“I know it’s not real, but I’m still afraid.”

My son said this to me as he jumped into my arms when we were walking through a neighborhood full of shockingly creepy Halloween decorations. There was a robotic werewolf wrestling against the bars of a cage, shrouded in haze and flashing lights.

“That’s okay, my son. I’ve still got you.” It warmed my heart; my son is still small enough for me to carry him even though he’s freshly smart enough to articulate his inner life.

Insecurity grasping for security isn’t an emotional experience that we ever truly outgrow. Many experienced followers of Jesus, at every age, grapple with a sense of self that is fractured, unstable, and too easily subjected to circumstances. The stress that ensues steals our sleep, interrupts our relationships, and leads to both over-functioning (anxiety) and under-functioning (depression).

We often try to treat the symptoms without dealing with the root of the issue: our lack of secure connection to our Father in heaven. The insecurity that haunts our psyches is something we ought to seek to repent of—not necessarily the feeling itself, but the underlying unbelief that creates it—rather than make peace with it, treat it as normal or inevitable. Attacking insecurity involves three things: submitting to our status as the Father’s adopted children, operating in integrity in relationship with our siblings, and fighting our fear of man with the fear of the Lord.

Our Status as Adopted Children

Our feelings tell us the truth about how we’re making sense of the world around us. When our house is built on a poor foundation and we see the floods rising, our heart rate spikes, worry pours forth, and panic tears through our once-quiet mind. This disorienting and uncomfortable experience can revel the sad fact that we’ve built our lives not upon Christ, but sinking sands—things like money, the approval of peers, and self-righteousness.

These moments should trigger reflection: upon what—or whom—have I built my life? Where have I placed my confidence? I was feeling secure, but that source of security is now under siege, proving itself to be an illusion. This newfound fragility is, in that sense, sober disillusionment.

Do I believe my Father in Heaven owns the cattle on a thousand hills? Do I really believe I am His irrevocable heir? Do I sincerely believe I’ve been made a child of God by sheer grace? Do I functionally place my hope in the finished work of Jesus and his coming new creation?

I have a friend whose Father is incredibly wealthy. On the one hand, my friend is comforted by this; on the other hand, he hates this. He likes knowing he has no reason to be afraid of financial ruin, but he doesn’t like that he can’t take credit for being a self-made man. There is a holy swagger that looks like a paradox of fearlessness and humility that emerges when we submit to the status our Father has assigned to us as his children. We have everything we need, so we’re secure; and we know we’ve earned none of it, so we’re grateful.

Our insecurity reveals the truth about how secure we are in Christ.

Operating in Integrity

It is one thing to think and believe rightly about our Father in Heaven. It is another to live out that truth in our relationships with our brothers and sisters. Often, insecurity is downstream from a fractured sense of self. We behave one way in public, another in private—acting out one identity at home, another at work, another online, another at the gym, and yet another in the group chat. This fractured and disintegrated self creates anxiety because there is a chronic fear that worlds will collide and embarrassment will ensue.

One of the overlooked “survival response” mechanisms is fawn. We may be familiar with fight, flight, and freeze, but fawn is acting in such a way that we earn the approval of the person who we are looking to for security—especially when we compromise our integrity in doing so. We act out a false self to please others, because our sense of worth depends on theirs. We lie about ourselves with our words and actions to take hold of momentary relief from awkwardness, fear of abandonment, and disapproval.

Stepping towards integration—being an authentic, congruent self in every environment—is painful because it requires confessing our lack of integrity. This is partly why confessing your sin is healing (Jas. 5:16): it bridges separated relational realties and brings what is in the dark into the light. It’s rejecting the temptation to have multiple identities in favor of having one identity, rooted and grounded in love. This is a risk because we might be rejected. But the reward is integrity and the possibility of a genuine relationship in which we’re known and loved, not falsely known and loved. Therein legitimate security is found.

Fighting Fear with Fear

There is much we can fear. Fear is opposed to security because it signals that something we love is being threatened. The solution to fears that create insecurity is not merely to become less fearful, but to fear rightly. “Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matt. 10:28). This fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, the starting point for living God’s Word with skill and balance.

When we fear the Lord, we’re aware of his presence and authority. When we learn about the One whom we fear, we find that He is “merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin” (Exod. 34:6–7). When we are attuned to the opinions of the gracious and merciful Triune Godhead above all other perspectives, we find that security naturally emerges, because the One who does not change has bestowed on us a dignity, purpose, and value that cannot be shaken.

Jump In

Insecurity isn’t itself sinful, but it is downstream from sin: from living a fractured life, resisting our adopted status given by the Father, and from allowing disordered fears to supersede our fear of God. When we labor to repent of the causes of our insecurity, our sense of self comes into alignment with reality as we embrace a sober, Spirit-filled, and truly integrated identity.

As securely attached children jump into the arms of their fathers when fears arise, so also we lean into the arms of God Most High, whose Spirit assures us of His presence and reminds us not just of who we are, but of whose we are: “That’s okay, my son. I’ve still got you.”