So Long Insecurity

by Beth Moore

  Sister, you and I have to learn to be secure enough to question any relationship that involves secrecy. Secure people live in the light. Here’s another story about female friendships:

  I had two good friends at work, but they weren’t really friends with each other. I secretly liked it because I thought if they got to know each other, they would really hit it off and I would be useless to them. Wouldn’t you know, they did get to know each other and totally hit it off. They would have lunch together [and] went shopping after work. While I should have reminded myself of the many lunches and shopping outings I had with both of them separately, I let it upset me so much. I would cry to my husband at night that they didn’t like me anymore. I should have been praising the fact that they had become friends, and all I could do was feel sorry for myself. I didn’t have the confidence to realize that they still enjoyed my friendship. I felt [like I was] twelve all over again.

  Jealousy of our friends and the fear that they’ll like each other better than they like us is always a product of insecurity, and too often it’s the sharp blade to a decent relationship. Permit me to share one more story because this one moves from the emotional arena to the sexual—something that catches many women by surprise:

  Because I was not finding my worth in Christ and I had a lot of hatred toward males as a result of things that happened in my childhood, I attempted to find it through my relationships with my female friends. This resulted in three codependent sexual “friendships” with other insecure, hurting ladies. I rationalized with every possible excuse because I needed the feeling of being chosen in order to believe that I was worth something. I cannot believe that I was so deceived. To this day, I often wish that life had an eraser so that I didn’t have a testimony that scared away [many in] the church and hurt three people I really cared about in ways that still impact them today. Praise the Lord for His mercy being new every morning!

  Insecurity can cause a mom to be overcontrolling or just generally out of control.

  I keep making a fool out of myself in front of my daughter. I am so afraid that every little thing she does is some kind of “pre-” to everything I did, I act like a controlling nutcase.

  Another:

  Wow. As a mom of a sixteen-year-old . . . yes I am still insecure. I am watching when other girls tell her she is fat, but she is not. She believes them and not me. She wants a boy to like her so much that I watch her try to be something different just to be liked. I try to tell her over and over again she just needs the love of Jesus, not some man, to be accepted. Sometimes I feel alone in this. I want her to learn she is enough, just by being who she is right now. I don’t want her to go down the road I did, sleeping with a guy just to feel loved and accepted.

  And another:

  My insecurities increased tenfold when I became a mother. I had such a harsh upbringing that I just knew I would turn out to be my parents. I let Satan sneak into my thoughts daily, and I believed all the “you can’t do this” and “go back to work because they would be better off without you.” I fell into a depression that I have never experienced before in my life. I started to become what the evil one was telling me. After years of this I got help, and I am now the best mom that I can possibly be with the Lord standing right beside me. I still have flashbacks of those lies, but I am so past believing them. Thank You, Lord, for bringing me out of the pit! I am who You say I am!

  If you think insecurity makes run-of-the-mill parenting difficult, it can make the challenges of stepparenting nearly debilitating:

  I married a man twenty years older than me, and along with that marriage I became a stepmother to his three kids. Six years ago when we were first married, we attended one of his company dinners. This dinner included roughly forty of his team members, plus their spouses. At that time, I was incredibly (and I can’t stress incredibly enough) insecure. I was a full-blown mental mess. Anyway, my husband and I got into an argument at the table during dinner. He had said something about having three kids with his ex-wife—and I just came unglued. For one, I hated any mention of her name in the first place. I was so irrationally fearful that he still had feelings for her. And for two, I was jealous that they weren’t my kids. I thought for so long that because they weren’t my birth children, he loved them more than me. Keep in mind, he is twenty years older than me, and his kids are closer to my age.

  Everyone at the table kept trying to include me in conversation—and I acted like an idiot. I was short and unpleasant and just downright rude because I was so ticked off at my husband. God love him, he was so embarrassed. I was so out of my ever-loving, insane mind that when he got up to go to the restroom (because he had just had enough of my whining), I followed him. It was a unisex restroom (we were in a private party room), and it had only one stall and the door locked. I charged into the restroom after him and chewed him up one side and down the other (for what? God only knows). And I ended up bawling and acting like a psycho. Oooooh, bad memories. When we left the restroom, the two main gossipers of his work group were standing outside in line waiting for the restroom. Bottom line: I looked like some sort of freaking psycho, and my husband suffered from my foolishness as well.

  Another:

  I’m a stepmom. When my husband and I first got married, his former significant other lived a thousand miles away, and my husband was raising his son on his own. His son was four when I first met him and six by the time we were married. My stepson’s biological mother only saw him a couple of times a year. The day I married my husband, my stepson asked, “Can I call you Mommy now?” He did, and I was—for about five years—the only mother figure in his life. Then news came that made me want to cry, throw up, scream, and a million other things all at once. She was moving back and wanted to start visitation with her son. I felt terrible [that] she was coming and guilty that I felt terrible. It should have been a good thing. But I was totally insecure about my role in this little boy’s life. So I spent a few years not only being miserable about the situation, but sometimes miserable to my stepson, always miserable to his mother, and quite often miserable to my husband whenever issues arose involving visitation. Hate grew in my heart. I tried my best to get it all under my control, to be in charge and make things just the way I wanted them to be. Do you know how tiring that is? We tried and tried to have children of our own. I thought then I could be a mom again! The one and only mom! Then I could feel secure! But I could not get pregnant. I was just in pieces inside. When it came to the place where I just couldn’t handle it anymore, I just had to give it to God. Should have done that first, right? Healing didn’t happen overnight, and I think it is still an ongoing process . . . but I now know my place in that little (over six feet tall now) boy’s life.

  Insecurity can turn a gifted person into the competition.

  God has blessed me with the ability to play an instrument, and I have played at my church off and on for the past twelve years. For some reason, I almost always get insecure when another player of my instrument comes to orchestra. It’s like this “queen bee” mentality comes over me, and I turn into a possessive, distant, and mean-spirited person. Thankfully the Lord is faithful and patient with me, gently showing me my faults and helping me to recognize my place in Him alone. He is the only way that I am able to get through it.

  Insecurity weighs heavily in weight issues.

  I feel so silly writing this. Putting it down on paper (well, computer screen, anyway) shows me just how embarrassing this is. Sheesh. I’m about fifteen to twenty pounds overweight, and I have a rather large bottom (ahem). There have been several occasions when I have been scheduled to sing in church or to lead the service or to make an announcement up front, and I have ended up coming up with excuses (lies) as to why I can’t. The thought of walking up front and then climbing the stairs while everyone can see my backside brings out insecurities galore. I feel so ashamed that I allow that to stop me from ministering.

  Another:

  Can I just say how very glad I am that I am the mot
her of two boys?! Growing up female and knowing how hard it is, I don’t know if I could stand having to see a daughter go through it. (And yes, I am sure boys deal with much of the same; it’s just that I know what it feels like to be a girl.) My parents separated when I was seven. My father was moving on to wife number four. I always knew he loved me, but I never felt he loved me. My mom would often tell me that he had left us and didn’t love us, and [she] would get very angry at me for wanting to see him. She went from an average-sized lady to [one who weighed] 220 pounds, and throughout my adolescent years she would not pass up an opportunity to say, “You’ve gained weight. You’re going to end up looking just like me.” I hated the way I looked. I was five feet six inches tall and weighed between 128 and 135 pounds and had a very curvy body type. I envied my girlfriends who were stick-straight size fours. Can you believe it? Looking back, [I think] they probably envied me! When I see pictures of myself then I am stunned. I was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.

  On top of that, nothing I did satisfied [my mother]. I was a straight-A student, never got into trouble, and yet I could do nothing right in her eyes. I was always insecure about guys. In hindsight, I think I tended to sabotage relationships for fear of being rejected.

  And another:

  My appearance changed after a surgery I had to remove cancer from my body. I was already overweight, but it got worse after the surgery. I had also been divorced for quite a few years, and I wanted to one day be remarried. After the surgery, my insecurity was full-blown out of control. I kept thinking, Who would want me now? That played in my head like a recording. After recovery, I went back to work, and a man acted interested in me, and that was all it took. Sexual immorality for months. Sneaking around and trying to hide it from my family and friends. I was a complete fool. My sin looked far worse on me than my appearance after the surgery. I hated myself [and] what I had done and actually could not believe I had done it. I did something I said I would never do; insecurity that is not dealt with is disastrous.

  Insecurity can turn a priceless daughter of God into a bootlicker.

  I have seven brothers (no sisters; I am in the middle), and once when I was about ten years old, we went on a ski trip with oodles of cousins and stayed in a lodge. The folks all went out for the evening, and us kids were all left to ourselves. (What were they thinking? I won’t even tell you the pranks my brothers pulled and the trouble we all got into for it!) I came running into a room where everyone was gathered, and they had said something I couldn’t hear, so I asked them to repeat it. Well, they wouldn’t, so I just begged and begged. I didn’t want to be left out, and I so wanted to be “in.” My oldest brother said he’d tell me if I licked the bottom of his boot. So without hesitation, I did! They laughed and laughed at me (still do) for that and wouldn’t tell me what they had said. (What was I thinking?) Well, that hasn’t helped my insecurity at all, and I still have a bad taste in my mouth!

  I bet she does! And I hope we do too. I’d imagine most of us have licked the bottom of some boots over insecurity. I used this fairly benign example to introduce us to one that is so malignant, it could turn deadly in the blink of an eye.

  I was violated against my will on a date at sixteen. I worked as a cashier at the time, and when the friend of the violator (we’ll call him Vinnie) came into the store three weeks later, I blurted out, “Have Vinnie call me.” Just makes me weep. Not only did I not call the police when it happened, I went soliciting for it again. By God’s grace, the phone never rang, and I eventually got help for the insecurity.

  In order to avoid having to deal with the fact that we’ve been violated, sometimes we will reframe a situation, making ourselves out to be free agents who wanted it. We sometimes think it’s better to prove crass than weak. We think so little of ourselves that we end up not calling a wrong a wrong or a crime a crime. Insecurity and all its attending emotional unhealthiness can cause us to embrace people who abuse us. And if we don’t wake up, they could kill us. Let me be blunt: security means we know a jerk when we see one and we know a crime when we experience one. It’s not a gender thing. Men also need to recognize a poisonous person when they encounter one and run for their lives before she gets her fangs into them.

  Insecurity can veil our vision and blind us to how blessed we are.

  I was adopted and have the best parents ever. But all through school and high school I felt insecure. My parents always told me how much I was loved and wanted. But I let insecurity make me feel like I was not good enough. I mean, how could a mother not want and love her child? Something had to be wrong with me. So I carried that with me for forty-eight years. I let it control me and make me feel like I could not win and did not deserve to win. Even after I was a Christian, it still would pop up. Then one day I was walking and talking to God, and He made it clear to me that He loved me and I was placed where He wanted me. That He had chosen my parents before I was even conceived! Wow, it was an awesome moment. A huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. I can look back now and see so many areas that Satan used with that insecurity. Makes me mad that so much waste came from that.

  Insecurity can even rear its hideous head at the drive-through.

  I used to be so insecure that I would avoid drive-through windows. I didn’t like the way my voice sounded, and I was afraid the person on the other end would think my voice was weird. How silly is that? I mean, whose voice doesn’t sound strange when they’re in a drive-through, and even if it does, who cares? I laugh about it now because it’s so silly.

  Imagine the tragedy if you’re a Starbucks freak like me. Picture the needless lethargy! Get over it and make that order! And while you’re at it, I’ll have a grande nonfat cappuccino with an extra shot.

  Insecurity can confine us.

  At work, if there are a lot of people standing in the hallway outside of my office, I won’t leave my office. I am so insecure that I feel that if I do walk by, they are judging me or they will talk about me. It gets to be overwhelming, and I end up becoming angry with myself because of my insecurities.

  Insecurity can talk us into doing things we don’t even want to do.

  Insecurity has made me do things I knew were dead wrong. Several “sophisticated” friends invited us to Manhattan to have dinner at a place made famous by Sex and the City. Never having seen the show, I didn’t know what it was all about. We arrived at this dark, dungeonlike place, and I knew not to go in. Insecurity scooted me in the door, and there were normal-looking people enjoying their filet mignons, while the waiters and waitresses were semi-naked and wearing dog collars. I was so amazed at everyone in my group acting like this was normal. I went right along until they came to the table offering a menu of foot massages while you eat. I got up from the table, went in the restroom, and got on my knees. God, get me out of this filth, and forgive me for being so flimsy that I ended up here. With that, I walked to the table [and] said I was going home. And home I went. Never did see my sophisticated friends again.

  It’s very worth noting from her story that insecurity also causes us to accept things as normal that aren’t. That’s one of many reasons we need to stay in relationships with lots of transparency. At one time or another, each of us needs somebody to say, “Now, that’s just plain weird.”

  Insecurity can get us into the worst relational nightmares of our lives. Oh, the affairs evolving from insecurity! These are just a few of the many stories:

  I married young and never felt that I had my husband’s attention in the way I wanted it—I wanted to be his every waking thought, I guess. I attributed what I perceived to be his lack of attention to my lack of desirability. During a very stressful time in our family and after twenty years of marriage, I set out to have an affair—I think to prove to myself that I was attractive. I set out, and I achieved. My affair with a married Christian man lasted several years and almost destroyed my marriage. This situation was the “slimy pit” the Lord lifted me out of (Psalm 40:2). After my husband discovered the affair (discovered in the w
orst possible way, I might add), I had his attention all right. My betrayal consumed his every thought. As I write this, images of my foolish, disgusting, embarrassing, sinful behavior flood my mind, and my stomach turns. Thank You, Jesus, for rescuing me! And I can also say, with a hallelujah praise, that God restored our marriage—not to where it was before, but to a new marriage with His gloriousness at the center.

  And another:

  Insecurity has had a devastating effect on my life. Years of severe sexual, emotional, and physical abuse for my entire childhood led me to be a closed-off and distant woman who could not see her value and beauty and worth at all. My innermost desire to be cleansed of my shame over my abuse and to prove that I could be desirable led me to have inappropriate friendships with males, which eventually led to my committing adultery. The affair was with a man who was a sexual predator and addict, and the things I did with him were so demeaning and degrading that I still have a hard time thinking about it. And I did all this because I so desperately wanted someone to love me—anyone to love me.

  Not only can insecurity talk us into disastrous relationships, it can talk us out of great ones. This is one of many examples: