I Was Good But I Was Hiding.
Obedience wasn’t the problem—fear was.
Obedience out of fear is where I started. Obedience out of love is where I’ve ended up.
I was driving to the airport recently and, as I sometimes do during those long stretches where I have no interest in playlists I’ve heard a thousand times, I started thinking about how I ended up here.
Like really—how am I here?
Not somewhere else.
Not with someone else.
Not doing something else.
But here - doing okay most days, living a life that I love.
A little context.
Up until college, I was the very definition of a “good girl”—at least on the outside. But if I’m honest, there was a part of me that got a little sneaky. Nothing too awful, but looking back, there were definitely some flags that while not quite red, were definitely pink-ish - waving. Still good enough to get by - I went to mass, received the Sacraments, followed most of the rules at home for sure, but, not good in ways that would eventually catch up with me.
College came, and while not all bets were off, I kept my faith at a safe distance. And willful as ever, I started down paths I knew better than to take.
That’s when things got interesting.
One final not-so-great event knocked the wind out of me. Whatever false confidence I had left crumbled. The willful girl disappeared, and what was left was a scared young woman just trying to find her way back. Back to what was good. Back to what was safe. Back to what was true.
A profound confession with a good and holy priest combined with a few weeks of self-imposed isolation helped. I returned to obedience—obedient to God, to my parents, even to myself.
And for a while, it worked. Until it didn’t.
Because I realized I wasn’t being obedient out of love.
I was being obedient out of fear.
Fear that I’d mess up again.
Fear that if I didn’t do everything right, I’d be unlovable.
Fear that I’d disappoint everyone—again.
And that, friend, is a hard way to try and love yourself whole.
A few years ago, on a drive a lot like last week’s, something settled in quietly. A realization: something had shifted. I was a grown woman now—with a husband, with children—and the fear that used to drive me? It had been replaced.
By love.
Not the kind we’re sold on magazine covers.
The real kind. The kind that holds steady when you don’t.
The kind that grows when you realize the Lord you love actually loves you back—not the cleaned-up version, but you. All of you.
The wrong turns.
The willfulness.
The less-than-stellar choices.
The fear.
The loss.
None of it scared Him then. And the thought that it might happen again? Still doesn’t.
And that kind of love—it changed everything.
It moved me out of fear and into something stronger.
Not perfection. Not performance. Just a steady, daily kind of obedience.
One rooted in love.
I still wrestle with the Lord about a lot of other things. But not about that. Not anymore.
What caused the change? I’m not entirely sure.
Maybe it was the steady, profoundly generous love of a man who sees all my broken places—and stays.
Maybe motherhood taught me that willfulness doesn’t have to lead to disaster. Sometimes it’s a superpower when you’re facing hard choices and parenting storms.
Maybe it was the beautiful, strong women who’ve nurtured me, walked with me, and shared their own stories—of pain and suffering, of loss and heartache—reminding me I’m not alone. And that I’m still loveable.
This is what I ponder now on those car rides.
It’s funny, in a holy kind of way, how this is where I’ve landed. Still obedient. But no longer hiding. No longer needing to sneak or go unnoticed to avoid disappointment or shame.
Now my obedience comes from a different place. From a deeper place.
From wanting to live a life that’s aligned—not with the world’s standards—but with the ones I’ve come to trust are good, true, and beautiful.
Not perfect. But faithful.
If you’re like me and you sometimes wonder how you’ve ended up on the better side of a life you weren’t sure you deserved… know this:
Healing has a way of surprising you. Sometimes the hardest things—the ones you brought on yourself—are the very ones God will use to make you whole again.
That’s been my journey.
Maybe it's been yours too.
