Being With Yourself Instead of Managing Yourself

In recent weeks, two of my clients have been noticing something quietly unsettling.

They’ve slowed down.

They’ve reflected.

They’ve tried to approach their inner lives with more intention.

And instead of feeling clearer or more settled, they’ve become more aware of familiar patterns rising up — pressure, self-criticism, the urge to fix or override what feels uncomfortable. The ways they once relied on to stay steady, productive, or faithful no longer seem to work the way they used to.

I’ve noticed this in my own life as well. As I’ve slowed down in certain areas, I’ve been surprised by how quickly the impulse to manage myself still shows up — the urge to have answers, to escape discomfort, to make sure I’m doing things “right.” Noticing this in myself has helped me see how deeply ingrained these patterns really are, even when we sincerely want something different.

If this has also been your experience, let me assure you that nothing has gone wrong.

Often, this is simply what happens when old ways of relating to ourselves begin to loosen. And when that happens, a deeper question naturally follows:

If I’m not supposed to push myself the way I used to . . . what am I supposed to do instead?

Most of us learned early on how to manage ourselves.

When something inside feels painful, confusing, or uncomfortable, we instinctively move into problem-solving mode. We try to understand it, calm it down, correct it, or get past it as quickly as possible. We ask ourselves questions like:

Why am I feeling this way?

What's wrong with me?

How do I make this stop?

What should I be doing differently?

For a long time, I believed this kind of inner management was maturity — even faithfulness. It felt like a responsible, disciplined way to steward all that God had given me. And in many seasons of life, it truly helped me stay functional and move forward.

These responses didn’t develop by accident. Managing myself was often how I stayed safe, capable, and spiritually aligned in demanding times. I now understand there was real wisdom in these strategies.

I also learned that constant self-management is exhausting. Instead of bringing relief, it quietly increases pressure and creates distance, not only from myself, but also from God.

There’s a subtle but important difference between managing yourself and being with yourself.

When you’re managing yourself, it’s usually about trying to regain control — to reduce discomfort, correct what feels off, or move yourself toward a better outcome. It’s oriented toward fixing.

Being with yourself is different. It’s relational.

It sounds more like:

Oh — this is what’s here right now.

Something in me feels unsettled.

I’m noticing pressure.

Being with yourself doesn’t mean indulging every feeling or abandoning responsibility. It simply means allowing yourself to stay present with your inner experience without immediately trying to change it.

For many of us, this posture feels unfamiliar — even uncomfortable — because we’ve spent so long relating to ourselves through effort, vigilance, and self-correction.

When we stop managing ourselves, things don’t automatically feel better.

When I first stopped pushing myself the way I was used to, I expected relief. What I felt instead was uncertainty — and a kind of grief I hadn’t anticipated.

Old emotions surfaced. Familiar structures fell away. I realized how much effort it had once taken to hold everything together. This discomfort wasn’t a sign that something was wrong, but that I was no longer bypassing myself.

When familiar coping strategies lose their grip, we may grieve the stability they once provided. We may feel unsure how to relate to ourselves without pressure guiding the way. This in-between space can feel tender — not because we’re failing, but because we’re learning a new way of being.

Many of us were taught — often with good intentions — to turn toward God when we’re in pain instead of tuning into what that pain might be trying to tell us.

The unspoken assumption was that looking inward might distract us from faith in God. But I’ve learned that we actually need both — the courage to listen to what’s happening within us and the willingness to lean into God for understanding, strength, and guidance as we do.

Bypassing pain in our inner world doesn’t make us more spiritual.

It often leaves us feeling more disconnected.

Ignoring our pain doesn’t heal it.

Overriding ourselves doesn’t build trust.

For me, learning how to tune inwardly didn’t pull me away from God. It helped me turn toward Him more honestly and more deeply. As my inner world softened, prayer became less about performance and more about being with God to truly hear Him. Discernment felt steadier. Trust grew quietly, without force. Change began to unfold more naturally.

Being with yourself doesn’t require special insight or long practices.

Often, it looks like pausing in the middle of your day and gently asking:

What’s happening with me right now?

What am I noticing inside?

You’re not looking for answers.

You’re not trying to fix anything.

You’re simply noticing and acknowledging what’s here.

Sometimes, when I ask these questions, the answer is clear. Other times, it’s simply, “I don’t really know.” I’ve learned that both responses are valid and welcome.

This kind of gentle awareness begins to create something many of us don’t realize we are missing — internal safety. And safety changes everything: how we listen, how we pray, how we discern, and how change unfolds over time.

If you’ve noticed that pushing yourself, fixing yourself, or overriding yourself no longer brings the steadiness it once did, that may not be a problem to solve.

It may be an invitation to turn inward.

An invitation to relate to yourself with more honesty, patience, and care. An invitation to discover that being with yourself — rather than managing yourself — can open a deeper sense of trust, both within yourself and with God. This shift has reshaped how I understand growth and change more than anything else I’ve learned.

If this way of approaching yourself resonates, you may be in a season where guidance and support feel helpful.

This is the heart of what I teach in Anatomy of Change — a faith-based journey into lasting change that begins not with fixing ourselves, but with learning how to be with ourselves more compassionately and honestly.

There’s no urgency to change anything here — just an open invitation to explore whether this season is asking for a different internal posture.

If you’d like to learn more about Anatomy of Change, you’re warmly welcome to join the waitlist to receive more information when enrollment opens.