I don’t really like going on Instagram.

Not because Instagram is evil.

Because Instagram has faces.

People singing songs.
Leading worship.
Building things.
Traveling.
Creating.
Doing the kind of things I thought I would be doing by now.

Twitter/X.com feels safer.

Instagram feels like a mirror.

Mirror, mirror on my screen, who’s the fairest that’s ever been…

Or maybe worse, a courtroom.

No one on the screen is accusing me.

They’re just living.

But somehow, by the time I’m done scrolling, I’m on trial.

Here is who you thought you would be.
Here is what you said you wanted to do.
Here is the song you never released.
Here is the idea still sitting in your voice notes.
Here is the thing you built but are still afraid to share.

And the hardest part is not even the comparison.

It’s what happens after.

I compare.

Then I feel bad for comparing.

Then I become my own accuser.

I should be better than this.
I should be more mature.
I should be more confident.
I should have done more by now.
I should not still be struggling with this.

So now I’m not just behind.

I’m ashamed that I feel behind.

That spiral is exhausting.

Especially when the thing I care about most is helping people know they are already loved.

That is the painful irony.

I am trying to teach children they are loved before they perform.

And yet some part of me still fears that if what I make is rejected, then maybe I am too.

I believe the message.

I’m still learning to receive it.

And maybe that’s the part I don’t want to admit.

Not publicly.

Not as someone who leads worship.

Not as someone who writes about beloved identity.

Not as someone who wants to encourage other people.

But maybe honesty is better than pretending I graduated from the lesson I’m still living inside of.

So maybe the question is not, “Why can’t I get over this?”

Maybe the question is:

What does Jesus think of me when I’m spiraling?

When I’m comparing.

When I’m hiding.

When I’m afraid.

When I’m turning someone else’s life into evidence against mine.

Does He join the accusation?

Does He look at me and say, “You should be further by now”?

I don’t think He does.

I think He sees the fear underneath the comparison.

The ache underneath the scrolling.

The part of me that still wonders if there is room for me.

And maybe He is not as disappointed in me as I am.

Maybe He is not standing over me with the voice of the accuser.

Maybe He is sitting with me in the middle of the spiral, gently telling the truth again:

You are not behind, My love.

I don’t have a clean ending for this.

I still avoid Instagram sometimes.

I still compare.

I still have voice notes full of things I haven’t released.

But maybe you do too.

And maybe today, that’s enough.

Not a solution.

Just a little less loneliness.

A little less accusation.

A little more room to breathe.

See you next Friday