Unfiltered Christianity: Why I Stopped Pretending Too

If you’ve ever sat in church wondering if everyone else has it all together but you. You’re not alone. I used to be that person too. Until I couldn’t pretend anymore.

There was a season in my life where I could walk into church, say all the right things, and still feel completely disconnected from God. I smiled. I served. I even led. But inside? I was crumbling.

I didn’t know how to bring my actual self into the room—so I brought the version I thought people could accept. The version that had it together. The version that didn’t need help. The version that kept faith pretty and performance ready. And honestly, I was really good at it… until I couldn’t hold it up anymore. I don’t know how many times I’ve walked into a sanctuary more spiritually starved than full—and felt like the problem was me. But it’s not just me. And it’s not just you either.

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I used to be the poster child for “having it together.”

I wore the cross necklace. Said the right things. Worked hard, made good grades, joined every youth group, led prayers out loud. If there was a box for “good Christian girl,” I checked it.

But inside? I was quietly drowning.

I didn’t know that faith could feel lonely. I didn’t know it could come undone when the people who taught you about Jesus’ start labeling your doubt as rebellion, or when your own shame drowns out every worship song. There’s a chapter in my book where I talk about a friend named Hailey. She offered to pray for me during a small group when my whole life was unraveling—my wrist was broken from a car accident, my son was struggling at school, our family was fighting with insurance, and I felt like I had nothing left. And when she said those words— “Can we pray for you?”—I froze. I said no.

Not because I didn’t want prayer. But because I didn’t know how to let someone see me that raw anymore. I had become so good at pretending that even in the middle of my collapse, I didn’t want to break the illusion.

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Performance Christianity is killing our hunger for God.

Let’s be honest.

We are so conditioned to make our faith look good online, say the polished things, put a neat bow on suffering—but Jesus never asked for that. He never once said, “Blessed are those who fake it till they make it.” He said, “Blessed are those who mourn.” Blessed are the poor in spirit. Blessed are the ones who know they need Him.

And yet somehow, we’ve built a culture in church that makes people feel like they have to be whole before they’re welcome. That prayer needs to be eloquent to be heard. That doubt is dangerous. That if you’re still struggling, maybe you’re not really saved.

Where did we get this?

Because the Jesus I know flipped tables in anger.
He wept.
He questioned God in the Garden.
He let the bleeding woman interrupt him.
He pulled Peter up when he sank in doubt—not when he swam in confidence.

I don’t want to be the Christian who performs anymore. I want to be the one who says, “I believe. Help my unbelief.” The one who opens the Bible not because I feel holy—but because I feel empty. The one who shows up in church even if I cried in the car five minutes before. The one who isn’t afraid to say, “I’m not okay.”

And I want my kids to see that kind of faith too.
Not a curated version.
Not a shiny one.
A real one.

Because if Jesus is only present when we’re good—then He’s not the Jesus I’ve encountered in the pit.

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The Danger of Pretending isn’t just exhausting.

It’s spiritually dangerous.

It isolates you.
It teaches you that pain is something to be hidden, not healed. It confuses community with conformity. And worst of all, it can convince you that God only shows up for the people who seem to have it all together.

But God is the God of the wilderness. He is the God of the wrestlers. He is the God who says, Come to me, all who are weary and heavy laden… Not come to me all who are Pinterest-worthy and emotionally stable.

So here’s what I am doing. It is really simple. I’m not pretending anymore.

I’m going to be the kind of Christian who admits I’ve questioned my faith.
Who’s walked away from church for years at a time. Who has prayed angry, confused prayers with more silence than scripture. Who has come back to God again and again—not because I got it right, but because I remembered who I was when I was with Him.

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If you’re tired of pretending, I want to say this:

There is space for you here.
Not the curated version. You. The one who still wonders. The one who’s been hurt. The one who’s rebuilding from the rubble. You don’t have to prove your worth to God. You don’t have to perform for His love. You can just come.

He’s not waiting for you to perfect your faith. He’s holding out a rope. Just reach for it.

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Scripture to Hold On To

Matthew 11:28
“Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

Mark 9:24
“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”

Psalm 34:18
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

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Hold the Rope Moment:

What would happen if you stopped pretending?
Who would you be if your faith didn’t have to look a certain way to be real?

Prayer:
God, I’m tired of the act. I don’t want curated faith—I want You.
Help me let go of the pressure to perform and rest in the truth that You already know me.
Draw near to me in the places I’ve hidden.
Heal what’s broken.
And remind me that Your love was never based on my perfection—but on Your grace.
Amen.

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