Great Gifts: When Faith Feels Like Coming Home
- The Broken & Beautiful
- Oct 19
- 3 min read
When the Gift Finds You
A friend once gave me an invaluable gift: an insight into my own mind that reshaped my self-perception and transformed how I interact with the world. This wasn't a material gift, but one born of time, love, and deep understanding, demonstrating that some gifts can be shared and are truly priceless.
This insight gave me freedom from being pigeonholed by others, allowing me to step more fully into my authentic self. I believe living as our true selves is the most powerful way to find peace, meaning, purpose, and joy. It's not about avoiding work or struggle, but about aligning with who we are, entering a space of wholeness where we can rest.
The best relationships often free us to be ourselves.
Thinking Within the Heart
The gift came as I struggled to describe my internal processing. My friend simply said, "I don’t think you think about things in your head. I think you mull them around in your heart." This profound statement provided language for a feeling I’d always had. For years, I had resisted the label of a "head person," even though trauma had pushed me into my mind as a survival mechanism. This was reinforced by religious experiences and a societal prioritization of intellect over emotion, leading to beliefs that the body was evil and the heart deceitful. Modern church services, with their focus on intellectual sermons, exemplify this.
I've also questioned the nature of worship, particularly songs that feel like a subtle dissociation from pain, especially when so many Psalms are laments. I often hear absolute statements in worship songs that don't reflect the human experience of unfulfilled desires. This made me wonder if worship sometimes functions as spiritual bypassing. My natural hypersensitivity, trauma, and the diverse ways people experience worship explained my struggle with certain lyrics.
There is nothing wrong with those who find joy in these songs, just as there is nothing wrong with those who struggle.
My friend's insight affirmed my identity as an Enneagram 2, rooted in the heart triad. It explained why I need time and space to process, why I struggle with quick responses and fast-moving discussions. This isn’t a flaw but simply how I’m designed. Acknowledging this truth empowers us to ask, "What do I need?" For me, it means time and space to feel before I can fully understand and express myself.
In healing, I've learned that overwhelm requires space to dissipate. This process of dysregulation to regulation is vital in all interactions, requiring us to be attuned to others, slow down when needed, and create environments where people feel safe to care for themselves.
Safety isn't about avoiding triggers, but about how we respond when people are triggered.
Coming Home to Yourself
David G. Benner’s book, The Gift of Being Yourself, was instrumental in my healing journey, highlighting that self-knowledge is a spiritual journey essential for intimacy with God. Transformation comes from knowing we are loved just as we are, and spiritual growth is about living authentically. Knowing oneself is crucial for healing, a journey Jesus often points us towards. Having someone who knows you deeply and speaks truth into your life is profoundly healing, a purpose I aim to fulfill in my coaching practice: helping people uncover their true selves amidst lies and distortions. I believe we each carry a unique piece of divine love meant to be shared.
I hope to offer others this gift, even in small ways, by sharing my journey and the vital concepts of healing. I envision communities, even churches, where deep knowing and insight are commonplace and transformative. Cole Arthur Riley, in This Here Flesh, poses a powerful question: What if we asked children, "What is something you know about yourself?" instead of "What do you want to do when you grow up?"
I encourage you to ask yourself and others: What is something you know about yourself? What is something true about you? I would genuinely love to hear your responses.
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