Sometimes, I realize, I can be a lot for you—more than you asked for, more than you needed.
In an attempt to make sure that everyone gets what they need, I reach out early, plan ahead, and try to identify what could go wrong so I can fix it before it even happens. What I didn’t understand was that what felt like love to me felt like pressure to you.
For a long time, I didn’t really understand what you were trying to say. I didn’t get it.
I didn’t know that love can also feel like there’s no room to breathe.
I thought love was showing up prepared. I thought love was remembering what everyone liked. I thought love was making sure no one felt forgotten. I thought love was making sure everyone got along and stayed happy.
I thought love was doing.
We repeat what was transferred to us from previous generations and without understanding, we repeat it even when we think we aren’t. That isn’t to blame our parents or grandparents because I think we’re all just trying to do the best we can. That doesn’t make it okay. It doesn’t excuse that I should have known better.
When your children are young, your job is to keep them safe. Our responsibility is to protect our family. When you were little, that made sense. But somewhere along the way, that role began to shift.
Over time, my identity came from keeping everyone around me safe and happy. Sometimes that meant invalidating emotions and unintentionally taking away your freedom to make choices—especially ones I thought were wrong.
I didn’t realize I was building my identity around you— which probably often felt like I was trying to control.
But I didn’t leave enough space for you to choose me.
So when I was told I was a lot, it didn’t just hurt. It collapsed the whole structure.
If love wasn’t wanted, then what did I have to give? Who was I?
Here’s the part I didn’t understand then—but am learning now:
Intent doesn’t cancel impact.
I wasn’t trying to control. I wasn’t trying to crowd. I wasn’t trying to demand closeness
I confused doing with connection. I confused effort with safety.
I see now that love also needs restraint. That closeness grows where there is freedom to choose. That people don’t pull away because they aren’t loved— but because they don’t feel free.
A Hard Lesson to Learn:
You didn’t pull back because I failed to love you. You pulled back because I didn’t know how to stop loving at you instead of with you.
I’m learning now—late, imperfectly—to sit instead of reach. To wait instead of anticipate. To trust that I don’t have to prove my place.
I don’t know what repair looks like yet, but understanding is reshaping how I love.
In Part 1, we saw Alex and Jordan start the same project with the same resources—but end up in very different places. Jordan finished. Alex didn’t. The difference wasn’t skill or time; it was mindset: agency and locus of control.
But here’s the deeper question: Where do those mindsets come from? They don’t appear out of thin air. They’re often written into our lives early on—through what psychologists call life scripts.
Life Scripts: The Messages We Grow Up With
From childhood, we absorb messages about our worth, capability, and control. These messages often come from caregivers and environments that shape how we see ourselves and the world.
Script 1: “No matter what you do, it’s never good enough.”
Common in homes marked by dysfunction or trauma.
Children learn that effort doesn’t lead to approval, so why try?
This erodes agency—the belief that actions matter—and fosters an external locus of control: “Others decide if I succeed.”
Script 2: “I’ll take care of everything for you.”
Common in overprotective or enmeshed families.
Children learn that someone else will handle challenges, so they don’t develop problem-solving skills.
This creates dependency and low agency: “I can’t do this without help.”
These scripts don’t just influence childhood—they echo into adulthood, shaping how we respond to obstacles.
Flow of Influence
Our actions don’t happen in isolation—they’re shaped by layers of belief formed long before adulthood. Here’s the progression:
Life Scripts → Beliefs → Behaviors → Outcomes
Life Scripts: The messages we absorb early on, like “You’ll never be good enough” or “Someone else will handle it.”
Beliefs: These scripts become internal truths—“I can’t succeed” or “I’m not capable.”
Behaviors: Beliefs drive actions. If you think effort doesn’t matter, you procrastinate or give up easily.
Understanding this flow helps us see that changing outcomes starts with rewriting the script—not just forcing new behaviors.
Alex and Jordan Revisited
Alex’s inner voice: “Why bother? This isn’t going to work.”
Likely rooted in a script of inadequacy or learned helplessness.
When faced with an obstacle, Alex defaults to frustration and withdrawal.
Jordan’s inner voice: “What’s another way to solve this?”
Likely rooted in a script of capability and autonomy.
Jordan sees obstacles as problems to solve, not proof of failure.
Same project. Same supplies. Different scripts.
Why This Matters
When we understand that these patterns often come from early experiences—not laziness or lack of ambition—we can approach change with compassion. Trauma-informed thinking reminds us: People aren’t broken; they’re shaped by what they’ve lived through.
Rewriting the Script
The good news? Scripts aren’t permanent. Here are ways to start rewriting them:
Notice the voice: When you hear “Why bother?” pause and ask, “Whose voice is this? Mine—or an old message?”
Challenge the belief: Replace “I can’t” with “I can try.”
Build small wins: Success—even tiny—rebuilds agency.
Seek support: Therapy, coaching, or trusted relationships can help unpack old scripts.
Practice autonomy: Make decisions, even small ones, and own the outcome.
Closing Thought
Alex and Jordan’s story isn’t about personality—it’s about programming. If your script says, “You can’t,” you can rewrite it. Agency grows with practice. Control shifts when you believe your actions matter. And that belief? It’s the foundation for becoming a person who does.
If you missed Part 1, start there to understand the foundation: why agency and locus of control matter—and how they shape whether we finish what we start. It sets the stage for everything we’ve explored here.
If this series resonates with you, please like, share, or comment to help others discover it. Your engagement helps spread these important insights—and might just inspire someone to rewrite their own script.
“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.” — Philippians 2:3–4.
A reminder as we consider how to speak truth with both courage and compassion.
Introduction
Not long ago, I found myself in a social media conversation that left me unsettled. The debate wasn’t hostile, but it raised questions I couldn’t ignore:
What is the difference between arrogance and confidence?
How do we share truth in ways that invite rather than impose?
These questions extend far beyond a single online discussion. They explore how Christians engage with a hurting world, how leaders convey conviction, and how we embody both courage and compassion in our witness.
Arrogance vs. Confidence
At first glance, arrogance and confidence might look similar. Both involve speaking strongly, standing firmly, and refusing to shrink back. But the roots are different:
Arrogance springs from pride, assuming authority over others and dismissing other voices.
Confidence is grounded in humility, anchored in truth, and willing to listen even while speaking firmly.
Jesus Himself modeled this beautifully. When the teachers of the law and Pharisees brought a woman caught in adultery to Him—trying to trap Him—He did not react with arrogance or hostility. Instead, in quiet confidence, Jesus called out the leaders who were misusing their authority while simultaneously offering compassion to the woman. His words, “Go and sin no more” (John 8:11), combined justice and mercy, exposing hypocrisy in leaders while extending mercy to the hurting, showing confident truth tempered by love.
Confidence allows truth to shine without needing to dominate, while arrogance seeks to control, condemn, or elevate oneself.
Loud and Quiet Voices
There are times when truth must be spoken loudly and without apology. Peter at Pentecost boldly proclaimed repentance, and three thousand people came to faith (Acts 2). The prophets roared with urgency when God’s people wandered far from Him, calling them back to faithfulness (Isaiah 1:4; Jeremiah 7:13; Hosea 6:1).
But there are also times when God speaks in whispers. Elijah, fresh from calling down fire from heaven, discovered that the Lord was not in the wind, earthquake, or fire—but in a gentle whisper (1 Kings 19:11–12). That whisper reminded him that God’s presence does not always thunder.
The Spirit equips some of us to roar and others to whisper. Both matter. Both are faithful. Perhaps the difference between roaring and whispering is grounded in the context of the situation and the people being addressed?
Imposing vs. Proposing
This is where arrogance and confidence intersect with method. Imposing truth demands agreement. It insists that others not only hear but also conform. Imposing is about lifting self. Proposing truth, on the other hand, offers truth in love—allowing the Spirit to convict, persuade, and transform. Proposing is about lifting Christ.
Not all pastors, faith leaders, or followers are called to the same methods—some preach loudly, others shepherd quietly. To impose one method as the only faithful way risks arrogance and reflects insecurity. To propose truth with conviction, while leaving room for God’s Spirit to work, reflects confidence.
The Body of Christ: Different Gifts, Same Mission
Paul reminds us that the body of Christ is made of many members with different gifts (1 Corinthians 12:4–7). Peter was bold and outspoken, John tender and relational, Thomas questioning, and Paul reasoning with culture. Each served the same Lord, but their methods varied. Each had the same mission- bring people to a life-changing decision- but the way the mission was acted upon varied based on the gifts and personality of the messenger and the context of when, where, and to whom it was delivered.
In the same way, God still calls His people to different expressions of faithfulness. Some will stand in pulpits or speak publicly. Others will sit quietly beside the grieving or pray fervently behind closed doors. Both proclaim Christ—one through fire, the other through whisper.
Spirit-Led Self-Reflection
The world doesn’t need more arrogance disguised as zeal. It needs confident believers who can proclaim truth with humility, wisdom, and compassion.
That begins with self-reflection and reliance on the clear guidance of the Holy Spirit. When I find myself eager to speak “truth” or impose my “righteous views,” I often discover that impulse has more to do with me—my pride, my frustration, my desire to be heard—than with God’s mission. In contrast, when I find myself reluctant to act, I’ve learned that it is often the Spirit’s gentle leading.
God created us with emotions, physical sensations, and thoughts that work together to help us know ourselves more deeply. When we pay attention to those internal signals, we become more attuned to the Spirit’s voice. That self-awareness helps us recognize whether we are acting out of arrogance or confidence, from a place of self or as an outworking of the Spirit.
Too often, people speak “truth” in arrogance and impose their convictions on others in the name of Jesus. But when that happens, they miss important biblical messages—messages that balance truth and love. Paul reminds us that without love, even the boldest truth becomes just “a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal” (1 Corinthians 13:1).
Scripture cautions against arrogance in many ways:
“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves” (Philippians 2:3).
“Knowledge puffs up while love builds up” (1 Corinthians 8:1).
“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry” (James 1:19).
Self-reflection, guided by the Spirit, helps us resist arrogance and embrace humility so that truth can be spoken in love.
Conclusion
Confidence in Christ is not about silencing ourselves, nor is it about shouting the loudest. It’s about discerning when to speak and when to listen, when to roar like Peter and when to whisper like Elijah. It’s about speaking the truth in love, not using truth as a weapon to wound.
May we be people who:
Speak with confidence, not arrogance.
Share truth by proposing, not imposing.
Practice self-reflection, allowing the Spirit to expose when our zeal is about us rather than Christ.
Trust the Spirit to work through both whispers and roars, fire and gentle breeze.
Because in the end, whether through loud preaching or quiet presence, the goal is the same: that every word and action would point people to Jesus with both courage and compassion.
Note: All Scripture quotations in this blog are taken from The NIV Study Bible (10th Anniversary ed.; Zondervan, 2000), unless otherwise indicated.
References
Zondervan. (2000). The NIV Study Bible (10th Anniversary ed.). Zondervan.
