This morning during my quiet time, I was reading in Numbers about the Sabbath. God keeps reminding His people—and reminding me—that He provides, and that we are meant to rest in Him. I sat quietly for a moment, and this verse came to mind. I looked it up in a translation I don’t normally read, and it hit me differently.

“Pride comes before destruction, and an arrogant spirit before a fall. Better to be lowly of spirit with the humble than to divide plunder with the proud.”

— Proverbs 16:18–19 (CSB)

I think it stood out because of a conversation I had yesterday. A friend stopped by, and somehow we ended up talking about worrying what other people think. She told me she used to struggle with that much more, until God showed her it was actually pride.

At first I didn’t connect the two. But after talking for a while, the words literally jumped out of my mouth:

“That’s 100% pride.”

Since then, I keep thinking about the past 13½ months—all the times people handed me money, offered help, or when I had to ask for help myself.

Just yesterday, as I walked my friend out, I asked if her husband might be willing to trim the top of a tree in my yard that I was unable to reach. This morning he pulled up, climbed a ladder, and had it done in five minutes. As he drove away, I felt that familiar twinge of guilt. Should I have offered him cash?

And then it hit me: even that thought was rooted in pride.

Why?

Because it’s the same pride behind every moment I’ve tried to do everything myself or beaten myself up when I couldn’t.

We were never meant to do life alone. Yes, we need other people—but even more, we need Jesus.

Lately I’ve been working on releasing the lie that I have to do in order to be. That I must check certain boxes to earn my worth. Not in the sense of working a job for a paycheck, but in subtle things—like feeling that skipping the gym somehow makes me “less.”

I had RSVP’d to a special line‑dancing class at the YMCA this morning. When the time came, I didn’t want to go. But my thoughts spiraled:

“If I don’t go…”

I’m not even sure what came after those words-just fill in the blank. But something in me felt like I had to.

Even though I knew that no one was telling me I had to go, I still I sat there in confusion over a silly dance class—crying. So I talked it out with God, I rebuked the enemy and I started writing this blog. 

God is not a God of confusion or legalism. He’s not standing over us with a clipboard making demands. Yes, His commands matter, but we don’t obey to earn His love—we obey because we love Him. And when we mess up, we may experience consequences, but we never lose His love. Ever!

And yet, deep down, I’ve spent much of my life trying to earn something. Growing up, I received the message that I was different because of my body. Somewhere along the way, I believed I had to work harder just to be considered “equal.”

It sounds ridiculous even typing it—but it’s the lie I absorbed from childhood, from society, from expectations I didn’t choose.

Because of that, I became deeply affected by other people’s opinions. If they felt negative, I obsessed over them. I got defensive. I shut down.

And that, I now see, is pride.

My friend hesitated to even bring it up because she didn’t want to offend me. I wasn’t offended—just confused at first. Pride didn’t seem to fit. I’m not prideful, I thought.

But what else would you call it when you believe you should be able to do everything yourself and refuse to ask for help?

Some of that began to break when I stepped outside my comfort zone and asked people from church to help with things around the house that I physically couldn’t do on my own. They came over, knocked everything out in an hour, and we had fun. Did it feel strange? Yes. Did I feel needy? Absolutely. But God grew me through it. We are all needy-in need of God who can fill each and every one of those needs. There have been several times like this since where I felt like I shouldn't ask for help because I should be able to do it on my own. I didn't want to be a burden. But God pushed me to challenge those lies-He still does.

Someone told me last year:
“Don’t rob someone of the joy they might have in helping you.”

That stuck with me. I’ve never regretted serving others. When my heart was right, it always brought joy no matter the potential inconvenience. It made me feel like God was using me.

So how does all this connect to worrying about what other people think?

I’m still working that out. But I know part of it is the pressure I put on myself—the pressure to be a good parent, a good employee, a good friend. When someone forms an opinion about me that doesn’t match what I hope they think… that’s when pride shows up.

But when I invite the Holy Spirit to love my daughter through me, parent through me, provide for me— why should it matter if someone misjudges me? Why should it bother me if someone sees my large house and wonders why I go to a food pantry? They don’t know the whole story. No one on earth does.

Only God fully knows me.
Only His opinion matters.

He calls me His daughter. He looks at me with love. He cares about every word I say and every tear I cry—even the ones falling as I write this.

So today, I rebuke the lies:
the lie that I’m unworthy of love,
unworthy of care,
unworthy of what I’ve been given.

On my own, maybe those lies would hold weight.
But because Jesus died for me, I am made worthy.
I am made righteous in HIM.

And that, my friend, is more than enough.