“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” 

— 2 Corinthians 5:17

Lately, I haven’t felt like myself. Not in the way people usually mean it. I’m not talking about being tired or stressed or overwhelmed. I mean that somewhere along the way, I stopped recognizing the person I’ve always been.

The things that once defined me don’t seem to fit anymore. The ambitions that once drove me don’t satisfy me like they used to. The validation I spent years chasing feels hollow. The places I used to run for comfort don’t comfort me anymore. It’s unsettling.

Because if I’m honest, there are days I catch myself asking…“Who am I now?”

For so much of my life, my identity was built on what I accomplished, what other people thought of me, how useful I was, how much I could produce, how well I performed, and whether I felt noticed.

I wanted to matter. I wanted to feel seen. I wanted someone to look at me and say, “You have value.”

And if they didn’t?

I’d work harder. I’d strive more. I’d become whoever I thought people needed me to be. Because somewhere deep inside me was this aching need to be chosen. To be enough. To finally arrive. But Jesus never asked me to become someone impressive. He asked me to die. And that isn’t the gospel I grew up quoting.

We love talking about new life. We don’t love talking about death. Yet Jesus couldn’t have been clearer.

“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves, take up their cross daily and follow me.” – Luke 9:23

A cross was never meant to be carried forever. It was carried to an execution. God isn’t interested in renovating my old identity. He’s putting it to death.

Not because He hates me. Because He loves me too much to leave me chained to a version of myself that was built apart from Him.

The woman who constantly needed applause…She has to die.

The woman who believed her worth depended on productivity…She has to die.

The woman who believed being overlooked meant she was forgotten…She has to die.

The woman who spent years trying to prove she deserved love…She has to die.

Not because she is worthless. Because she was never who God created me to be. Lately I keep trying to find myself, but Scripture never tells us to find ourselves. It tells us to lose ourselves.

“For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.” – Matthew 16:25

Maybe that’s why I feel so lost. Not because God has abandoned me, but because I refuse to let him dismantle the old Tabitha. Because He want to dismantle everything I mistakenly called “me.”

Sometimes I wonder why I don’t have a clear direction. Why the future feels blurry. Why God hasn’t handed me a detailed blueprint. But, if God gave me the entire map before my identity was healed, I’d probably make the mission my identity all over again.

I’d worship the calling instead of the Caller. I’d seek purpose instead of Presence. I’d build another tower of Babel out of ambition and call it obedience.

So instead, He slows me down. He teaches me to walk with Him before I run for Him. Because sons and daughters don’t need to know every destination. They simply need to know their Father’s voice.

Jesus said, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.” – John 10:27

He didn’t say they understand every step. He didn’t say they know every outcome. He said they follow.

I’ve also begun realizing something uncomfortable. For years, I wanted to feel seen by people more than I realized. Not because I wanted fame, but because I wanted confirmation. I wanted someone else to validate what God had already spoken. I wanted people to notice the gifts. To notice the effort. To notice the healing. To see me.

But what if that’s the very thing God is healing? The gifts are mine, they belong to the Holy Spirit. The effort isn’t mine, it’s a blessing from Jesus. The healing wasn’t done by me, it was freely given by the grace of God. I’ve had way too much of me and not anywhere enough of Him. And if my identity depends on people seeing me…I’ll always be disappointed.

People overlook. People misunderstand. People forget. People leave.

But El Roi—the God who sees—never does. Hagar called Him that after she found herself abandoned in the wilderness.

“You are the God who sees me.” – Genesis 16:13

Not because her circumstances changed immediately. But because she realized she had never been invisible to God.

And neither have I. Perhaps the greatest freedom isn’t finally being noticed by the world. It’s finally believing I never needed to be. Because I was fully known before I was ever fully seen.

The old version of me spent so much energy trying to become someone worthy of love. The new creation is learning she already is by the only One who matters.

Not because of anything she’s done. Because of everything Christ has done.

“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.” – Galatians 2:20

That verse hits differently these days. “I no longer live.” Maybe that’s why I don’t feel like myself. Because I’m not supposed to.

The old Tabitha is dying. And Christ is still patiently revealing someone entirely new. Not a better version of my old identity. An entirely new creation.

That doesn’t happen overnight. Seeds don’t become harvests in a day. Old wineskins aren’t stretched forever. Pruning always looks like loss before it looks like growth. Sometimes becoming requires grieving who you used to be. Even when who you used to be is all you’ve ever known.

Maybe God isn’t withholding my purpose. Maybe He’s protecting my identity. Because He cares far more about who he is making me to be than what I’m building.

The world says, “Find yourself.” Jesus says, “Follow Me.”

The world says, “Build your identity.” Jesus says, “Abide in Mine.”

The world says, “Be seen.” Jesus says, “You already are.”

And that’s enough. No…that’s everything.

A Prayer

Father,

Thank You for loving me enough to refuse to leave me as I was. Even when I don’t recognize who I’m becoming, remind me that You do.

Help me stop chasing validation from people when I have already been fully accepted by You. Teach me to stop searching for myself and start abiding in Christ.

When parts of me must die, give me the courage not to resurrect what You have crucified. When I don’t know where I’m going, remind me that knowing You is greater than knowing the plan.

Help me believe that I don’t have to earn being seen because I have never once escaped Your gaze. Create in me a heart that seeks Your presence more than purpose, Your approval more than applause, and Your glory more than my own.

Make me less Lord. Crucify the old me.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.