When Honesty Feels Like Failure

Psalm 51:6 “Surely You desire truth in the inner parts; You teach me wisdom in the inmost place.”

A few years ago, I hit a stretch in late November that looked fine on paper. The church calendar was full. People were being helped. I was preaching, teaching, leading, doing all the things.

One Sunday I stepped up to preach on joy. On the outside I did what I always do. Bible open. Clear outline. Pastoral smile. But during the last song, as everyone sang about the goodness of God, my chest was tight, my jaw was clenched, and all I wanted was to disappear into a dark room and not talk to anyone for the rest of the day.

Later that week someone close to me asked, “How are you really?” I remember pausing longer than usual, because my honest answer did not sound like a “good leader.” I was tempted to dodge it. Quote a verse. Call it a busy season. Instead, I said, “I am not okay, and I do not know what to do with that.” Saying it out loud felt like failure. In reality, it was the first honest step back toward God and toward myself.

In the world of psychology, there is a simple map called Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). It says that what we think and what we feel in our bodies starts to shape our moods and our habits, even when our behavior on the outside looks polished. You can preach joy while your inner world is running on anxiety and numbness. Over time, that gap will tear you apart.

In my research life, I am drawn to something called Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis (IPA). It is a way of listening carefully to people’s “lived experiences,” to the words they choose and the meaning they give to their story. It slows everything down. It asks, “What is it like for you?” and “What does it mean to you?” In that season, I realized I needed to turn that same careful listening toward my own life. I had to treat my tight chest, my tired thoughts, and my late night habits as part of my story, not as background noise.

Lead From Wholeness says you cannot lead well on a steady diet of pretend. You can keep the sermons coming and the meetings going, but if you refuse to tell the truth in the “inner parts,” you are building ministry on a crack in the foundation.

Psalm 51 does not start with praise. It starts with confession. “You desire truth in the inner parts.” God is not asking you for a performance. He is asking for reality.

I am not interested in forcing anyone into a shallow version of thankfulness. I am interested in helping leaders stop lying to themselves in the name of being “strong.” Maybe this November your deepest act of worship is not a perfect holiday table or a busy church calendar. Maybe your deepest act of worship is finally saying, “Lord, here is how I actually am,” and letting Him meet you there.

Practices for today

1. Take five minutes and write, “If I were completely honest about my inner life right now, I would say…” Then finish the sentence without editing. You do not have to show it to anyone yet. Let it be raw.

2. Go back to what you wrote and underline any place your body shows up. Words like tired, tense, wired, numb, restless. Ask God, “What are You trying to show me through these signals?”

3. Share one honest sentence from what you wrote with a trusted person who can handle your truth. A spouse, friend, mentor, counselor, or coach. Not the whole story if that feels too vulnerable. Just one sentence that says, “Here is where I really am,” so you are not carrying it alone.

Prayer

Lord, You desire truth in the inner parts. You are not fooled by my pace, my smile, or my title. You see the tightness in my chest and the swirl in my mind. You know where I am not okay. Give me courage to stop pretending with You and with the people who love me. Teach me to listen to my own story with honesty and compassion. Meet me in the place I really am, not the place I think a leader is supposed to be. From that place, teach me to lead from wholeness. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

You do not have to be “fine” to be faithful; you just have to be honest in front of God and let Him start from there.