I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching lately.
And by soul-searching, I mean mentally putting myself on trial approximately seventeen times a day, reviewing every conversation I’ve had in the past 1.5 years, and trying to figure out whether I’m actually the terrible person people seem to think I am.
You know. Just a relaxing little hobby.
But seriously.
What happens when everyone keeps telling you that you’re the problem?
What happens when the criticism keeps coming? When relationships deteriorate? When people accuse you of things you don’t believe are true? When situations you thought you understood suddenly become another reason someone is angry with you?
At what point do you stop defending yourself and start wondering whether they’re right?
Because that’s where I’ve found myself lately.
And I don’t particularly like it here.
When Everyone Else’s Opinions Become Your Inner Voice
I’ve never claimed to be perfect.
Actually, I’ve been pretty vocal about the fact that I’m not.
I can be controlling. I’m stubborn. I get frustrated when things aren’t done correctly, and sometimes my mouth starts moving before my brain has finished reviewing the potential consequences.
Apparently, the Internal Communications Department at Hoskins Holdings operates without a functioning approval process.
We’re working on it.
But there’s a difference between recognizing that I have flaws and believing those flaws make me a bad person.
And lately, that line has gotten blurry.
I’ve had people accuse me of being difficult, controlling, and responsible for conflicts that involved multiple people and decisions I didn’t make.
I’ve watched people who knew what happened remain silent while someone else told a different version of the story.
I’ve found myself defending my intentions, my actions, and eventually my character.
Over and over again.
And here’s the part that’s difficult to admit.
I’m starting to question whether everyone else is seeing something about me that I can’t see about myself.
Maybe I really am the problem.
Maybe my personality is too much.
Maybe my need for control has gotten out of hand.
Maybe I’m not nearly as good at handling conflict as I thought I was.
Maybe all these people can’t possibly be wrong.
But then I think about the circumstances behind those conflicts. The responsibilities that weren’t being fulfilled. The concerns other people privately shared. The decisions made by people other than me.
And I get angry all over again.
Because I know there’s more to these situations than the version of me being presented.
So now I’m stuck somewhere between defending myself and questioning myself.
And that is an exhausting place to live.
When Self-Reflection Turns Into Self-Interrogation
I’ve spent a lot of time lately examining my behavior.
I’ve acknowledged that my anger sometimes gets the best of me. I’ve recognized that my desire to control situations has developed from years of watching things fall apart when nobody follows through.
I’ve admitted that I don’t always communicate my frustrations appropriately.
And I genuinely want to grow.
But somewhere along the way, self-reflection stopped feeling like an opportunity to learn and started feeling like an investigation into everything that’s wrong with me.
Every disagreement becomes another piece of evidence.
Every criticism becomes another reason to question myself.
Every relationship that changes becomes another opportunity to wonder what I did wrong.
And eventually, I stopped asking, “Could I have handled that better?”
Instead, I started asking, “What is wrong with me?”
Those are two very different questions.
One examines my behavior.
The other questions my entire identity.
And I think I’ve been confusing the two.
I can acknowledge that I handled something poorly without accepting responsibility for everything that happened afterward.
I can apologize for the way I communicated something without apologizing for having an opinion.
I can recognize that my actions affect other people without assuming I’m responsible for every decision they make.
At least, I understand those things intellectually.
Emotionally?
Well, apparently that department hasn’t received the updated policy manual.
Because I keep going back to the same question.
If I’m not the problem, why does it feel like everyone keeps telling me I am?
And the truth is, I don’t have a simple answer.
Maybe some of the criticism is justified.
Maybe some of it isn’t.
Maybe I’ve contributed more to certain situations than I’d like to admit.
Maybe other people have contributed more than they’re willing to acknowledge.
And honestly it’s probably some combination of all of the above.
But I’m beginning to realize that constantly putting myself on trial isn’t the same thing as holding myself accountable.
And I don’t know how much longer I can keep living like every new conflict is a verdict on my character.
I Just Earned My Master’s Degree. So Why Do I Feel Like I’m Failing?
Here’s where life gets particularly confusing.
I just finished my MBA.
Two years.
Two freaking years of coursework, assessments, research, projects, presentations, and trying to squeeze schoolwork into whatever scraps of time I could find.
And when I finally submitted that last assignment?
I cried.
Happy tears. Relief tears. Thank-God-this-is-finally-over tears.
Naturally, I recorded the entire thing for social media.
Because apparently even my emotional breakdowns require a content strategy.
But I was genuinely happy.
I did it.
After everything that happened over those two years, I finished.
And yet, while I’m celebrating this enormous accomplishment, I’m also questioning whether I’m a good person.
How does that even work?
How can I feel so successful in one area of my life and so defeated in another?
How can I accomplish something I’ve worked incredibly hard for and still feel like I’m failing everywhere else?
I think part of the problem is that I’ve spent so much of my life measuring myself by what I accomplish.
Did I finish the assignment?
Did I solve the problem?
Did I help the organization?
Did I meet everyone’s expectations?
Did I get everything done?
And if the answer is no, I feel like I’ve failed.
Even when the reason something didn’t get done was that I spent the entire day taking care of everyone else’s responsibilities.
My capstone took me twelve weeks to complete.
Three assignments.
Twelve weeks.
Not because I didn’t understand the material or wasn’t capable of doing the work.
But because finding uninterrupted time to focus on something that mattered to me felt nearly impossible.
There was always something else.
Someone else needed something.
Another problem required attention.
Another responsibility couldn’t wait.
And my own education kept getting pushed further down the list.
Until eventually, I finished.
And now I’m wondering how much of my life I’ve spent doing that.
Putting the things that matter to me on hold because I’ve convinced myself that everyone else’s needs matter more.
But here’s another uncomfortable truth.
My MBA is an accomplishment I’m proud of.
It doesn’t prove I’m a good person.
Just like someone else’s criticism doesn’t prove I’m a bad one.
So if my accomplishments don’t define my worth, and other people’s opinions don’t define my worth, what does?
As a Christian, I know what I’m supposed to say.
My identity is in Christ.
Which brings me to an entirely different problem.
How Do I Find My Identity in Christ When I’m Angry With God?
Well.
This is awkward.
Because I’ve recently admitted that I’m angry with God.
Not a little frustrated.
Angry.
I’m tired of the financial struggles. The relationship conflicts. The constant responsibilities. The feeling that every time I manage to get my head above water, someone adds another weight to my ankles.
And lately, I’ve started wondering whether God is disappointed in me.
Maybe I’m not being a good enough Christian.
Maybe I’m not praying enough.
Maybe I’m not trusting Him enough.
Maybe I’m handling these situations so poorly that He’s allowing me to experience the consequences.
Maybe all these struggles are happening because I’m failing Him, too.
And I realize how painful that sounds when I put it into words.
But that’s where my mind has been going.
I’m already questioning whether I’m disappointing the people around me.
Now I’m questioning whether I’m disappointing God.
And how exactly am I supposed to find my identity in Christ when I’m struggling with my relationship with Him?
How do I turn toward God for reassurance when part of me is angry with Him for allowing everything that’s happening?
How do I believe I’m loved when I feel like I’m failing at being faithful?
I wish I had a beautiful, theologically profound answer.
I don’t.
But I keep coming back to Romans 8:1:
“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” — Romans 8:1 (ESV)
No condemnation.
Not no condemnation as long as I complete my Bible study every morning.
Not no condemnation as long as I never get angry.
Not no condemnation as long as everyone thinks I’m a wonderful person.
No condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.
I know that verse.
I believe that verse.
But lately, I’ve been having a hard time applying it to myself.
Because somewhere along the way, I’ve started treating my relationship with God like another performance evaluation.
And apparently, I’m convinced I’m failing that one, too.
The Bible Study Binder Collecting Dust
Last spring, I was doing something I genuinely loved.
Bible studies.
I would open YouVersion, find a study that interested me, read through the passages, take detailed notes, and reflect on what I was learning.
Sometimes those studies became inspiration for Mom Leaves a Legacy.
I enjoyed it.
I loved learning more about Scripture. I loved making connections between what I was reading and what I was experiencing in my own life.
And I felt closer to God.
Life wasn’t perfect back then, but it felt simpler.
Work. School. Volleyball. Family time.
I had responsibilities, but I could manage them.
I had room to breathe.
Then, at the beginning of this year, I decided I wanted to read through the entire Bible.
I found a reading plan.
Printed reflection sheets.
Organized a binder.
Created places for sermon notes, Scripture notes, and daily reflections.
Because if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s turn a perfectly reasonable idea into a fully documented operational process.
The Accounting and Organizational Development Departments were thrilled.
And it lasted approximately three days.
Okay, maybe a few more.
But not many.
The reading became overwhelming.
I struggled to understand what I was reading.
Taking notes became harder because I couldn’t figure out what I was supposed to be taking away from the passages.
Then I fell behind.
And instead of enjoying my time in Scripture, I started feeling guilty.
Another day missed.
Another passage I didn’t understand.
Another thing I couldn’t keep up with.
Eventually, I stopped.
And now that binder sits on a shelf on my desk collecting dust.
Every once in a while, I think about it.
And I feel like I’ve failed.
Not just at completing a reading plan.
At being a Christian.
Which is ridiculous when I really think about it.
God didn’t command me to finish a color-coded binder.
He didn’t tell me I had to read a certain number of chapters every day to earn His love.
And yet, I somehow turned spending time with Him into another obligation I wasn’t meeting.
The thing that once brought me peace became another reason to feel disappointed in myself.
And I miss it.
I miss the Bible studies.
I miss learning.
I miss the excitement of discovering something in Scripture that I hadn’t understood before.
But maybe more than anything, I miss the woman I was when I had enough room in my life to enjoy those things.
Because lately, I don’t recognize her.
Honestly?
I don’t really recognize myself anymore.
Who Am I Without the Roles I’ve Built My Life Around?
I told my husband recently that I think I’m having an identity crisis.
And I wasn’t joking.
For four years, I’ve been deeply involved with our local music boosters.
I’ve served, volunteered, worked concessions, managed finances, built systems, solved problems, and spent countless hours supporting the students and the program.
It’s become a major part of who I am.
But at the end of this year, that chapter is closing.
I’m stepping away.
And after everything that’s happened over the past two seasons, I know I need to.
I’m tired of the conflict.
I’m tired of defending myself.
I’m tired of feeling responsible for things that aren’t entirely mine to manage.
I’m tired of having something I once loved become a source of so much frustration and hurt.
But here’s the part I wasn’t expecting.
I’m grieving the loss of something I’m also relieved to be leaving.
Because even with everything that’s happened, I loved being involved.
I loved supporting the students.
I loved the sense of community when things were going well.
I loved knowing that what I was doing made a difference.
And I loved having a purpose.
During marching band season, I knew where I belonged.
I knew what needed to be done.
I knew what my role was.
And now I’m looking toward next year wondering who I’m going to be when I’m no longer that person.
What does marching band season look like when I’m just another parent in the stands?
What does Friday night look like when I’m not helping run concessions?
What happens when the organization I’ve poured so much of myself into keeps moving forward without me?
I know the answer should be that life goes on.
And it will.
But that doesn’t make the transition easy.
Because I’m not just leaving a volunteer position.
I’m leaving behind a role that has helped define me for years.
And when I add that to everything else I’ve been questioning lately, I start to understand why I feel so lost.
I’m questioning my character.
I’m questioning my faith.
I’m questioning my relationship with God.
And now I’m questioning who I am without the responsibilities that have occupied so much of my life.
That’s a lot of identity to sort through at once.
Who Am I When I Stop Measuring My Worth by What I Do for Everyone Else?
This is the question I keep coming back to.
Who am I when I stop measuring my worth by what I do for everyone else?
Because that’s what I’ve been doing.
For years.
I’m the mom who figures things out.
The wife who keeps track of everything.
The person at work who finds the problems.
The volunteer who knows how things are supposed to run.
The person who steps in when nobody else does.
The person who gets things done.
And somewhere along the way, I stopped making much time for the things I wanted to do simply because they mattered to me.
Everything became about someone else’s needs.
Someone else’s deadline.
Someone else’s expectations.
And I’m realizing that I’ve become so accustomed to being needed that I’m not entirely sure how to exist without constantly being useful.
Which is especially ironic considering I’ve written before about how exhausting it is to be needed by everyone.
Apparently, self-awareness and actually changing your behavior are two separate departments.
Who knew?
But there’s something beginning to shift.
Because when I think about leaving the Boosters, I feel sad.
And then I think about what that time could become.
And for the first time in a while, I feel something else.
Excitement.
Maybe I’m Not Losing My Purpose. Maybe I’m Getting to Choose It.
Here’s the thing.
I’m not worried about having too much free time.
Let’s not get carried away. I have plans. Lots of plans.
My husband and I are working toward launching our own food truck.
I’m developing Anchor Accounting Solutions, a business built around the accounting work and problem-solving I genuinely enjoy.
I want to spend more time writing for Mom Leaves a Legacy.
And now that I’ve finished my MBA, I want to continue my education and work toward becoming a CPA.
Because apparently earning a bachelor’s degree and master’s degree in 3 years wasn’t enough schooling for me.
The Education Department has already submitted its next funding request.
But these things feel different.
They’re things I want to pursue. Things that reflect my interests, my ambitions, and the future I want to build.
And perhaps most exciting of all?
I might actually have time to open YouVersion again.
To find a Bible study that interests me. To read Scripture without feeling like I’m racing against a schedule. To sit down with my notebook and learn something because I want to.
Not because I need to produce content. Not because I’m trying to prove I’m a good Christian. Not because there’s another box I need to check.
Just because I miss spending that time with God.
And the thought of having that freedom genuinely makes me happy.
Even though I’m still angry with Him. Even though I still have questions. Even though I’m not entirely sure how to reconnect with the faith practices I once loved.
Maybe that’s okay. Maybe I don’t have to resolve every feeling before I start finding my way back.
And maybe the purpose I’ve been afraid of losing isn’t actually disappearing.
Maybe I’m finally going to have the freedom to decide where I want to invest it.
Rooted in Something Bigger Than My Responsibilities
There’s a verse that feels particularly meaningful as I work through this.
“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” — Ephesians 2:10 (ESV)
I’ve read that verse before.
But right now, one part stands out to me.
We are his workmanship.
Before the good works. Before the accomplishments. Before the volunteer positions, the degrees, the businesses, the responsibilities, and the endless lists of things that need to get done.
We are His workmanship.
My identity in Christ doesn’t begin with what I accomplish.
It begins with belonging to Him.
And maybe that’s what I’ve been forgetting.
I’ve spent so much time measuring my value by how useful I am to everyone else that I’ve started believing I have to earn my worth through what I do.
Especially with God.
But my relationship with Christ isn’t supposed to be another job where I have to prove I’m meeting expectations.
That doesn’t mean my choices don’t matter.
It doesn’t mean I shouldn’t examine my behavior, acknowledge my mistakes, or continue growing.
And it certainly doesn’t mean every criticism I’ve received is automatically wrong.
But it does mean that my failures aren’t the entirety of who I am.
Neither are my accomplishments.
I am more than the worst thing someone has said about me.
I’m more than the conflicts I’ve been involved in. I’m more than my anger, my frustration, or my need for control. I’m also more than my MBA. More than my professional experience. More than the volunteer positions I’ve held. And more than the things I do for everyone else.
I know those things intellectually.
Learning to believe them when I look in the mirror?
That’s going to take some work.
And I’m not going to pretend otherwise.
I Don’t Know Who I Am Right Now. But Maybe That’s Not the End of the Story.
I wish I could end this article by telling you that I’ve figured everything out.
That I no longer care what people think of me. That I’ve stopped questioning my character. That I’m no longer angry with God. That I’ve rediscovered my identity in Christ and now wake up every morning overflowing with peace and purpose.
Wouldn’t that be nice?
Unfortunately, that’s not where I am.
I’m still hurt. I’m still frustrated. I’m still questioning myself. I’m still struggling to understand why life has become so complicated and why I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water most days.
And I’m still grieving the end of a chapter that has meant so much to me.
But for the first time in a while, I’m also looking forward to something.
Freedom.
Not freedom from responsibility. Not freedom from being a wife, a mom, or someone who cares about other people.
But freedom to choose where my time and energy go.
Freedom to pursue my education without constantly putting it behind everyone else’s needs. Freedom to build something meaningful for my family and my future. Freedom to write because I love writing. Freedom to spend time with God because I want to know Him better, not because I’m afraid He’s disappointed in me.
And maybe, somewhere in that freedom, I’ll begin recognizing myself again.
Not necessarily the woman I was last spring. Not the pushover I used to be. Not the exhausted woman who’s spent the last two years trying to hold everything together.
But someone who’s learning that she doesn’t have to be everything to everyone to have value.
Someone who’s learning that being needed isn’t the same thing as having purpose. Someone who’s learning that her identity isn’t determined by the people who criticize her or the accomplishments she collects. Someone who’s trying to remember that she belongs to Christ even when she’s angry, confused, and struggling to feel close to Him.
I don’t know exactly who that woman is yet.
But I’m beginning to look forward to meeting her.
And maybe that’s enough for now.
Because I don’t have to know exactly who I am to begin looking forward to becoming her.