From Giving It All to God… to Finding It in Me

There was always a script.

After giving a talk at the Kingdom Hall, someone would come up to me and say I did a great job. And I always wanted to say thank you. I worked really hard. I practiced. I showed up nervous and did it anyway.

But that’s not what I said.

I said, “it’s all Jehovah.”

Because that’s what we were taught.

Nothing came from me. If I did well, it was because I prayed enough. Because Jehovah helped calm my nerves. Because if he could make a rock speak, he could make me speak. My job was just to put it in. Study, research, prepare. And then he would pull it out of me.

So even when I did everything… it still wasn’t mine.

And I think somewhere along the way, I absorbed something deeper than just humility.

I absorbed that I don’t have power.

Because if it all comes from God, then what does that leave me with?

Nothing.

Not my effort. Not my growth. Not my voice.

And I can see now how that didn’t just stay in the Kingdom Hall.

It followed me into everything.

Not a day goes by that I don’t feel the pull to give credit to someone else. To shrink what I’ve done. To share it. To redirect it. To bring glory to somebody else’s name instead of my own.

Even saying that out loud surprised me.

Because it’s the same language. Just repackaged.

And it still lives in me.

I see it now in moments like goal setting. Committing to things, creating things, showing up… and then feeling like it’s not enough. Like I’m not good enough. Like what I’ve done doesn’t count unless it looks a certain way.

Or when someone gives me feedback.

Recently someone said their experience of me was fearful and timid.

And at first, I was angry. Hurt.

Because I knew that wasn’t me.

But then the old voice came in.

“Maybe it is. Maybe something is wrong with you.”

That voice is familiar. Critical. Trying to keep me safe. Echoing everything I was taught.

But this time, I didn’t just absorb it.

I paused.

And I remembered… that’s their experience of me. Filtered through their beliefs. Their lens. Something I can consider, but not take on as truth.

And I saw something different.

What they called fear… is actually my softness.

And my softness is not a weakness.

It’s my strength.

It’s what allows me to sit with people in pain. To create safe spaces. To show up with vulnerability and authenticity. To connect in a way that someone without that might not be able to.

And I felt proud of myself for seeing that.

Proud of myself for not abandoning who I am.

That’s new.

Because there was a time where I wouldn’t have trusted that knowing. I would have overridden it. Chosen the “right” answer. The acceptable answer.

But now…

I’m starting to see who I actually am.

I’ve done things. I’ve created things. I’ve raised incredible children. I run a successful business. I’ve built a support group that is helping people walk away from something that shaped their entire identity.

I did that.

And even saying that… still feels a little uncomfortable.

But it also feels true.

And I think that’s the real struggle.

Not that the old voice is there

but that I’m learning I don’t have to listen to it

Awareness is the first step.

Noticing when I’m giving credit away. Noticing when I’m shrinking myself. Noticing when I start to believe I’m not enough.

And instead of beating myself up for it… just seeing it.

Because that voice doesn’t go away overnight.

It still shows up.

But now, there’s another voice too.

One that says… I know who I am.

One that’s starting to believe that what I was taught was a weakness…

was actually my strength all along.

And that it doesn’t come from somewhere outside of me.

It comes from me.