Is My Worth Still Holy If I Disappoint You?
Approval, church leadership, and identity
For a long time, I believed that being in good standing with you meant being in good standing with God.
That if I had your approval — your covering, your blessing, your nod —
I was safe.
I was right.
I was worthy.
So I tried.
I stayed teachable.
I served without questioning.
I made myself easy to lead, easy to love, easy to claim.
And when I started to grow in ways you didn’t expect —
when I started asking deeper questions, setting harder boundaries,
when I began choosing truth over silence —
the warmth changed.
And I learned the unspoken rule:
Belonging here depends on your ability to not disappoint us.
✧ Have you ever felt your worth tied to someone else’s spiritual approval?
✧ What did you lose trying to stay “safe” in someone else’s eyes?
I carried the fear of disappointing church leaders like it was my cross to bear.
The fear of being seen as rebellious, prideful, difficult.
The fear of being misunderstood or quietly pushed out.
The fear of losing the community I loved for simply becoming more myself.
Because in so many church spaces, compliance is praised and conformity is spiritualized.
And calling it “submission” doesn’t make it less suffocating.
But I’ve come to learn something holy:
God’s view of me doesn’t shift when someone in power is uncomfortable with my growth.
My calling doesn’t disappear just because it stops fitting their narrative.
And my worth — even when I disappoint you — remains sacred. Untouchable. Whole.
✧ What if disappointing people isn’t the same as disappointing God?
✧ Who benefits when you stay small to stay approved? Who suffers when you don’t?
I’ve disappointed people I once looked up to.
I’ve chosen honesty over harmony.
I’ve walked away from roles that made me feel useful but not seen.
And yes, it hurt.
The silence. The distance. The shift.
But it also made space.
Space to find God beyond the gatekeepers.
Space to reclaim my voice without fear.
Space to trust that I don’t need to be palatable to be powerful.
Because if my belonging depends on never disrupting the system,
then it’s not real belonging.
If my worth only holds up when I’m doing what you’d do,
saying what you’d say,
choosing what makes you comfortable —
Then I was never being loved.
I was being managed.
✧ What would it feel like to be loved for who you are, not just who you’ve performed to be?
✧ Can your faith hold space for both growth and grief? For both disappointing them and staying true to yourself?
