It’s Not The Lord, It’s Your Own Fear Of…
Being forgotten.
Being left out.
Being left behind.
That is what’s driving your actions. That is what’s feeding your anxious thoughts.
I’ve fought so hard for approval and needed constant assurance, never quite believing the affection I see unless it’s loud and obvious.
All of this has made me believe lies about myself over the years.
Lies like I’m:
Not worth remembering.
Not worth including.
Not worth bringing along.
In psychology, there’s a concept called object permanence. It’s the understanding that objects and people continue to exist even when they’re out of sight. You typically see it develop in babies around eight months old, which is why peek-a-boo is so genuinely thrilling to them. Before they grasp object permanence, when you cover your face, they don’t see it as you “hiding.”
For a brief second, you literally vanish into thin air (to them, that is).
Then there’s emotional permanence. It’s deeper, heavier.
It’s a subconscious belief that a relationship is secure and someone’s love for you remains intact, even when they aren't physically present or actively showing affection.
Just like babies struggle to grasp object permanence, issues arise when we lack emotional permanence. You struggle to hold onto the memory of being cared for once the immediate moment passes.
This looks like when an "I love you" hasn’t been said today, or a tone feels slightly off, and your brain instantly leaps to: They hate me. They’re leaving.
And now, suddenly, you have an overwhelming urge to either endlessly apologize and seek validation to restore safety, or completely pull back and isolate before they can reject you first.
That doesn’t exactly sound healthy, does it?
And yes, I know the call is coming from inside the house.
For so long, it was extremely hard for me to believe that Jesus really forgave me. It was hard to embrace the love of the people around me because I couldn't fathom unconditional love…especially after I had hurt and disappointed them.
There’s no way.
I don’t believe it.
They’re lying.
It takes me straight to the story of Joseph in Genesis. His own brothers sold him into slavery out of deep familial dysfunction, spite, and jealousy. Decades later, when they are finally reunited, Joseph breaks down and reveals himself: "I am your brother Joseph, the one you sold into Egypt!"
Yet years after that reconciliation, when their father Jacob dies, the brothers panic. They revert right back to fear. They convince themselves that Jacob was the only buffer holding Joseph back, and now that their father is gone, they’re on the chopping block. Joseph had absolute power; he could have destroyed them.
Instead, Joseph weepingly asks them, "Don't be afraid. Am I in the place of God? You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good" (Genesis 50:19–20).
It was their own residual guilt, shame, and fear talking. Perhaps they assumed that if the shoe were on the other foot, they wouldn't be so merciful.
Maybe that’s a mirror into my own soul.
Have I truly forgiven myself?
Whatever fear you’re hanging onto today that feels like an anvil, let this be your opportunity to lay it at the Lord’s feet. Let Him hold you until peace comes, joy is restored, and you truly comprehend "how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ" (Ephesians 3:18).
When we stop viewing God’s grace and the love of those around us through the lens of our own residual shame, the need for constant reassurance fades. You don't have to carry the weight of waiting for the other shoe to drop.
This week, I challenge you, as I’ve challenged myself, to step out of survival mode and rest in a love that isn't going anywhere.
