Vulnerability of Confession

After a 12-hour shift at work, my husband quietly walked into our home, fully expecting our daughter and me to be asleep. Natalie lay sleeping on the loveseat, while I rocked in the recliner working on the blog. I glanced up from my laptop and smiled at him, but inside I knew I was about to unload something heavy. 

I placed my laptop aside and walked towards my husband to greet him. We walked into the kitchen together, and I quickly began to talk about my day. 

On the outside, there was nothing abnormal about my day. Work was slow and Natalie, well, she was a typical, emotional 2-year-old. But despite being a normal day, internally, I felt like I was on a battleground between rational and irrational. Some might even call it spiritual warfare. The pregnancy hormones that flowed through my body exacerbated my emotions, and my problems felt much more troublesome than what I knew to be rational. 

Shortly after I began recounting my day, I turned away from him, and the tears started to glide down my cheeks. “It’s only been two days of you working late, and I am already breaking down,” I whispered. 

I wasn’t used to feeling so weak. After all, I was in the military. I knew what it was like to work long hours. I had survived a deployment both personally, and as the spouse at home. I had solo parented our daughter on multiple occasions. Yet, lately, the duty of motherhood felt too heavy. It left me feeling stressed, frustrated, angry, irritable, impatient, and downright disgraceful. 

The simplest things would set me off in a fit. Me against a two-year-old; there was no winning. I felt defeated by something I was supposed to be good at, after all, she was MY flesh!

“I have been really struggling with my eating,” I confessed, as the tears grew larger. “I find myself using food to cope with my stress and frustration. I can’t control myself. It started on Tuesday (when Natalie was home sick from school). I ate, and ate, and ate some more.” 

Still avoiding his gaze, I continued, “and I know what I am doing is wrong. I am purposely trying to hide this from you. I am purposely making sure I clean up so you wouldn’t even suspect that I have eaten 3-4 times the normal amount of sweets.”

He leaned in closer to me and continued to listen.

“I am confessing this to you because it’s sinful. I don’t want to hide this from you. But I don’t think you can help me. Will you just pray for me? I don’t know if there is anything else you can say or do to help me fight the urge to binge.”

David leaned in and gave me a kiss on the head. He listened. He did not judge; he did not question. 

I hadn’t planned on dumping this on him. The act of confession was not enjoyable, especially when it came to my diet. The mere act of confessing my struggle, my sin, was terrifying. I didn’t want to vocalize my weakness. Adding a voice to it made it real, too real. Especially since my husband had no idea what it was like to struggle with self-control around food. Yet inside, I knew I had to confess. It was time. See, God doesn’t speak to me through burning bushes or visions; instead, it’s through gut promptings of the Holy Spirit. A conviction of knowing what needs to be done.  

As I poured out my heart and hurt, I was emptied of everything I had. It took me being vulnerable and opening up, admitting that I am weaker than I like to show, to be freed from the weight of my secrets. 

As I confessed my weakness, my eyes dried up, and the spiritual heaviness was lifted off of me. I know this sounds crazy, but there are no other words. My problem was not fixed, but I now knew that I was not alone. I no longer cowered under the shame of bingeing, but walked in the mercy that God afforded me. 

My husband was the conduit I needed to lay down my pride, run to God, and ask for His help. 

See, the vulnerability of confession is a powerful tool. 

“Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy.” Proverbs 28:13

Do you struggle with confession? If so, I encourage you to allow God into your struggle. It’s a step of courage that brings freedom. Allow Him to work through a spouse, a friend, or mentor; to help lift up the burden of sin.