Wounds To Scars

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  • Breaking the Silence: Why Vulnerability Is Essential in Church Communities

    Breaking the Silence: Why Vulnerability Is Essential in Church Communities

    Embracing vulnerability in our church communities can lead to deeper connections, increased empathy, and a more supportive environment for all members.

    Yesterday, I had a conversation with a friend about the profound impact of silence on topics that are meaningful to us. We also talked about how that silence can impact our lives. For example, I shared the hurt I felt when I shared the story of my miscarriage and met with silence from people who had shown interest in my pregnancy.

    People’s fear of sharing is a significant problem within many church communities: the pervasive fear of judgment influences a resulting reluctance to be vulnerable.

    Shame and the fear of feeling not good enough can silence us in environments where judgment dominates. These feelings are particularly damaging in surroundings where you expect acceptance and understanding but encounter criticism or gossip. It’s ironic because the church should be the safest place for us to share our struggles, yet for many, it feels like the last place they can be open about their challenges. The fear of judgment is so intense that it prevents people from sharing their true selves, leading to isolation and a sense of not belonging.

    A quote I once heard resonates deeply with this struggle: “Shame dies in safe spaces.” To me, this means that if I have a story that fills me with shame, I can only begin to heal and find relief by sharing it in a space where I feel truly safe and supported. But what happens when the very place that should be a sanctuary feels like a place of judgment? For those of us who have been hurt within the church, this question is all too familiar. Instead of finding comfort and understanding, we sometimes encounter the opposite: criticism, gossip, and an overwhelming fear of being exposed.

    As someone who has spent many years in the church, I’ve learned that the congregation comprises a diverse group of people, each on their unique spiritual journey. Many of us find ourselves in that messy in-between space of growth, where we are painfully aware of our weaknesses. The challenge is navigating this journey while fostering an environment where openness and honesty are encouraged and everyone feels safe enough to admit they are not okay.

    Creating a Safe Space

    Creating such a safe space within the church is vital. It’s about building an environment where confessions of wrong doing are met with trust, support, and the assurance of confidentiality. But too often, the opposite occurs. The fear of being met with judgment leads to a refusal to share, resulting in a community where everyone wears masks of perfection while silently suffering beneath the surface.

    One key reason people avoid vulnerability in church is the absence of compassion. As Brene Brown, a renowned researcher on vulnerability, often emphasizes, courage, compassion, and connection are essential tools for living a wholehearted life. Yet, these qualities can be hard to find in environments where judgment overshadows understanding. The lack of compassion creates a barrier to genuine connection, making it difficult for people to open up and share their struggles.

    Ways to Improve Community

    A woman once asked me how we could grow closer as a church community. My response was simple yet revealing: “Have a problem too. I can’t be the only one with a problem.” In church settings, people keep their problems hidden, working hard to maintain an image of having it all together. But the reality is many are struggling beneath the surface, just like you. The pressure to appear perfect is overwhelming, and those who know they aren’t fine often feel out of place and eventually drift away. Who wants to stay in a place where they constantly feel like they don’t measure up?

    This culture of perfectionism is not just a problem; it’s damaging. It creates an environment where people must hide their struggles, leading to a lack of genuine connection within the church. The very thing that should bring us closer—our shared humanity and the struggles that come with it—becomes the thing that drives us apart.

    To counter this, we must create a church culture where vulnerability is accepted, valued, and supported. Building this kind of environment means intentionally fostering an atmosphere of trust and compassion where people feel safe sharing their struggles without fear of judgment. It means recognizing that everyone has problems and that it’s okay to admit when things aren’t okay.

    In doing so, we can dismantle the barriers that keep us from being vulnerable and, instead, build a community where people can be honest with one another. A church should be a place of refuge, not where people must hide their true selves. By embracing vulnerability and creating a culture of compassion, we can transform the church into a space where shame dies, and healing begins.

    Start your journey to wholehearted living. Join HERE

  • Wholehearted Living as a Parent

    Wholehearted Living as a Parent

    Last week, my youngest child approached me, clearly troubled. I could tell something was wrong by the way he was moving around the house. At 14, he’s usually calm, fun, and light-hearted, but I’ve learned to recognise when he’s upset. As he hesitated before speaking, I asked if he was okay. He responded with a simple “yes,” but I knew better. When I inquired further, asking if there was anything he wanted to talk about, he denied it. Although I knew he wasn’t being truthful, I decided to give him the space to come to me when he was ready.

    Not long after, while I was deeply engrossed in work, he returned, ready to talk. The look in his eyes and his body language indicated this would be a difficult conversation. I set aside my work, removed my glasses, and gave him my full attention.

    As he began speaking, I felt my body tense up. His tone was off—sharp and questioning—without the expected respect, and I felt defensive. How dare he question my decisions? But then, I felt the gentle nudge of the Holy Spirit, reminding me to be still and listen beyond the tone of his voice. He was trying to express genuine concerns and disappointments as best as possible.

    When he finished speaking, I acknowledged the tone and gently explained how he could express his concerns more respectfully, even when upset. He hadn’t realised his delivery lacked respect, and I used the moment to teach him about emotional expression. I also recognised that sometimes, when we leave essential issues unaddressed, they can build up, leading to an emotional outburst by the time we’re ready to confront them.

    While I was careful not to make him feel wrong for bringing up an issue that was important to him, the conversation made me reflect deeply on my decision-making as a parent. I realised that much of my parenting is rooted in fear—fear born from my knowledge of potential dangers and emotional reasoning. I often feel that they are safe as long as my children are at home. But I’m also aware that I’m raising children who need to be confident and self-assured, know they are protected, and know how to call on God in times of trouble. This fear isn’t entirely rational, yet it feels genuine.

    Origin Story

    A significant part of my fear stems from my formative years, growing up with an overprotective father who said “no” out of fear. I vividly remember the day I realised my fear drove some of my father’s decisions.

    We were rarely allowed to attend community or church events, but one day, my older sister paid for us to go on a church trip. I was in my mid-teens, and we had a great day at the beach. When we returned to the community around 1 AM, everyone was asleep, and the streets were empty.

    As the bus pulled into the square, I saw my father standing there, waiting for us. It was then that I understood—his fear of something happening to us had kept him from giving us the freedom to grow.

    Despite my intention not to replicate my father’s fear in my parenting decisions, I found that the values I had learned came with me and influenced many of my choices. I became conscious of this ever-present fear and the instinct to say “no” as a default. To counter this, I’ve practised discussing things, praying over decisions, and sharing my concerns with my children.

    As I strive to give my children more room to grow, I remain mindful of two things:

    1. The emotions in my body need regulating.
    2. The young person I once was, who lived through the fear and lacked the freedoms I’m now trying to give my children.

    This process can be exhausting. Sometimes, it’s easier to say “no” than to deal with the flood of emotions and the need to regulate them to remain present and functional for other responsibilities and life events. However, I’m committed to reinforcing my love in words and actions so that as my children explore the world and build the skills to live in it, they do so from a place of emotional security.

    Reparenting Myself

    The challenge of the teen years for me isn’t so much about dealing with their spontaneity or impulsiveness, which is common among teens. It’s not even about them testing boundaries or challenging authority. The real challenge, and one that I believe many of you can relate to, is giving them what I didn’t have—an emotional connection that allows them the room to grow.

    Parenting during the teen years requires me to sit with, face, and address the source of my fears. It demands I use cognitive tools to reframe my thoughts and emotional regulation techniques to calm my body.

    Sometimes, these emotional tools tempt me to take the easy way out and say “no.” But that wouldn’t be fair to my children’s growth or myself.

    As someone deeply committed to understanding how my origin story impacts my parenting, I’ve had to remain open to how these influences manifest. This commitment is not always easy, but it’s a journey I’m dedicated to and one that can bring about growth and understanding.

    Moving Forward

    I recognise that my children may need therapy as they grow older because of the way some of my origin stories shaped me as a parent.

    As they encounter the impact of my decisions, influenced by my fears and past experiences, I want them to understand that I’m doing my best to make decisions that promote their growth and emotional security. I strive to be honest with them and not blame them for my actions.

    Wholehearted living as a parent means embracing the messiness of growth—for both my children and myself. It means acknowledging the fears that drive my decisions and working through them so I can parent from a place of love rather than fear. It’s about allowing my children the freedom to explore the world while knowing they are deeply loved and supported.

    As I move forward on this journey, I’m learning to balance my instinct to protect with the need to give my children the space to become who God intends them to be. I believe many of you can relate to this struggle, and I’m committed to achieving a balance as I continue to reparent myself and pass on these gifts to my children.

    Start your journey to wholehearted living. Join HERE

  • Making Friends as an Introvert

    Making Friends as an Introvert

    As an introvert, the most challenging part of making friends is engaging someone new in conversation or trying to join an established group. Why? Breaking the ice is problematic because it requires talking, which is exhausting and takes effort. I’m not a fan of conversing just for the sake of it; small talk, in particular, drains me.

    However, a few years ago, I realized that if I wanted to build a brand focused on helping women heal, I would need to step out of my comfort zone and embrace change. I was willing to learn how to listen to conversations I had no interest in because I cared about the people having them.

    I tried for a long time but must have engaged with the wrong people because I encountered rebuffs that could have put me off making friends forever. At that point, I considered retreating to my small, well-curated circle, where it’s safe and everyone knows and accepts my idiosyncrasies.

    Those rejections nearly succeeded in pushing me back into my comfort zone. But I was determined to reach more people and grow. I also wanted to prove I wasn’t stuck-up, unfriendly, or arrogant—labels often unfairly assigned to introverts. At that time, I let others’ opinions dictate too much of my actions.

    It’s never wise to change for others, but I must admit that proving that I was friendly influenced my decisions. With this in mind, I decided to befriend and support my husband’s friend’s wife. Even if we didn’t become close, connecting over shared interests like cooking and food would be nice.

    She wanted to change her diet and didn’t know where to start, so I saw this as my opportunity. I’ve been plant-based for many years and consider myself an okay cook, so I offered to help.

    I still remember the anticipation that morning in the kitchen as I made breakfast for my family and discussed vegan food. It seemed like the perfect opening. “I’m going to make myself friendly,” I thought.

    My husband, who doesn’t fully understand the nuances of being an introvert, always says, “Those who want friends must make themselves friendly.” He has many sound bites for different situations.

    So, I thought her interest in veganism was an excellent opportunity and said, “Since you work near our house, maybe we could meet for a drink sometime. I’d be happy to share some recipes and tips.”

    At that moment, it felt like the air left the room. We looked at each other, and I saw a fierce look in this woman’s eyes. My gut told me what was coming next—it was a feeling I’d experienced before.

    The conversation went like this: “I don’t have many women friends…”

    I thought, “Me too.” But I didn’t share that this experiment allowed me to step out of my comfort zone. What was the point if it wasn’t going well? For years after one difficult rejection, I retreated to where I felt comfortable.

    I returned to the present to hear her say, “I don’t need women friends; I’m not that kind of person. I have all I need.” It felt like being kicked in the gut again.
    I smiled and said, “That’s okay.”

    Over time, I’ve realized that when women say, “I don’t have women friends,” it’s not about me. It dawned on me that I was trying to connect with the wrong people. Not everyone can be “your people.” I wasn’t asking for a deep sisterhood; I didn’t need to hear her secrets— I was asking to meet up, share recipes, and maintain an acquaintance. But I wonder if the possibility of a closer connection scared her. Was she worried she’d have to share things she didn’t want to?

    As difficult as that experience was, I learned the power and courage to put myself out there and risk rejection.

    We all probably fear rejection. It’s uncomfortable, shaming, and can be traumatic. The feelings that accompany rejection can linger for a long time. They can be messy, and some people remain in shame for years without the right tools to help them release shame.

    Rejection can stir up feelings of inadequacy, making you question your worth—especially when the people you’re trying to connect with don’t see the value you offer.

    I have learnt that no one can make me feel ashamed, and the feelings associated with rejection are not necessarily the actions of the person but thoughts I already had about myself.

    If I enter the conversation feeling inadequate, someone’s decision not to engage with me can influence feelings of shame that can make me question my value. They didn’t ask my value; I did.

    Releasing feelings of shame and choosing not to be impacted by rejection sent me processing origin stories connected to loss, abandonment, and rejection. I took time to understand the stories that shaped my understanding of myself and the stories that still existed that triggered feelings of rejection.

    Taking a closer look at those stories and doing the work to process and heal gave me the tools to make a different choice each time I feel rejected. In those moments, I could choose to accept feelings of shame or to feel something else.

    I can own the sadness associated with rejection, comfort myself, and choose to move forward. I can also tell myself why I feel the way I do and decide to release those emotions.

    Our thoughts influence how we feel, so it is crucial always to be mindful of them. Cognitive distortions, such as mind reading, can cloud judgment and influence incorrect feelings.

    Despite this, I continue to step out of my comfort zone and face the fear of rejection in my efforts to connect with women. The world is a lonely place, and many are searching for community. We can be open to genuine connections that help us and the people we connect with.

    Start your journey to wholehearted living. Join HERE

  • Wholehearted living as a Christian Woman

    Wholehearted living as a Christian Woman

    I empower Christian women to heal from trauma and live authentic lives aligned with their faith. By guiding them to discover their true selves in Scripture, I help them embark on a journey of wholehearted living. Having struggled with internalized shame and the need to please others, I understand the challenges many face.

    I once used busyness and service as a shield to hide my shame, but I came to realize that I was not living authentically in my Christian walk. Deciding to let go of this facade, I discovered that true discipleship requires honesty and vulnerability. The journey toward wholehearted living is challenging but leads to freedom.

    I learned to value and accept myself independent of others’ opinions. Now, my worthiness is grounded in my identity as a child of God rather than in external factors.

    When you internalize shame, it feels like everyone can see it—that everyone can see you’re not good enough. My antidote to that was becoming the best people-pleaser around. I believed I could work my way into God’s heart the same way I tried to make myself indispensable to friends and family.

    No one told me this was unsustainable, and even if they had, I’m not sure I would have listened. My counsellor during that time couldn’t reach me, though she tried. One day, she handed me a list of positive words on several small pieces of paper. She said, “These words describe how I see you.” She explained that seeing yourself differently from how others see you is a sign of low self-esteem.

    That truth hurt, and I hated her for daring to tell the truth, but I kept those words. I couldn’t connect with them, so I tucked them away in a book on my shelf for years. Yet, they never left my mind. Every time I walked by that book, it stood out, urging me to take another look and connect with those words.

    That moment began my courageous journey toward authenticity, starting with myself. Wholehearted living as a Christian is not for the faint-hearted; it demands courage and support.

    As you embark on wholehearted living, others may label you as problematic or not Christian enough. People who once benefited from your people-pleasing might struggle to accept that you no longer serve them in the same way. But remember, this journey ultimately leads to a profound sense of freedom.

    The Journey

    As I embarked on what I now know was wholehearted living, I dropped every position I held in the church. I wanted to test whether I would still love God if I didn’t feel the need to appease Him. Living an inauthentic Christian life creates a lack of honesty in your relationship with God. The busyness and service were more about trying to please Him and finding places where I belonged rather than true discipleship. Many Christians don’t yet understand or accept that we entirely belong to God, and nothing we do can change that.

    Society conditioned us to believe that our worthiness—even to God—depends on our actions. The rewards we get from people-pleasing in our relationships bleed into our relationship with God. But when you commit to wholehearted living, you must face the truth about who you are and learn how to bring that truth to God.

    At first, it feels exposing, and you may want to hide, but as you learn to sit in His presence, naked and unashamed, you begin to see yourself as He sees you. Brene’ Brown said that wholehearted living involves our head and heart. It’s work that requires intentionality and the willingness to feel all the emotions that come with it. It’s not surface-level work; it involves depth, honesty, and the courage to touch on the places we try to hide.

    Honesty

    I learned that God values honesty above all. Despite all my work and good deeds, He just wanted me to be honest. He wanted me to own my past and mistakes and believe in myself and what He said about me.

    Over the years, I slowly learned to trust that He doesn’t need me to do anything for Him to love me. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” John 3:16.

    Beginning to accept and settle into that love entirely freed me. While the work of living out that freedom is ongoing, it has had a massive impact on my marriage, parenting, and friendships. It has enabled me to be honest in any room, to express how I feel, and to embrace who I am.

    I let go of many religious practices that I only did to appease God. Friendships changed, and I learned what it takes to belong to myself, to love and accept myself without sacrificing who I am to be accepted by others. My worthiness comes from God— I am who He says I am—not the length of my skirt, my diet, how I serve, or my connections.

    Courage

    Wholehearted living as a Christian woman is boldly accepting the truth of who you are in Christ. Embrace that truth and allow it to influence every area of your life.

    Start your journey to wholehearted living. Join HERE