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Convicted: The Truth About Yourself Can Be Hard to Stomach

Updated: Oct 18, 2019

Some call it conscience, we call it conviction from the Holy Spirit.

I’m convicted right now. I’ve been convicted for several days. 

It started my birthday when I let the floodgates of my mouth open for hours while with a friend.

Not the “write and release” I do here. This was different. It felt different.

The day was a scorching Friday. I had taken a break from God. Not fully but enough to create some distance between us two.

I had been feeling closed in by circumstances and like a punching bag for others.

A punching bag for my dad. 

A punching bag for the job that laid me (and countless others) off after I gave a total of 5 1/2 years. 

A punching bag for a husband who’s typically optimistic but under stress—in this case, the compounding of a high-stress job, a wife unemployed and already stretched finances—was subject to major blowups and harsh words that stab the soul. 

Me dying internally and resuscitating back in a different time and place. My husband’s voice, yet they were daddy’s words.

A punching bag for one particular friend of his who is 75% bitch, 15% unaware, and 10% genuinely nice. 

Other intruders came to take shots.

Hurt. Crumbling.

Been here before.

Innocent? Not by any means. 

I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt others. 

But somehow, for the last 6 years, I’ve been on the receiving end—a lot. 

Even more when God took over my life in January 2018 and spent months grinding out some of the ill parts of me and showing me my mess on the floor. 

Tongue had to be bitten. Cheeks had to be turned. 

Tongue-biting and cheek-turning moments where the skin breaks and blood runs out. 

Chew. Hit. Turn. 
Chew. Hit. Turn. 
You chew enough and get hit enough, you’ll fight back. 

But I didn’t fight back in a healthy way that Friday. I spoke the truth about the harm these people did to me but it came from a place of hurt, bitterness, and vengeance. 

I wasn’t trying to release and heal.

I was tired of the slugs. I was tired of the taste of my own blood. 

I wanted vindication. 

It’s not what I got. 

Instead, the next morning I was immediately given the gift of conviction.

A heart and spirit so heavy you can’t ignore. 

Dead weight.

A sick, ill feeling but physically well. 

Medically unexplained symptoms (MUS). 

I didn’t please him or give him glory. I didn’t please myself either.



Convicted again. I just wouldn't yield.

Convicted I was and convicted I would continue to be, unfortunately. I hadn't yielded, though I gave up some yardage.

I told myself I'd return to the chew, hit, turn. My heart and soul, perhaps even my mind, however, weren’t in agreement because the next week I found myself in another mashup.

It was our six-year anniversary and after an amazing sushi dinner, we went to a downtown Los Angeles brewery. An argument ensued after I went to the smoking section and struck up a conversation with a set of nice strangers.

Fifteen minutes passed before I readdressed him. He was pissed, and he let me know it with a grumbly attitude.

I apologized several times, brought up how I've been in his position before but let it go for our sake, and requested we rekindle our evening.

I was wrong.

But the seed of anger had been set and there was no digging it up.

He continued to lambast me for the entirety of our stay there.

We had used up the energy in that space, now we were off to a hipster adult arcade with a Dj and graphic artists.

The place was packed. My husband and I were separated in spirit at this point, We also chose to separate physically. He went to play pinball and me a game like Frogger. 

The games were on opposite sides of the venue and while it sounds like there was much distance between us, we were in a space with minimum square footage. 

Three separate people—2 guys and 1 girl—caught me off guard and said the most offensive things you can say to a stranger.

Inappropriate, trying, disrespectful. 

Here we go again. 

“What do I look like to these people? Who do they think I am? Who do they think they are to talk to me like this and treat me like this? I didn’t bother them or speak to them. I was minding my dang business.”


Now, instead of venting to a friend and arguing with my husband, I lashed out on them, believing I was defending and standing up for myself. 

(Chuckling at my own ignorance)

The point was made and they backed off but I didn’t feel good the next morning.

It’s not how we stand! 

Convicted again. 

Another heavy heart and spirit. 

More dead weight.

Again with a sick, ill feeling but physically well. 

Greater shame. 

Head and body postured low. 


Feeling as though God has brought me so far. The Holy Spirit was doing a good work in me, helping me to control my feelings and thus the tongue those feelings want to pulse through.

It only took a matter of a week for major steps back in this parcel of the field to occur.

Too many convictions can make you feel like an imposter

I was solemn for many days after that, weakened and wanting to rise up stronger. 

Wanting to post good things on Instagram like “Gospel Roundup”, “Which Verse Do You Guard?”, and “Thank You!”

Posts that came from a real and good place, but did little to nothing to relieve my guilt and angst.

Since starting the real work on August 28th, with the post about my dad, I entered a place of no return. 

It has to feel right to me and relevant to me to post. I was everything I was posting—weakness and strength. 

One slip up, “Ok, move on,” but another so close to the first, discomforting.

I felt like an imposter preaching good news when there were such shame and guilt in my real life.

The thought of giving up The Spiritual Garden until I returned to grace occurred to me. 

“I’ll return when I’m right, when I’m back in good grace with you, Lord.”

Then it occurred to me that grace was already given and right(eous) I’ll never be. 

Not only that, this is what the site is all about: digging up weeds that choke life out of good seeds.

The result: growth and new oneness in Christ.  

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