I'm not what I do.

Surviving people's expectations of you

In October last year, my phone hit the fritz, and I lost a million (give or take) worth of notes/ideas/thoughts. This week, I came across two posts on Instagram that reminded me of a note on my phone. I had this note on my phone… I’m not what I do. I’m reminded that so much of what I’ve done was intertwined with who I was, mainly what I did. And I’m now asking myself, how do you unravel without coming apart?

Let me tell you about the first post I saw this week that reminded me that I’m not what I do. It was from Tom Fell. It was titled Anti-hustle motivation.

My favorite quote from the video is, “try to separate your identity and emotions from work as much as possible.” This is particularly difficult for those working in ministry contexts that require much more of us. It’s not only demanding work but also the expectations that foster the idea that the work you do in ministry is you. At times, these are based on assumptions or beliefs of self-importance that lead to burnout, but mostly, I’ve felt the pressure of expectations being hidden away, presumed, and unspoken. These manifested over the years in interesting ways, but they had a cumulative effect on me.

I’ve felt buried alive by them at times.

One of the more humorous encounters came when I worked at a church. I just started at the church and sat in the pews on one of my first Sundays. The pastor was upfront and pointed out that I had earrings and decided to have a vote on whether or not it was okay for me to wear my earrings at church. It’s silly to think of it now, and then it didn’t seem too serious, but it was just another example of how much my appearance was a topic of discussion over the years in ministry settings. What hairstyle did I have, what clothes or shoes did I wear, what piercings did I have, etc? The expectations of what someone like me, in my role, should look like were pervasive.

The other post that jogged my memory came from NAMI.

As the caption says, “You're not a machine, AI, or a corporation - your worth isn't defined by what you produce or accomplish in a day.” Again, this is a helpful sentiment that I’ve found fleeting in practice. At times, you feel like a machine in ministry. It repeats, it cycles, every year, every season. And worth is relative. In many ministry contexts, the worth of something is measured by how many people show up for it. So, if what you are doing isn’t perceived as attracting enough people, is it worth doing? And to examine that a bit deeper, if it’s not, what reflection does that have on me and my worth? It's hard not to see how issues with productivity and worth start messing with you. And after years of this, it breaks you down and spits you out.

I came across this site called the Theology of Work a few years back. As I paid attention, I realized this wasn’t about a theology of work but a justification for work using theology. It’s a sleight of hand. I’m not against work (obviously, I work), and I’m not against finding fulfillment in your work.

I have an issue with work as fulfillment or a path to being a good Christian.

Parker Palmer has written extensively about vocational calling. I’ve used his work, particularly his book Let Your Life Speak, to help young people discern their call. He quotes Frederick Buechner when discussing vocation, who said that vocation is “the place where your deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.”

He says this is discovered or revealed to us not through an external force or power but within connecting with our true selves.

“Anytime we listen to true self and give it the care it requires, we do so not only for ourselves but for the many others whose lives we touch.”

This is where I’m finding my survival from expectations. I’m listening and giving care to my true self. Much of what I’ve chosen not to do was based on what I believed or perceived others, and God expected of me. I grew up hearing all types of things from adults, faith leaders, and peers about who I was and what I should or should not do. It was never a fear of hell for me; it was a fear of expectations that sank my joy or stifled my discovery. And as I’ve gotten older and the stakes seem to get higher, falling in line becomes easier. To be what is expected of me, even if it’s not me.

I’m fighting with myself to be myself.

I’m fighting off the whispers of embedded expectations.

I'm trying to remember I’m a living, breathing, evolving homosapien.

As I was writing this week, I came across this picture.

I find myself between the space of less expecting and more accepting. I am navigating and reconciling, and doing my best to unravel without falling apart. I sense the gap is closing, but it still exists. What will erase the space? I’m living now to find out.