where we begin matters.

I Remember Being Picked Last

I can still remember being in third grade, standing on the school playground while teams were being chosen for kickball.

The power players were chosen first.

Then came everybody else.

I was the second-to-last kid chosen.

And even then, I wasn’t really chosen because somebody wanted me on their team. There was one other girl left, and apparently I was considered the slightly less risky liability.

I remember the feeling.

Pick me.

The embarrassment of standing there while name after name was called.

The quiet humiliation of being passed over.

And the painful realization that nobody seemed particularly excited to have me.

I wasn’t sitting there thinking about childhood development or self-esteem.

I was a little girl.

I just knew it hurt.

And I don’t know exactly what that moment contributed to the woman I became.

Maybe it contributed something.

Maybe it didn’t.

Maybe it was one tiny thread among many.

That’s actually the point.

Not every formative experience is huge.

It doesn’t have to be catastrophic.

It doesn’t have to qualify as trauma.

It doesn’t even have to be something we remember clearly.

Sometimes it’s a comment.

A comparison.

A rejection.

A moment of embarrassment.

A time we felt invisible.

A time we were praised only when we performed well.

A time we learned that someone else’s happiness seemed more important than our own feelings.

A time we needed comfort and didn’t know how to ask for it.

Sometimes it’s one event.

Sometimes it’s a hundred little ones.

And sometimes those experiences begin weaving themselves together.

Look for the Threads

Think about a blanket.

When you’re wrapped up in one, you don’t see thousands of individual threads.

You feel warmth.

You feel comfort.

You feel protected.

But the blanket is nothing more than a vast collection of individual threads woven together.

Our lives are like that.

A moment happens.

We experience it.

We interpret it.

We decide what it means.

Then another experience comes along.

And another.

And another.

Sometimes the experiences aren’t even objectively the same.

But they feel the same.

And somewhere inside us something whispers:

“See? There it is again.”

I wasn’t chosen.

See? There it is again.

I’m being overlooked.

See? There it is again.

Someone else was preferred.

See? There it is again.

I’m disappointing somebody.

See? There it is again.

I’m not enough.

And eventually, those individual experiences can become woven together so tightly that we stop seeing them as individual threads at all.

They become part of the blanket.

Part of the way we see ourselves.

Part of the way we interpret other people.

Part of the way we make decisions.

Part of the way we protect ourselves.

Sometimes even part of what we call “just who I am.”

What If Today’s Reaction Isn’t Entirely About Today?

Have you ever had a reaction that surprised even you?

Something happens and suddenly you’re way more hurt than you think you should be.

A comment.

A rejection.

Someone else’s silence.

A friend’s choice.

A spouse’s behavior.

A criticism.

Being left out.

Feeling ignored.

And you find yourself thinking:

“Why is this affecting me this much?”

Instead of immediately telling yourself you’re overreacting, what if you became curious?

Ask:

Is my reaction entirely about what is happening right now?

Maybe it is.

But maybe today’s event has touched an old thread.

Ask yourself:

Have I felt this particular feeling before?

When?

Where?

With whom?

What was happening?

And then, perhaps the hardest question:

What did younger me decide about herself the other times she felt this way?

Maybe she decided:

I’m not important.

I’m not pretty enough.

I’m too much.

I’m not enough.

I have to work harder to be chosen.

I can’t depend on people.

My needs are inconvenient.

If I make everybody happy, they’ll stay.

If I’m useful, I’ll be valuable.

If I never need anything, nobody can disappoint me.

We may not consciously remember making these decisions.

Children don’t usually sit down and formulate beliefs about themselves.

They experience something and try to make sense of it with the information they have.

And sometimes the explanation they come up with follows them into adulthood.

This Isn’t About Blaming the Past

I want to be very careful here.

We’re not building a courtroom.

We’re not trying to find somebody to blame for every insecurity we have ever experienced.

And we’re not going to turn ordinary childhood moments into diagnoses.

We’re investigating.

That’s different.

Because something can have affected you without being the single cause of everything you struggle with.

Someone else’s choices can hurt you without becoming their permanent ownership of your identity.

And a childhood experience can matter without needing to be labeled catastrophic.

We’re simply becoming curious about the threads.

Because sometimes today’s reaction isn’t entirely about today.

Sometimes today’s moment is touching something that has been woven into us for a very long time.

And We Don’t Have to Pull the Whole Blanket Apart

That’s important, too.

We’re not going backward so we can live there.

We’re going backward just far enough to understand what came forward with us.

We’re not digging through our past because we’re broken.

We’re digging because what we don’t understand can quietly continue to influence us.

And eventually, what we have never examined can begin to feel like identity.

That’s just who I am.

I’m just sensitive.

I’m just a perfectionist.

I’m just independent.

I’m just a worrier.

I’m just not good with conflict.

But what if some of those things aren’t simply personality?

What if some of them are learned responses?

What if some of them began as protection?

What if something that protected us then is quietly imprisoning us now?

I don’t know.

And neither do you.

Not yet.

That’s why we’re going to investigate.

So This Week, Just Notice

I don’t want to give you a neat little three-step plan for fixing your life.

Life doesn’t work that way.

Neither does healing.

Instead, I want to invite you to become curious.

Maybe this week isn’t about figuring yourself out.

Maybe it’s simply about noticing.

Pay attention to the phrases you reach for when you’re overwhelmed.

Pay attention to the moments when your reaction seems bigger than the circumstance.

Pay attention to the feelings that seem strangely familiar.

Pay attention when something happens and a little voice inside you says:

“See? There it is again.”

You don’t have to figure out what it means yet.

You don’t have to force a memory.

You don’t have to decide that you’ve discovered the one event responsible for everything that has ever happened to you.

Just notice.

Maybe write it down.

And if something keeps tugging at your attention, let yourself become curious about it.

Because sometimes the first step toward healing isn’t changing anything.

Sometimes it’s finally seeing what is there.

Find One Thread

Maybe you have a phrase.

Maybe you have a reaction you don’t understand.

Maybe you have a feeling that seems strangely familiar.

Maybe you have a memory from childhood that you’ve never considered important.

Maybe you have absolutely no idea where to begin.

That’s okay.

We’re not looking for drama. We’re looking for patterns.

So don’t try to pull your entire blanket apart.

Just find one thread.

Hold it gently.

Look at it without judgment.

Wonder where it might lead.

Because we’re going to spend some time together over the next several weeks learning what to do with the things we uncover.

We’re going to look at the beliefs hiding underneath our coping mechanisms.

We’re going to examine what those beliefs have been doing in our relationships, our choices, our boundaries, our self-image, our striving, and even our attempts at self-improvement.

And eventually, we’re going to ask whether some of the things we have been trying so hard to change aren’t actually the things that need changing at all.

Maybe what needs changing is why we’re doing them.

Maybe the goal isn’t to become someone else.

Maybe it’s to become whole.

But we can’t begin to understand that until we know what we’re carrying.

So this week, don’t fix anything.

Don’t judge anything.

Don’t unravel the whole blanket.

Just look for the threads.

And if you find one…

write it down.

Because…

We’re going to need that thread. 🦋

 

Until Next Time,