Am I Hurting God's Heart? A Christian Therapist's Reflections on Fear, Discernment, and Learning to Think Without Losing My Faith.

5 days ago
12 min read

Liberation Lunes

June 28th, 2026

How I'm Learning to Follow Christ Without Living in Fear

"Test everything; hold fast what is good." — 1 Thessalonians 5:21

Why Today?

It has been almost two months since I last sat down to write a Liberation Lunes reflection.

I don't write because a calendar tells me it's Monday.

I don't write because an algorithm rewards consistency.

I write when life refuses to let me ignore something.

This week, that happened.

Over the past few weeks, I began noticing a pattern.

Not one big event.

Not one dramatic conversation.

Just a series of seemingly unrelated moments that quietly kept pointing me toward the same question.

It started with conversations with Christian colleagues asking thoughtful questions about therapy, trauma, and faith.

Then came podcast interviews that challenged me to think more deeply about suffering, psychology, and the systems we build to explain human behavior.

Then conversations with Christian friends I deeply love—people whose faith I genuinely admire—even as we've come to different conclusions on certain theological issues.

Yesterday, an email arrived from someone I had never met.

They weren't asking for an argument.

They weren't asking me to tell them what to believe.

They simply wanted to know whether something they were using professionally might somehow grieve the heart of God.

I closed my laptop...

...and I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Not because I had the perfect answer.

But because underneath that email, I heard a question I've heard hundreds of times over the past twenty years.

Maybe you've asked it too.

"Am I hurting God's heart?"

Maybe your question isn't about tuning forks.

Maybe it's about Internal Family Systems, something I've written about before as I wrestled with integrating psychology and a biblical worldview.

Maybe it's about sound therapy, another topic I've explored after many readers asked whether sound, music, and frequency could be understood through both neuroscience and Christian faith.

Maybe it's yoga.

Breathwork.

Essential oils.

A therapist.

A podcast.

A church.

A political movement.

A parenting decision.

A book sitting on your nightstand.

Or maybe your question sounds more like this:

"What if I'm getting Christianity wrong?"

"How do I know I'm not being deceived?"

"Can I ask honest questions without disappointing God?"

As I sat quietly with all of these conversations, I realized something.

None of them were really about tuning forks.

Or therapy.

Or psychology.

Or politics.

Or denominations.

They were all pointing toward the same deeper longing.

How do we faithfully follow Christ in a complicated world without outsourcing our thinking, losing our humanity, or living in fear?

That question is why I opened my laptop and wrote this blog.

Twenty Years of Listening Changes You

People often ask me what I think.

It's one of the occupational hazards of being a therapist.

Over the past twenty years, I've had the incredible privilege of sitting with hundreds of human beings during some of the most vulnerable moments of their lives. I never take that privilege lightly.

People rarely come to therapy because life is going well.

They come because something they once believed about themselves, another person, or even about God no longer fits the reality they are living.

A marriage falls apart.

A child walks away from the faith.

A diagnosis changes everything.

A church wounds them.

An affair is discovered.

A loved one dies.

Someone loses a job they thought they would retire from.

Or they wake up one morning, look around at the life they've spent decades building, and quietly wonder, "How did I get here?"

Sometimes it's anxiety.

Sometimes it's trauma.

Sometimes it's grief.

Sometimes it's burnout.

Sometimes it's a crisis of faith.

But underneath all those stories, I've noticed something remarkable.

People are rarely asking me to tell them what to think.

They're asking something much deeper.

"Can you help me learn how to think again?"

I don't think that's because they've become less intelligent.

I think it's because many of us were never taught how to wrestle well.

We were taught what to think.

Who to trust.

Which side was right.

Which group had all the answers.

What questions were acceptable.

And sometimes...

Which questions were dangerous.

As a therapist, I've watched what happens when people lose confidence in their own ability to think, discern, and make decisions.

They begin outsourcing their lives.

To a pastor.

A therapist.

A political party.

A denomination.

A social media influencer.

A podcast.

A bestselling author.

Even a diagnosis.

Please don't misunderstand me.

I believe wise counsel is one of God's gifts.

I've learned from extraordinary pastors, theologians, psychologists, researchers, mentors, and friends over the years.

I still do.

But there is a difference between learning from someone and surrendering your ability to think.

One leads to wisdom.

The other leads to dependency.

As I've grown older—and hopefully a little wiser—I have found myself becoming less interested in collecting answers and more interested in asking better questions.

Not because truth doesn't matter.

Truth matters deeply.

But I've learned that certainty and wisdom are not always the same thing.

Somewhere Along the Way...

Somewhere along the way, I noticed something changing inside of me.

It didn't happen overnight.

It wasn't one sermon.

One book.

One podcast.

One therapist.

One denomination.

Or one life-changing moment.

It happened slowly.

Almost quietly.

Looking back, I realize I've been asking questions for as long as I can remember. Even as a little girl, I found myself asking why? Sometimes adults welcomed those questions.

Sometimes they didn't.

Then life happened.

Trauma happened.

Loss happened.

Disappointment happened.

Church happened.

Therapy happened.

Healing happened.

And through it all, something inside me kept searching.

There was a season of my life when I wanted certainty more than wisdom.

I wanted someone else to tell me exactly what God thought about every gray area.

Just give me the list.

Tell me what's safe.

Tell me what's dangerous.

Tell me where the lines are.

Looking back, I understand why.

Certainty feels comforting.

Especially when you've experienced trauma.

Especially when you've been deeply disappointed by people.

Especially when you're afraid of getting God wrong.

But somewhere along the way...

My prayer quietly changed.

Instead of praying,

"Lord, tell me exactly what to think."

I found myself praying,

"Lord...teach me how to know You."

That subtle shift changed everything.

Because knowing about God and growing in relationship with Him are not always the same thing.

The more I studied Scripture, the more I noticed that Jesus rarely handed people simple answers to complicated questions.

More often than not, He invited people to think.

To wrestle.

To examine their own hearts.

To sit with uncomfortable questions.

To love God with all their heart...

and all their soul...

and all their mind.

As a therapist, I spend much of my day asking questions rather than giving answers.

Not because answers don't matter.

But because lasting transformation rarely comes from someone else thinking for us.

It comes when we begin honestly examining our own hearts.

Somewhere during these past twenty years of listening to other people's stories, I realized something unexpected.

The Bible slowly stopped becoming something I reached for primarily to measure everyone else.

Instead...

It became the mirror I first held up to myself.

Before asking where someone else might be wrong...

I found myself asking,

"What is God trying to reveal in me?"

Before pointing out someone else's blind spots...

I became more aware of my own.

Before defending my tribe...

I became more interested in becoming more like Christ.

That doesn't mean truth stopped mattering.

It means my posture toward truth changed.

Less proving.

More pursuing.

Less certainty.

More humility.

Less performance.

More relationship.

Less fear.

More love.

Because Scripture tells us that perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4:18).

I've often wondered...

If fear is becoming the loudest voice in my spiritual life...

Is it possible I've stopped listening closely enough to love?

Fear Is a Terrible Spiritual Guide

One of the greatest gifts my profession has given me is the opportunity to witness what fear actually does to people.

Fear isn't simply an emotion.

It changes how we think.

How we interpret other people.

How we make decisions.

How we read Scripture.

Sometimes, it even changes how we see God.

As a therapist, I understand that trauma can wire our nervous system to constantly scan for danger. Our brains are beautifully designed to protect us. That isn't weakness.

It's survival.

When we've been hurt—whether by people, churches, relationships, systems, or life itself—it makes sense that we begin looking for certainty.

Certainty feels safe.

It promises that if we can just find the right pastor...

the right denomination...

the right therapist...

the right theology...

the right parenting book...

the right political party...

the right expert...

then maybe we'll finally stop feeling afraid.

I understand that longing.

I've felt it too.

There is a simple exercise I often share with clients that has stayed with me for years.

You may have heard the old acronym for FEAR:

False Evidence Appearing Real.

I don't know who originally coined that phrase, but it beautifully describes something I witness almost every week in my therapy office.

Fear has an incredible ability to convince us that the worst-case scenario has already become reality.

It tells us the relationship is over before we've had the conversation.

That our child will never come back.

That we're beyond healing.

That God must be disappointed in us.

That one wrong decision will somehow ruin everything.

Our minds begin filling in the blanks long before the evidence ever arrives.

Sometimes those fears are rooted in real trauma.

Sometimes they're rooted in painful experiences from childhood.

Sometimes they're rooted in uncertainty.

Sometimes...

they're simply rooted in being human.

One of the goals of therapy isn't to pretend fear doesn't exist.

It's to become curious about it.

To slow down long enough to ask,

"Is this fear protecting me...or is it preventing me from becoming the person God is inviting me to become?"

Over the years, I've also come to appreciate another way of looking at that same acronym.

Again, I can't claim credit for it, but it has become meaningful in my own work with clients.

FEAR: Face Everything And Rise.

Not because courage means we stop feeling afraid.

It doesn't.

Courage is often choosing to take one faithful step while fear is still sitting beside us.

Whether I'm using Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to gently challenge distorted thinking...

Rogerian therapy to create a space where someone finally feels deeply heard...

Internal Family Systems to help someone understand the different parts of themselves that are trying to protect them...

or simply sitting quietly with someone whose world has fallen apart...

the invitation is remarkably similar.

Not to run from fear.

Not to shame fear.

Not to fight fear.

But to become curious enough to understand what it might be trying to protect.

Then, together, we begin separating what is actually true...

from the stories fear has been telling.

That process changes people.

I've watched clients move from panic to peace.

From shame to self-compassion.

From black-and-white thinking to wisdom.

From merely surviving...

to truly living.

And perhaps that's one of the greatest privileges of this work.

I don't get to tell people what to think.

I get to walk beside them as they learn how to think.

How to slow down.

How to ask better questions.

How to recognize cognitive distortions.

How to listen to their body without being controlled by it.

How to become curious instead of reactive.

How to discern instead of simply absorb.

Ironically...

I think that's exactly what Jesus modeled.

When I read the Gospels, I don't see Him creating anxious disciples who were terrified of making one wrong move.

I see Him continually inviting ordinary people into relationship.

Into truth.

Into repentance.

Into healing.

Into freedom.

Into love.

He certainly spoke hard truths.

He confronted hypocrisy.

He challenged pride.

But He also asked remarkable questions.

Questions that invited people to examine their own hearts.

Questions that moved people toward transformation instead of merely behavior modification.

That has profoundly shaped not only how I practice therapy...

but how I read Scripture.

How I love people.

How I disagree.

How I continue learning.

Because if every human being is created in the image of God...

then every human being deserves to be treated with dignity—even when I profoundly disagree with them.

That doesn't make discernment less important.

If anything...

it makes discernment even more necessary.

Because discernment without love becomes judgment.

Love without discernment becomes naïveté.

Jesus never seemed interested in asking us to choose between the two.

Maybe We've Been Asking the Wrong Questions

As I continued reflecting on that unexpected email, I realized something.

The question wasn't really about tuning forks.

Just like the conversations I'd been having weren't really about Internal Family Systems...

or sound therapy...

or yoga...

or essential oils...

or politics...

or denominations.

Those were simply the surface questions.

The deeper question hiding underneath all of them was something else entirely.

Over the years, I've become less interested in collecting quick answers and more interested in asking better questions.

Questions like:

What is forming my heart?

Is fear or love shaping this decision?

Is this helping me become more like Christ?

Those three questions have quietly changed the way I approach almost everything.

Not just therapy.

Life.

Relationships.

Church.

Books.

Social media.

Even my own opinions.

I've learned that human beings are extraordinary meaning-makers.

We naturally attach meaning to people, traditions, experiences, objects, and even our suffering.

The object itself is rarely the whole story.

It's the meaning we attach to it.

Over the years, I've realized that almost anything can become an idol if it slowly takes the place that belongs to God.

Sometimes it's obvious.

Sometimes it's surprisingly respectable.

Success.

Being right.

Our profession.

Our political tribe.

Our denomination.

Even our fear of getting God wrong.

Perhaps that's one reason I keep coming back to Jesus.

Not because I have every answer.

But because every time I read the Gospels, I find Him inviting people beneath the surface.

Beneath the behavior.

Beneath the labels.

Beneath the arguments.

All the way to the heart.

As a therapist, I've discovered that's where healing begins too.

Not with pretending we're okay.

Not with performing.

Not with saying all the right words.

But with the courage to honestly ask,

"Lord...what's really happening inside of me?"

Maybe discernment doesn't begin with examining everyone else.

Maybe it begins with allowing God to examine us.

A Final Thought

As I finish writing this, I'm looking out at my screened porch.

A few hours ago, thunder rolled across the sky.

The rain came.

And just as quickly, it was gone.

The sun returned.

The birds started singing again.

Life moved forward.

Maybe that's a little reminder of life itself.

Storms come.

Questions come.

Seasons of uncertainty come.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it, Christ continues inviting us to walk with Him.

Not because we'll always have the answers.

But because He is faithful even when we don't.

The older I get, the less interested I am in winning arguments and the more interested I am in becoming the kind of person who reflects the heart of Jesus.

As a therapist, I've learned that healing rarely begins with pretending we're certain.

It begins with honesty.

With humility.

With curiosity.

With the courage to ask better questions.

And perhaps most importantly...

With the willingness to let God search our own hearts before we spend all our energy trying to examine everyone else's.

That is the journey I'm still on.

Maybe you are too.

Let's Continue the Conversation

If something in today's reflection resonated with you, I'd love to continue the conversation.

If you're looking for thoughtful discussions at the intersection of faith, psychology, neuroscience, trauma, and holistic mental health, I invite you to listen to The Holistic Counselor Podcast, where I sit down with therapists, researchers, pastors, authors, and everyday people who are wrestling honestly with what it means to heal, grow, and faithfully follow Christ in a complicated world.

If you enjoy reflections like this one, I hope you'll continue reading Liberation Lunes. These essays are simply snapshots of the conversations, questions, and lessons God continues to cultivate in my own life.

If you live in Florida and are looking for a trauma-informed, holistic therapist, you can learn more about my private practice, Through the Valley Therapy.

If you're a clinician, church, school, nonprofit, or organization looking for a speaker, trainer, or consultant, I'd love to connect with you through Transformed Mind Consulting & Coaching.

No matter where you are on your journey, my hope isn't that you think exactly like I do.

My hope is that you feel seen.

That you ask honest questions.

That you think deeply.

That you heal honestly.

And that you continue faithfully following Christ with humility, wisdom, hope, and love.

A Closing Prayer

Father, Thank You for being big enough to hold both our questions and our faith. When fear begins speaking louder than Your love, gently draw us back to You.Give us the humility to remain teachable. The courage to ask honest questions. The wisdom to discern what is true. Help us love truth without becoming arrogant. Help us love people without compromising conviction. May Your Word continue to be a mirror that transforms our own hearts before we ever use it to examine someone else's. Teach us to trust You more deeply than our fears, our certainty, or our need to always be right. And may our lives increasingly reflect the character of Jesus—not because we have all the answers, but because we continue walking with the One who does. In Jesus' name, Amen.