The Truth That Frees Us
I've spent too much time running from life. I get caught up in emotions such as fear, overwhelm, and anxiety. And these emotions produce cycles of avoidance—scrolling endlessly, dodging calls, putting off what matters. It's a sickness I fall into when I'm not paying attention. But I've found a way out, and it starts with a simple question: Why?
Why am I doing this? Why do I feel stuck? I keep asking, peeling back the layers—why this, why that—until I hit something solid. The final why always results in the same answer: I've turned someone into an object: a vehicle I can use to get me to a goal, an obstacle in the way of reaching a goal, or irrelevant to my goal. Maybe someone I'm mad at, treating them like a roadblock in my way. Maybe me, acting like I'm just a tool to get stuff done and not a human being who matters.
For example, I might be avoiding a tough problem at work. If I ask myself "Why don't I want to do this work?" I might get the answer: Because I feel like I can't be successful. "Why do I feel like I can't be successful?" Because I know so little about it. "Why do I know so little?" It's new and I could mess up. "Why is messing up a problem?" I need to look smart. "Why do I need to look smart?" Because I need to prove I'm worthwhile. "Why do I need to prove my worth?" Because showing I'm better is how I matter.
How do I know when to stop asking? It's not a rule; it's a shift I feel. The "why" questions dig through the noise—past the blame, past the distractions—until I'm left with a choice I can't ignore: How am I seeing them right now? A person, or something to use, work around, or ignore? That's the pivot. The moment I see it—really see it—I can't keep pretending. I ask, "Why do I need them to be an object?" It loops back "Why do I need to be smarter, stronger, better?" Can I be the best? No—someone will always outdo me. Letting that go cracks the cycle. A burden disappears from my shoulders. My muscles relax—I didn't even know they were tight. Fear and anxiety flee.
In chasing worth, I make myself an object—a tool to prove I matter. Because the need for worth is comparative, everyone around me becomes an object too as I constantly assess—are they less successful than me, more skilled, or irrelevant to my goals? This cycle never ends, fueled by the fear that I might not be enough. But the escape is simple: worth isn't something to prove. It's always there. And that’s when I see the truth: I've reduced someone—me, them—to a thing.
A voice cuts through: "You matter. They matter." That's Christ, relentless, refusing the lie. There's a deeper part, a truth I can't outrun, that knows when I'm lying about worth. That's God. And the weight on my soul? The Holy Ghost, whispering something's off. When I justify treating someone like a tool, a block, a blank, it presses harder. The "why" stops when excuses fade, and I face the choice: see the object of my blame as human, or keep lying. When I choose the truth—that no one matters more or less—I start acting accordingly. That's freedom.
If you're stuck, try it. Ask "why" until the question turns on you—not "Why am I this way?"—that's are about state and will only reinforce the emotions. Rather ask about actions: "What am I making this about?" Then: "Is it true?" You'll know you're done when you feel the shift: the fog lifts, and it's just you and a choice. That's where the freedom lives.
And the reason this works is the questions must be asked without blame. They are not asked as a way of measuring myself, but from true curiosity. The idea that "you matter"—Christ—is naturally judgement-free and allows me to see myself without the fear of what the answer will mean. It dissolves the judgement that trapped me in the fear, overwhelm, and anxiety. And asking all the way to the source lets me loop back to "you matter and they matter" which smashes the need to prove myself and eliminates the dread. But more importantly, it releases me from the loops that keep me stuck and miserable. I'm free to choose anything—not just how to feed the worry of my worth. That's true freedom.
(NOTE: The ideas in this post are all mine, but AI was used to help build it out)
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