No Performance Needed

I used to show up every day trying to be the best version of myself. Or at least, the version I thought God expected me to be.

So much of it was ingrained from a young age. Watching the ones who graced the church stage, who spoke with elegance and seemed untouchable, always encouraging, always smiling. I thought that must be it. That must be what God wanted from me.

So I learned how to do it. I learned how to smile wide when inside my chest was heavy. I learned how to hide the questions I was throwing at the Father late at night. I learned how to plaster on joy while my mind spun downward into depression.

I never let people see the trauma I carried or the PTSD that haunted me. I kept it tucked in the shadows, convinced it would be too much for others to handle, convinced it would make me unworthy of their love. A pain that will be with me in one way or another for a lifetime.

And for years, I thought that was the only way to survive. To keep up the performance. To keep pretending.

But here’s the truth. It’s been a long time since I have been willing to perform for anyone.

I could have built this space around easy encouragement. Short posts that make you smile for a moment, sweet words you could carry like a ribbon around your day. And I’ve had people email me, asking why I don’t mix in lighter pieces. Why it has to be so heavy all the time.

And I don’t mind those questions. But here’s another truth… that’s not my space.

This has always been heavy. For more than fifteen years I’ve been writing the same way, pouring out the ache and the questions, the grief and the fight, the trauma and the scars. I wouldn’t trade that kind of freedom for the whole world.

Because the gift Jesus gave me was not the ability to inspire with platitudes or cheer with surface joy. The gift He gave me was the refusal to perform. To bleed honestly through my words. To tell the truth of my life without dressing it up.

The deeper, darker parts of me are not hidden from Him. He saw them all. He walked me through them. And if He isn’t horrified by the weight I carry, why should I pretend for anyone else?

“For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgment of God rather than burnt offerings.” -Hosea 6:6

He never asked me to be perfect. He never asked me to polish my story. He asked me to be His.

And maybe that is where this turns to you.

Because maybe you’re tired too. Maybe you’ve carried the show for so long that it feels like it has fused with your skin. Maybe you’re exhausted from pretending that everything is fine, from trying to be the “best version” of yourself, from feeling like you’re constantly falling short.

Let me say this clearly. You don’t have to perform for Him.

Not with your words. Not with your actions. Not with your emotions. Not with your faith.

You don’t have to cover up your questions. You don’t have to slap a smile on your face and hide the depression or the trauma. You don’t have to explain away the ways you are still healing.

God doesn’t want a polished act. He wants you. All of you.

The messy you. The broken you. The grieving you. The questioning you. The you that feels weak and tired and unworthy.

That is the gift of grace. That is the love of Jesus. He doesn’t stand at a distance waiting for your performance. He kneels beside you in the dirt, in the mess, in the heaviness. He sees every part and calls it worthy of His love.

So no performance is needed here. Not from me, and not from you.

You can lay it all down, and you will still be enough in His hands.

Love,

Sarah x

Thank you for showing up here with me. I know my posts come in bursts and at random, but your presence in this space means more than you know. This has never been about being polished, only about being honest, with Jesus always at the centre.

If you’d like to help keep this little corner going, you can upgrade to a paid subscription, but please know, it’s never necessary, just an added blessing. Just being here, reading, sharing, and walking alongside me is already a gift.