When Insecurity Meets Grace
For years, I lived in the shadows of not enough.
Not strong enough. Not spiritual enough. Not talented enough. Not worthy enough of the very calling God placed in my heart.
Even after years of leading, writing, and coaching others to live with purpose, insecurity would still slip in quietly, usually right when I was about to step into something new. The voice of doubt was subtle but sharp: Who do you think you are?
It wasn’t the kind of insecurity that shouts; it was the kind that seeps. It cloaked itself in humility, in perfectionism, in striving to be “good enough” for God and others. But under it all, it was fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of being seen. Fear of not being enough.
I can remember one particular season when it hit hardest. I had just closed the doors of my fitness business. It was a place I had poured years of energy, heart, and identity into. Everyone else seemed to move on easily, but I felt stripped bare. Without the gym, without the title, who was I?
I tried to fill the space with projects and productivity, thinking that if I just did enough, maybe I’d start to feel like myself again. But deep down, I wasn’t chasing purpose—I was chasing proof. Proof that I still mattered. Proof that I was still seen. Proof that I hadn’t failed.
The funny thing about insecurity is that it doesn’t always show up as self-pity. Sometimes it wears a smile and shows up as overcommitment, people-pleasing, or relentless striving. I knew how to look capable on the outside while crumbling on the inside.
One morning, sitting on the couch after Jeff had left for work, I remember saying out loud, “Lord, I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
And just as clearly, in that still, small way only God can speak, I heard, “You’re mine.”
It wasn’t loud or dramatic. But it was enough to still the chaos in my mind.
In that moment, I realized I’d been measuring my worth by my performance instead of His presence. I was trying to earn what had already been freely given—love, grace, purpose.
That’s the thing about grace: it doesn’t wait until you’ve cleaned up your insecurity; it meets you right in the middle of it.
A few months later, I began writing again—not because I felt qualified, but because I finally understood that obedience didn’t require confidence, only trust. I started small—journal entries, prayers, short reflections. The words were wobbly at first, like learning to walk again after a long season of sitting still.
But little by little, the more I wrote, the more I sensed that God wasn’t asking me to perform for Him. He was inviting me to partner with Him.
And when I showed up in that posture—open, honest, and a little scared—He met me there every single time.
A Daily Practice of Trust
When I feel that old familiar fear rising, I do three things that realign my heart:
I pause and pray.
I name the insecurity, not to give it power, but to bring it into the light. “Lord, I feel unseen. I feel inadequate. Meet me here.”
I anchor in Scripture.
Verses like Isaiah 43:1 (ESV) remind me:
“Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.
I take one small step anyway.
Confidence doesn’t come from perfection; it grows in motion. Each act of obedience becomes a seed of courage.
From Insecurity to Identity
The truth is, overcoming insecurity isn’t a one-time event—it’s a lifelong exchange. We trade our striving for surrender. Our doubt for dependence. Our insecurity for intimacy with the One who made us.
As I continue to walk this journey, I’ve realized something beautiful:
Every time I choose to trust God over fear, the voice of insecurity grows quieter.
And what replaces it isn’t pride—it’s peace.
Kim Mosiman is an author, wellness coach, and co-founder of Writer-2-Writer Coaching & Launch Services, where she helps new authors bring their books to life. She’s also the co-host of The Whole Woman Podcast and the author of Reflections of Joy, My Owner’s Manual, and Ready, Set, Launch! (with Lea Turner). Kim lives in Ames, Iowa, with her husband, Jeff, and loves spending time with their two married sons, beautiful daughters-in-love, and her grandsons, who remind her daily what joy looks like.
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