There is a quiet exhaustion that settles into a person long before they ever recognize what it is. It does not come from working too hard, serving too much, or caring too deeply. It comes from something far more subtle and far more draining: living as though who you are must constantly be confirmed by someone else. Many people never name this exhaustion, but they live with it every day. It shows up in the way they hesitate before speaking. It shows up in the way they replay conversations after they end. It shows up in the fear of being misunderstood, misjudged, or quietly pushed aside. And often, it shows up in spiritual life as well—where faith becomes less about obedience and more about optics.
At the heart of that exhaustion is a simple but dangerous misunderstanding: the belief that approval is the same thing as value. Somewhere along the way, many people learned that acceptance equals worth, that affirmation equals security, and that being liked is evidence that they are doing something right. This belief is rarely taught outright, but it is absorbed slowly—through family dynamics, social environments, church cultures, workplaces, and even well-meaning relationships. Over time, it creates a life that looks functional on the outside but feels fractured on the inside.
Faith, when understood rightly, confronts this misunderstanding head-on. It does not do so harshly or dismissively, but truthfully. Faith reminds us that identity precedes approval, not the other way around. It teaches us that who we are is not something to be rented out to the opinions of others, but something to be rooted in the purpose of God. When identity is rooted, approval loses its leverage. When identity is rented, approval becomes a necessity.
This is why the statement feels so freeing when we finally hear it clearly: the more you own who you are, the less you need others to approve of it. That is not a statement of defiance. It is not a declaration of independence from community or accountability. It is a statement of spiritual maturity. It reflects a life that has stopped outsourcing its sense of self and has begun living from a place of grounded conviction.
Scripture consistently affirms that God’s work in a person begins long before public recognition ever enters the picture. The biblical narrative does not portray identity as something discovered through popularity or consensus, but as something bestowed by God and refined through obedience. Again and again, Scripture reveals a pattern: God calls, people resist, obedience follows, and only later does affirmation sometimes come. The calling is never dependent on approval. In fact, approval often comes last—if it comes at all.
Yet despite this pattern, many believers struggle deeply with the fear of being disliked, misunderstood, or rejected. This struggle does not make them weak; it makes them human. We are relational beings, created for connection, and there is nothing sinful about wanting to be understood or valued. The problem arises when that desire quietly replaces trust in God. When approval becomes the measure of whether we are on the right path, faith begins to bend under pressure.
This bending often happens subtly. It starts with small compromises—choosing silence instead of honesty, neutrality instead of conviction, comfort instead of obedience. None of these choices feel dramatic in the moment. They feel practical. They feel relationally intelligent. They feel safe. But over time, they form a pattern, and that pattern shapes a person into someone who is always adjusting, always adapting, always scanning the environment for cues about who they are allowed to be.
The tragedy of this pattern is not that it offends God, but that it robs the individual of peace. A person who lives for approval is never at rest, because approval is never guaranteed. It can be withdrawn without warning. It can turn into criticism overnight. It can evaporate the moment someone grows, changes, or refuses to comply. A life built on approval is a life built on sand.
Faith offers something far sturdier. It offers identity anchored in truth rather than reaction. It offers belonging that does not fluctuate with mood or misunderstanding. It offers a foundation that remains intact even when affirmation disappears. This is why Scripture repeatedly emphasizes the idea of being “rooted.” Roots are hidden, unseen, and slow to grow, but they determine everything about a tree’s ability to stand.
A person rooted in God does not need to announce themselves. They do not need to prove their worth. They do not need to defend their calling to every critic. Their stability does not come from being applauded; it comes from being aligned. Alignment produces a quiet confidence that is fundamentally different from arrogance. Arrogance demands attention. Alignment invites trust.
This distinction matters deeply, especially in a world that confuses confidence with noise and conviction with aggression. Owning who you are in Christ does not make you loud. It makes you steady. It does not make you unteachable. It makes you secure enough to learn. It does not make you dismissive of others. It makes you less dependent on their reactions.
When Jesus walked the earth, He embodied this kind of rootedness perfectly. He did not seek misunderstanding, but He did not avoid it either. He did not provoke for the sake of provocation, yet He never diluted truth to preserve comfort. His identity was settled long before crowds gathered, and it remained settled long after crowds dispersed. This is why He could love without performing and serve without needing recognition. His sense of self was not negotiated through public opinion.
This aspect of Jesus’ life is often admired but rarely imitated. Many believers praise His courage while quietly hoping they will never be called to display the same. Yet faith, by its very nature, invites us into that same kind of grounded living. It does not promise that obedience will be celebrated. It promises that obedience will be meaningful.
One of the most liberating realizations in spiritual life is the understanding that misunderstanding does not equal misdirection. Just because people question your choices does not mean God is displeased. Just because your path is lonely does not mean it is wrong. Many people abandon their calling not because God withdrew it, but because approval did.
This is particularly painful when the disapproval comes from people whose opinions matter deeply—family members, spiritual leaders, close friends, or communities that once felt safe. When that happens, the temptation is to retreat inward or to reshape oneself into something more palatable. Faith, however, invites a different response. It invites discernment rather than defensiveness. It invites courage rather than conformity.
Discernment allows a person to listen without surrendering. It allows space for growth without surrendering identity. It creates room for humility without sacrificing conviction. This balance is not easy, and it is rarely celebrated, but it is essential. Without it, faith becomes either rigid or fragile—rigid when it refuses reflection, fragile when it cannot withstand disagreement.
Owning who you are does not mean rejecting accountability or correction. In fact, true ownership makes accountability possible. A person who knows who they are does not feel threatened by feedback, because feedback does not define them. They can receive wisdom without collapsing and adjust without losing themselves. This kind of maturity is only possible when identity is anchored somewhere deeper than approval.
Many people mistake people-pleasing for kindness. They confuse conflict avoidance with love. They equate silence with humility. Over time, this confusion leads to resentment, burnout, and spiritual numbness. Love that requires self-erasure is not love; it is survival. Faith does not ask us to disappear so others can remain comfortable. It asks us to stand truthfully while remaining compassionate.
Compassion without conviction becomes enabling. Conviction without compassion becomes cruelty. The life of faith calls us to hold both together—and that is only possible when identity is settled. A person who does not know who they are will either harden or hide. A person who does know who they are can engage without fear.
This is why so many people experience a profound shift when they finally stop chasing approval. It is not that they stop caring about others; it is that they stop being controlled by them. They no longer feel the need to rehearse their worth. They no longer feel crushed by every disagreement. They no longer interpret rejection as a verdict on their value.
Instead, they begin to experience peace—a peace that does not depend on circumstances or consensus. This peace does not come from winning arguments or being admired. It comes from alignment with God’s truth and trust in His direction. It allows a person to walk forward even when affirmation lags behind obedience.
There is also a deeper spiritual truth at work here: God often removes external approval to strengthen internal clarity. Seasons of misunderstanding are not always punishments; sometimes they are preparations. They strip away dependence on applause and force a person to listen more closely to God. In those seasons, faith deepens—not because answers become easier, but because trust becomes stronger.
People who emerge from these seasons often carry a different kind of authority. It is not the authority of popularity, but of presence. They do not need to convince others of their sincerity; it shows. They do not need to demand respect; it is felt. This authority is quiet, but it is powerful. It flows from a life that has been tested and anchored.
Ultimately, faith invites us to stop asking the wrong question. The wrong question is, “Do they approve of me?” The right question is, “Am I being faithful?” Approval asks whether others are comfortable. Faithfulness asks whether God is honored. These questions rarely produce the same answer.
When faithfulness becomes the priority, approval becomes optional. Appreciated, perhaps, but no longer necessary. This shift does not happen overnight. It happens through obedience practiced quietly, through truth spoken gently, through courage exercised imperfectly. Over time, identity settles, roots deepen, and freedom follows.
This freedom is not flashy. It does not announce itself. But it is unmistakable when you encounter it. It is seen in the person who speaks honestly without bitterness, who stands firmly without hostility, who remains open without being pliable. It is the freedom of someone who knows who they are and Whose they are.
And that freedom is precisely where faith was always meant to lead.
There is a moment, often unnoticed, when a person realizes they are no longer asking permission to exist. It does not come with applause or ceremony. It comes quietly, in the middle of ordinary life. A conversation where you speak honestly without rehearsing. A decision you make without polling everyone around you. A boundary you hold without explaining yourself into exhaustion. In that moment, something has shifted. Identity has begun to settle.
This settling is not stubbornness. It is not rebellion. It is the slow, deliberate result of choosing truth over comfort repeatedly until truth feels natural. Many people assume confidence arrives suddenly, like a personality upgrade. In reality, confidence rooted in faith is built through a thousand small acts of obedience that no one else sees. Each act whispers to the soul, “You can stand here.” Over time, those whispers become a foundation.
Faith matures when it stops asking the crowd for cues. Early faith often looks outward, scanning for reassurance. That stage is not wrong; it is simply incomplete. As faith deepens, it turns inward, listening for conviction rather than reaction. Eventually, it looks upward, anchoring itself in God rather than opinion. This progression is not linear, and most people move back and forth through these stages. But the destination remains the same: a life led, not managed.
One of the most difficult truths to accept is that approval can delay obedience. Many people are willing to follow God as long as it does not cost them relational safety. They pray for clarity, but what they are often waiting for is consensus. Yet Scripture does not frame obedience as a group decision. It frames it as a personal response to a divine call. When Abraham was called to go, he was not given a committee. When Noah built the ark, he did not wait for affirmation. When Mary said yes, she did not receive guarantees—only grace.
These stories are not included in Scripture to intimidate us; they are included to remind us that faith has always required courage before confirmation. God rarely explains Himself fully before asking for obedience. He invites trust first, understanding later. Approval may follow, but it is never the prerequisite. This is unsettling for anyone accustomed to external validation, but it is freeing for anyone longing to live authentically.
Living authentically in faith does not mean disregarding others. It means no longer surrendering truth to avoid discomfort. It means recognizing that love and agreement are not the same thing. Jesus loved deeply without affirming every belief or behavior. He spoke truth with compassion, not because He enjoyed conflict, but because He valued people too much to mislead them. That same balance is required of us, and it is impossible to maintain without a secure identity.
When identity is insecure, disagreement feels like rejection. Correction feels like condemnation. Silence feels like abandonment. But when identity is secure, disagreement becomes dialogue, correction becomes refinement, and silence becomes space. The same external circumstances take on different meanings depending on where identity is anchored. This is why two people can experience the same criticism and respond completely differently. One collapses. The other listens, filters, and continues forward.
Filtering is a spiritual skill that grows with maturity. It allows a person to hear feedback without absorbing shame. It allows discernment to separate what is helpful from what is harmful. Without this skill, people either reject all input or internalize all of it. Neither response produces growth. Growth happens in the space between openness and stability, and that space is created by identity.
Many believers underestimate how much emotional energy is consumed by approval-seeking. It is exhausting to monitor reactions constantly. It is draining to calibrate oneself to every environment. Over time, this exhaustion masquerades as spiritual burnout. People assume they are tired of serving God, when in reality they are tired of performing for people. When approval is removed from the equation, many rediscover joy in obedience that had been buried under pressure.
There is also grief involved in this transition. Letting go of approval means accepting that some relationships will change. Some will fade. Some will resist. Some will misunderstand the shift. This grief is real and should not be minimized. Faith does not numb us to loss; it teaches us how to walk through it without losing ourselves. The promise is not that obedience will be painless, but that it will be purposeful.
Purpose often clarifies itself in solitude. When applause fades, the voice of God becomes clearer. When distractions fall away, conviction strengthens. This is why seasons of isolation, though uncomfortable, often precede seasons of clarity. God uses quiet to recalibrate direction. He uses stillness to reveal what noise was hiding. In those moments, identity is not affirmed by others; it is affirmed internally through communion with God.
This internal affirmation is not emotional hype. It is steady assurance. It does not shout. It does not rush. It simply remains. A person who has tasted this assurance is no longer easily shaken by external opinion. They are not immune to pain, but they are resistant to panic. They can feel disappointment without abandoning direction. They can experience rejection without redefining worth.
There is a humility that emerges when approval loses its grip. Paradoxically, people often become gentler once they stop needing validation. They listen more carefully. They react less defensively. They engage without urgency. Their words carry weight because they are not trying to prove anything. Their presence feels safe because it is not performative. This humility is not self-neglect; it is self-awareness grounded in grace.
Grace is central here. Without grace, identity hardens into pride. With grace, identity becomes resilient. Grace allows a person to say, “I am secure, but I am still learning.” It creates space for repentance without shame and growth without fear. Grace reminds us that identity in Christ is not earned through consistency but sustained through mercy. This is why approval becomes unnecessary—because grace has already done what approval never could.
There is also a generational aspect to this freedom. When one person stops living for approval, they model a healthier way of being for others. Children raised by rooted adults learn stability rather than performance. Communities led by secure leaders experience safety rather than control. Churches guided by conviction rather than popularity cultivate depth rather than spectacle. The ripple effects of settled identity extend far beyond the individual.
Many cultural and spiritual conflicts are fueled by insecurity masquerading as certainty. People who are unsure of who they are often cling tightly to being right. They argue aggressively because disagreement feels threatening. In contrast, people who are rooted can hold strong convictions without hostility. They do not fear questions. They do not require uniformity to feel secure. Their strength allows for nuance.
Nuance is not weakness. It is the fruit of confidence tempered by wisdom. It recognizes complexity without surrendering truth. This is particularly important in a world that rewards extremes and punishes moderation. Faithful living rarely fits neatly into viral categories. It is quieter, slower, and less marketable—but far more transformative. It changes lives not through spectacle, but through consistency.
Consistency, over time, builds trust. Trust does not require explanation; it requires integrity. A person who lives consistently does not need to convince others of their sincerity. Their life speaks for them. This kind of credibility cannot be manufactured. It emerges naturally when identity and behavior align. Approval may come, but it is no longer the goal.
The goal becomes faithfulness—faithfulness in private decisions, in unseen moments, in conversations without witnesses. Faithfulness when obedience is inconvenient and affirmation is absent. This kind of faithfulness is deeply formative. It shapes character in ways public success never can. It builds a foundation that does not crack under pressure.
Pressure reveals what identity is made of. When approval is abundant, it is easy to confuse affirmation with alignment. When approval is scarce, the difference becomes clear. Many people discover their truest convictions not when they are praised, but when they are questioned. Those moments force clarity. They demand a choice between comfort and calling.
Calling does not always feel dramatic. Often it feels ordinary and heavy at the same time. It is the quiet insistence to live honestly even when it would be easier not to. It is the resolve to remain faithful even when misunderstood. It is the decision to stand still when pressure demands movement. These choices rarely make headlines, but they shape eternity.
Faith invites us into a life that is anchored rather than reactive. It calls us to be present rather than performative. It asks us to trust that God’s approval, once given, does not need reinforcement. When this trust takes root, anxiety loosens its hold. Fear loses its authority. Comparison fades. Peace emerges.
Peace does not mean the absence of conflict. It means the presence of stability within it. A person at peace can engage difficult conversations without losing themselves. They can navigate disagreement without collapsing or attacking. This peace is not passive; it is active trust. It flows from knowing that identity is secure regardless of outcome.
Over time, people who live this way become recognizable—not because they announce it, but because their presence feels different. There is less urgency around them. Less defensiveness. Less need to impress. They are not indifferent; they are grounded. They care deeply without being controlled by outcomes. This groundedness is contagious. It invites others to consider the possibility that they, too, could live free from constant approval-seeking.
Freedom from approval does not mean isolation. It means connection without compromise. It means belonging without erasure. It means loving others without abandoning self. This is the kind of freedom Christ modeled and offers. It is not freedom from responsibility, but freedom from fear.
Fear often disguises itself as wisdom. It tells us to wait until conditions are perfect, until support is unanimous, until approval is assured. Faith, by contrast, asks us to move when called, even if conditions are uncertain. It asks us to trust that God is present not only in success, but in obedience itself.
Obedience has a quiet dignity. It does not need applause to be meaningful. It does not require visibility to be valuable. When obedience becomes the measure, approval becomes optional. This shift is subtle but profound. It changes how a person measures progress, success, and fulfillment.
Fulfillment in faith does not come from being admired. It comes from alignment. Alignment produces a sense of rightness that no amount of approval can replicate. It allows a person to rest even while working, to stand even while misunderstood, to continue even when unseen. This is the freedom at the heart of settled identity.
So the journey toward owning who you are is not a rejection of others. It is an acceptance of responsibility—for your choices, your convictions, and your obedience. It is a commitment to live honestly before God rather than strategically before people. It is the courage to trust that God’s voice is enough.
And it is enough.
When identity is rooted in God, approval becomes a gift rather than a requirement. Appreciated, but not chased. Welcomed, but not worshiped. In this posture, faith matures, peace deepens, and life becomes less about performance and more about presence.
This is not a one-time realization. It is a daily practice. Each day presents opportunities to either rent identity to opinion or root it in truth. Each choice reinforces a direction. Over time, those choices form a life.
A life that is rooted, not rented.
A life that is faithful, not frantic.
A life that knows who it is—and therefore does not need constant approval to stand.
That is the quiet power of owning who you are in Christ.
Your friend,
Douglas Vandergraph
Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube
Support the ministry by buying Douglas a coffee
#Faith #ChristianLiving #IdentityInChrist #SpiritualGrowth #FaithJourney #Purpose #Obedience #InnerPeace