If you haven’t had a change yet to watch the podcast episode that sparked this newsletter series, you can watch it by clicking below.

Over the past two weeks, we’ve explored how unhealthy environments shape us beneath the surface. First, we considered the difference between refinement and erosion. Then we explored what it means to remain whole when we find ourselves in difficult places we can’t immediately leave. But what happens when we begin to lose that connection?

Not all at once. Not intentionally. Gradually and quietly. One compromise at a time. One ignored feeling at a time. One reluctant “yes” at a time. One silence at a time.

Looking back, I can see moments where I thought I was being faithful when I was actuallly abandoning parts of myself. That’s what makes this conversation difficult. Because faithfulness and self-abandonment can look surprisingly similar from the outside.

Both may involve sacrifice. Both may  involve discomfort. Both may involve suffering. Both may require endurance. The question isn’t whether something costs us. The question is what it is consting us.

True faithfulness may cost us comfort, approval, or control, but it should not require us to abandon the person God created us to be.

One of the ways this showed up in my own life was through my inability to say no. Not because I always wanted to say yes. Often, I didn’t. But saying no felt uncomfortable. What if they were disappointed? What if they thought I wasn’t committed? What if saying no meant I wasn’t being faithful? So I said yes. Again and again.

At the time, I would have called it faithfulness. Looking back, I’m not so sure. I think some of it was faithfulness. But a lot of it was fear. Fear of conflict. Fear of disappointing people. Fear of being misunderstood. And because those fears sounded spiritual, I never questioned them for a long time, until I found the courage to speak truth.

One of the things that began to open my eyes was a phrase I heard often: “We’re a team and a family.” The idea was usually followed by something like: “We all wear hats outside our job description.” At first, that sounded reasonable. Healthy teams do help one another. Healthy people make sacrifices. But over time, I started noticing something.

Whenever I stepped back and honestly evaluated the situation, I seemed to be the one wearing a growing stack of hats. More responsibilities. More expectations. More burdens. Meanwhile, the people reminding everyone to be a team didn’t seem to be carrying many hats at all. They just kept adding theirs to my stack.

And because the language sounded noble, I questioned myself instead of questioning the situation. Was I being selfish? Was I lacking a servant’s heart? Was I the one who wasn’t being faithful?

There was other language that began to bother me too. We were often told to “show grace.” And of course, grace is central to the Christian life. But over time, I realized that what was being called grace often looked more like favoritism. A more biblical term for this is partiality or prejudice, which James 2 warns against.

The same people were repeatedly excused. The same patterns were repeatedly overlooked. And others were expected to absorb the consequences. Yet because the language was spiritual, it felt difficult to challenge.

Perhaps the clearest example came when over a 10 month period, I was repeatedly exposed to extremely toxic mold in my office at work. Looking back, it seems obvious. But early on, it wasn’t. I found myself asking questions that should never have felt complicated.

Was I being unreasonable? Was I overreacting? Was I lacking faith? Instead of asking why leadership was willing to expose people to something harmful, I questioned whether my concern was evidence of spiritual weakness. That’s one of the things unhealthy environments often do. They don’t just distort reality. They make us question our ability to recognize reality.

And looking back, I think that’s when I began to realize that what I had been calling faithfulness might not actually be faithfulness at all.

One of the reasons this is so difficult to discern is because Scripture does call us to deny ourselves. Jesus tells us to take up our cross and follow Him. He calls us to surrender pride, selfish ambition, control, and the illusion that life revolves around us. Faithfulness often requires sacrifice. But self-abandonment is something different.

Following Jesus requires the death of the false self. Self-abandonment often requires the neglect of the true self. Jesus never stopped being who He was. He remained deeply connected to His identity, His mission, and His relationship with the Father. Even in suffering. Even on the cross. The goal is not becoming less human. It’s becoming more fully who God created us to be.

One of the reasons self-abandonment is so difficult to recognize is because Scripture never promises an easy life. In fact, Jesus promises the opposite. We will face hardship. We will be misunderstood. We may be rejected. We may suffer because of our faithfulness. So the question cannot simply be: “Am I suffering?” Because both faithfulness and self-abandonment can involve suffering.

The deeper question is: “What kind of suffering is this?” Some suffering comes from remaining faithful to what is true. Other suffering comes from abandoning what is true. Some suffering costs us comfort. Other suffering costs us ourselves. One may leave us weary. The other slowly disconnects us from who God created us to be. Discernment means learning the difference.

Self-abandonment rarely happens all at once. It happens gradually. One ignored concern. One dismissed emotion. One silenced conviction. One reluctant yes. One moment of pretending we’re ok when we’re not. For me, one of the clearest signs was how difficult it became to be honest. Honest with myself. Honest with God. Honest with trusted people.

The more disconnected I became from what was happening inside me, the easier it became to call survival faithfulness. But faithfulness should move us toward greater wholeness, even in the middle of suffering and hardship. Not away from it. It may stretch us. It may challenge us. It may cost us. But it should not require us to abandon the soul God has entrusted to us.

Spend some time sitting with these questions this week:

Don’t rush to answer. Sit with them. Sometimes discernment beings when we stop assuming and start paying attention.

As I reflect on this week’s theme, I kept coming back to how difficult discernment can be. Especially when our desire is to be faithful. Most of us aren’t trying to avoid sacrifice. We’re not looking for the easy way out. We genuinely want to honor God. And that’s what makes self-abandonment so difficult to recognize.

Sometimes what we’re carrying feels noble. Spiritual, even. We tell ourselves we’re being faithful. That we’re talking up our cross. That we’re serving others. And sometimes that’s true. But sometimes we’re carrying burdens God never asked us to carry.

Sometimes we’re saying yes because we’re afraid to say no. Sometimes we’re enduring because we’re afraid of disappointing people. Sometimes we’re calling fear faithfulness. That’s why this song resonates with me. Not because it celebrates strength, but because it begins with dependence.

The kind of dependence that acknowledges we don’t always know the difference. The kind of faith that asks God for wisdom when the path forward isn’t clear. The kind of faith that trusts Him enough to surrender what He asks us to surrender - and to reclaim what He never asked us to abandon.

Because true faithfulness isn’t about carrying every burden. It’s about faithfully carrying the ones God has actually given us.

Enjoy this week’s On Repeat!

When we spend enough time in unhealthy environments, we often leave carrying more than we realize. The wounds aren’t always visible. Sometimes they show up as distrust. Sometimes as grief. Sometimes as exhaustion. Sometimes as the lingering effects of living in survival mode for too long.

Next week, we’ll explore what it looks like to heal after leaving - and how to begin finding our way back to ourselves, to others, and to God.

In Christ,
Ben