One of the hardest parts of healing is learning to recognize what you’re actually feeling.
As survivors, we’ve spent so much of our lives disconnected from our emotions that when they finally begin to surface, it’s easy to lump everything together. If I’m crying, maybe I’m going backwards. If I’m overwhelmed, maybe I’ve opened a door. If I’m grieving, maybe something is wrong.
I’ve learned that’s not true.
Some of the greatest breakthroughs in my life were preceded by grief so heavy I could barely put it into words. I didn’t know how to express it and all I could do was run to Jesus again and again. Healing doesn’t always feel peaceful in the moment because healing requires us to face things we spent years, and sometimes decades, trying to survive without feeling.
Scripture makes an important distinction that I think we sometimes miss. It tells us there’s a difference between godly sorrow and the sorrow of the world. Godly sorrow produces repentance that leads to life, while worldly sorrow produces death. Those two things may both involve tears, but they don’t produce the same fruit.
That’s the question I’ve started asking myself more often.
What is the fruit of what I’m feeling?
Godly sorrow draws me toward God. Even when I’m grieving, there’s still hope underneath the pain. I’m bringing my brokenness to Him instead of running from Him. My heart becomes softer, not harder. I find myself depending on Him more than I did before. The grief may be real, but it’s moving me toward freedom.
Fear produces something entirely different and can seriously hinder the healing process. I’ve experienced this too. It came in the form of “help” from someone I trusted, yet it almost destroyed me.
Fear magnifies every threat until it’s all I can see. It convinces me that nowhere is safe. It tells me I need to constantly watch my back, anticipate every danger, and stay one step ahead of evil. Instead of drawing me closer to God, it slowly shifts my attention away from Him and onto everything that could happen.
That’s not the same thing as discernment.
Discernment asks, “Lord, what are You showing me?” It waits for His direction and trusts Him to make the next step clear.
Fear asks, “What danger have I missed?” It demands certainty before it will move and convinces me that if I’m not constantly on guard, something terrible is going to happen.
The enemy doesn’t have to convince us that evil isn’t real. Most survivors know better than anyone that evil is real. What he wants is for us to become so consumed with watching the darkness that we stop looking at the Light.
I’ve heard people say, “Fear isn’t from God,” and while I understand what they’re trying to communicate, I think it’s worth making a careful distinction. The Bible doesn’t say we’ll never experience fear. In fact, Scripture talks about the fear of the Lord, and there are times when God warns His people about danger. But when God warns someone, He also gives direction. He tells Noah to build an ark. He tells Joseph to flee to Egypt. He tells Paul what lies ahead so he can walk forward in obedience.
God’s warnings produce wisdom and obedience.
Fear that leads to bondage produces paralysis.
There’s a tremendous difference between feeling the weight of what you’ve survived and believing you have to spend the rest of your life imprisoned by it.
One of the biggest lies survivors often believe is that hypervigilance is the same thing as wisdom. We become convinced that if we can stay alert enough, remember enough, prepare enough, identify every infiltrator, recognize every symbol, or anticipate every possible threat, then we’ll finally be safe.
I’ve lived that way before. The problem is that my peace was never meant to come from my ability to outsmart darkness. It’s supposed to come from the One who already overcame it.
That doesn’t mean we ignore evil or become naïve or pretend danger doesn’t exist. Wisdom is biblical. Discernment is biblical. Setting healthy boundaries is biblical. But living in a constant state of alarm isn’t the same thing as walking in wisdom.
One produces freedom.
The other produces bondage.
Trauma also complicates all of it because fear isn’t always a choice. Many survivors have nervous systems that learned to live in survival mode long before they ever had words for what happened to them. A loud noise, an unexpected situation, or a trauma reminder can trigger fear automatically. Feeling afraid doesn’t mean you’ve failed or that you don’t trust God enough.
The question isn’t whether fear shows up.
The question is whether I’m going to partner with it.
Am I bringing that fear to God and allowing Him to remind me who He is? Or am I allowing fear to become the lens through which I interpret everything around me?
Healing isn’t the absence of tears.
Healing is learning the difference between the tears that lead me to Jesus and the fear that pulls me away from Him.
When I’m grieving with God, I’m becoming freer even if I’m crying. When I’m partnering with fear, my world becomes smaller. I stop taking healthy risks. I isolate myself. I begin believing that nowhere is safe and that I can’t possibly live the life God has called me to live because there’s danger around every corner.
That’s not the freedom Christ purchased for us.
The safest place I’ll ever be isn’t the place where I’ve identified every possible threat. It’s the place where I’m walking in obedience to God.
My confidence isn’t in my ability to predict evil. It’s in His ability to lead me, protect me, correct me when I need it, and finish the work He’s begun in me.
That’s the difference between faith and fear. One keeps my eyes fixed on everything the enemy might do. The other keeps my eyes fixed on the God who has already overcome him.
The same thing can happen when someone speaks into my life. We have to take everything to the Lord for confirmation. We must examine the fruit and recognize that if it is producing a fear that is keeping me looking over my shoulder more than looking to Jesus then something is wrong.
I’ve been reminded of this verse so many times lately and putting it into action always decreases my fear.
Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things. Philippians 4:8.