What If I’m Never “Healed Enough” for the Church?

And Why That’s No Longer My Fear

I used to sit in church pews wondering if everyone else had it more together than I did.

If their smiles weren’t hiding panic.

If their worship wasn’t laced with shame.

If they ever questioned whether they really belonged — or if I was the only one who still felt… broken.

No one ever told me directly that healing was a requirement for belonging.

But that’s the message I absorbed — through silence, avoidance, or overly polished sermons.

The kind where pain is quickly resolved with a memory verse, where tears are mopped up before they’ve even hit the floor, and where the “messy middle” of healing doesn’t seem to fit.

Healing as a Prerequisite — The Lie We Learn Too Well

Some of us grew up in churches that spiritualized suffering into a kind of failure.

If you were still anxious, you weren’t trusting God enough.

If you were still grieving, you hadn’t released it to the Lord.

If you were still angry, you were letting the devil get a foothold.

So we learn to pretend.

We get good at hiding.

But here’s the truth: Healing is not a prerequisite for belonging.

In Scripture, people didn't come to Jesus after they were whole — they came because they were not.

And not once did He shame them for their progress.

He didn’t rush the healing. He didn’t demand their readiness. He simply made space.

So why doesn't the Church always do the same?

When the Church Feels Like a Performance, Not a Place to Heal

For a long time, I thought my worth in church spaces was directly tied to how “together” I appeared.

I was terrified of being seen in process — the vulnerable, jagged parts still bleeding.

Because what if my honesty disqualified me? What if I shared too soon, or too raw?

And let’s be honest: many of us have been burned.

By leaders who used our vulnerability against us.

By communities that labeled us rebellious, dramatic, or “unsubmissive” for setting boundaries or asking hard questions.

By a culture that confused discipline with shame and healing with hiding.

When the Church becomes a stage instead of a hospital, it forgets its calling.

The Grace of Finding Something Different

That’s why when I first experienced LCBC Church, it was like taking a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

Nobody asked me to clean up. Nobody handed me spiritual platitudes.

There was no pressure to “fix it fast” or “fake it better.”

Just an open door and an invitation: “Come as you are — and keep coming.”

That’s real grace.

And grace, real grace, walks with you while you heal.

It doesn’t demand transformation as proof of faith.

It sits beside you in the pit. It weeps with you. It listens. It stays.

LCBC models this beautifully — not just in their words, but in their actions.

Through things like their mental health resouces, their openness to mental health conversations, and how they normalize struggle as part of spiritual growth — they’re doing what Jesus did: meeting people in their pain, not demanding they leave it at the door.

If You’re Still Healing, You’re Not Behind — You’re Just Human

Friend, you don’t need to be “healed enough” to serve.

To be in community.

To be seen.

To be loved.

You are not a project. You are not behind. You are not broken beyond repair.

Your healing doesn’t have to look like anyone else’s.

And your story doesn’t have to be tied up with a bow to be powerful.

Sometimes, the most powerful witness is someone who still walks with a limp — and still walks anyway.

Reflection Questions:

• Have you ever felt like you needed to be "better" before showing up to church?

• Where have you experienced shame when you really needed grace?

• What does it look like to walk with others who are still healing — including yourself?

One Final Thought:

Jesus never said, “Blessed are the healed.”

He said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit… the mourning… the meek.”

He blessed the broken. He made space for the in-process.

And so can we.