Felling pride: a Sisyphean task

Growing up with both an older and a younger sister, I was the true middle sister. I was always being asked to share (and I have to admit, asking to share with equal frequency) anything of my own. There is a chaos to being a middle child: you're not so old to be the most individualized, not given the same volume of responsibility as the eldest, not a recipient of the same individualized parental investment as the eldest, not getting a "pass" as the babies might, feeling too young to hang with older siblings, yet far too old to be hanging with younger siblings. Being a middle child is special blessing and a trial well-documented in popular culture (though middle children are inclined to feel as though the struggles aren't always given enough space for exploration). Like all voracious readers (read: kids who just didn't feel at home in their own skin and circumstances more often than not) I found myself relating not just to protagonists, but also trying to identify familial (and in that way, the most familiar) patterns in popular culture.

I remember early in grade school reading Little Women for the first time and easily identified as a Jo March. I was the second sister, of course, but also the artistic one. My elder sister was undoubtedly a poster for the well accomplished, smart, girl-next-door. Add any parentification she received more than I and my argument for her as a clear contender for Meg March is solidly laid. My younger sister is a more talented Amy Curtis: beautiful, social, the life of the party. I should add to all of this that I have a brother, but as he is the baby and the only boy, he has an entirely different perspective on our sibling dynamics than I could ever try to imagine.

Then, in middle school, I got to read Pride and Prejudice. Among other Austen novels, this one carved itself a special spot in my reader's heart. One of my favorite things about Austen's writing is that her myriad of characters, while clearly fitting into their time and place in the Regency era, still feel so real and knowable. We've all known a Caroline Bingley--however you interpret her. We also have all known a Lydia--if not ourselves embodied some of the absolutely cringe-inducing self embarrassment in adolescent efforts to attract attention.

For over a decade, I thought between the family dynamics of the fictional sets of sisters and easily agreed with my initial assertions that I was, in both cases, the second daughter. A little fiery, but not without being self-aware. Introspective and clever, but as a stubborn and sweet companion to the saccharine eldest sisters. Needlessly romantic and sometimes a little judgmental, but only born out of necessity to assign order to the world. Even in my summer 2024 re-read of all of the Austen novels (including Northanger Abbey and Mansfield Park), I did not reconsider my mental model of which sister I am most like.

Then, just yesterday, I found myself rewatching the 2005 film while painting.

said painting. mostly just for visuals because of how i set up this blog 5 years ago with no idea how to transfer/change it.

For context, I've been painting a lot, lately. I've also been sewing, resting, reading, and trying to reset. Reset from what? My last job. My truly awful, terrible, no-good job of four years which had longer-term veterans who became my colleagues shocked by my experience as they witnessed it like a slow-motion train wreck that just would not stop. As I left town for my first vacation in almost a year, I went asking the Lord to give me peace over the next steps and what would follow. Things had taken a nose dive starting in July for reasons I don't think I'll ever know this side of heaven. I was blessed to be in the presence of one of my dearest and most chipper friends, Bradleigh, whose disposition is infectiously warm. Even in the misery of her head-cold and our shared migraines, her company and fellowship was a salve to the stress that was threatening to burden my vacation, as it did during my October '24 trip. When I got back, I expected to be without a job within the week.

Throughout the worst of the final weeks in my job, I had been praying for patience and grace. It was a terrifying and stressful season. I woke up every morning with dread and a pit in my stomach. I was fearful of every Teams sound that could have been from my boss, laying more groundwork for the most flammable paper trail to exist. Between therapy and my support network in my personal life, I was barely hanging on by a thread.

Knowing most people I work with don't know Christ or have any positive affection for Christianity, I told myself this might be the only time they get to experience or know grace--which can only come from the Father above. I prayed and relied on many people in my circle to hold me up and accountable to extend grace and mercy while maintaining professionalism and not letting my professional reputation take a totally unwarranted hit.

I wanted to run. I wanted to rage quit. I wanted to quit out of embarrassment for how the situation was playing out. But God asks us to turn things over to Him and lay them down at His feet. He tells us to follow His already-worn path. My "mantra" became "we do it scared!" (That my nieces wanted me to read We're Going on a Bear Hunt many times during this season was a kind encouragement, too.)

God provided. He provided grace and peace. He provided clarity. And within two weeks of returning from my vacation, I had reached an agreement with my Chief Design Officer (skipping several levels) to tender a resignation for immediate garden leave. For the first time since 2019, I'd be without a job or a plan for a job on the horizon.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” - 2 Corinthians 12:9

I was strangely at peace with the whole situation. I was fortunate enough my parents not only understood, but in some cases, had agreed to listen in on the 1:1 calls with my manager to help confirm throughout my tenure if I was making up the games and gaslighting that was occurring. My parents encouraged me to boldly step out and away from the job (though, at least one of them had been telling me to leave the company I was at within six months of joining).

Going into the holiday season, I had some anxiety about my bills as I knew hiring would come to a slow-down, if not a total stop. In this time, though, I started trying to take care of my body and give it what it needed after the high-stress conflict of the previous few months. When we spend 40+ hours a week in that level stress, our bodies just break down. Thankfully (or uncannily enough?) I had begun working with a holistic practitioner over the summer to explore some of my growing concerns. We had learned my cortisol levels were fine first thing in the morning and late at night, but instead of the parabolic drop we are to experience mid-morning, mine just kept rising throughout the day.

While I began tending to my physical recovery, though, I needed to thoroughly explore and care for my emotional, professional, and mental health. Mentally, I have found that while the relief of being out of that job has been a great blessing, I have found without the structure of meetings from 8-5 my depression has been a different type of beast. Like a plasma oozing without its former container of professional expectations, my depression appeared to grow worse. More likely, I assume that the years of ignoring my needs and health just meant it was swelling in a pressure cooker. Once the valve was released, all bets were off.

Professionally, though, I've found myself doubting and worrying and fearing another job. What if I truly am bad at it? What if I really am incompetent? What if I don't get another job? As a designer, or more truly, an artist, so much of my identity is entrenched in my achievements and output. And as a professional, I prided myself on my work and professionalism in doing my job. When these things are called into question--even without veracity or ground--it nags at the imposter syndrome we all have. It takes a deal of confidence (or pride? possibly both) to overcome these for success in this industry.

And yet--my identity should not be stored in my achievements, artistry, or output at all. My identity and boast should be in Christ alone.

"But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ," - Philippians 3:20

And so, we get to the crux of this write-up: pride.

What I have learned most of all over the last three months is the humbling and never ending task of tackling my pride. In my most comedically curated moments I have compared it to waste stuck in a lavatory just spinning around and around without progress, cleanliness, or clarity. Absolutely vile image, I know, but that is how it feels. Every time I process and battle with some set of thoughts that have become ingrained in my head, I'm met with a devastating reality. Instead of reaching the summit of realization and seeing sunlit and fresh air, I've found I'm just at the base of yet another switchback up the mountain.

In this way, a Christian dismantling their own pride is truly the most Sisyphean task we might encounter. Every time we think we have a win or a break through in understanding in our pride, we have to again recenter our understanding on Him. It is He who illuminates and reveals the depravity of our hearts and thoughts. It is He who provides a respite for us to hang up our shabby, polyester cloaks of pretend pride and instead take shelter within His woolen robes. Even in writing that metaphor, I am humbled by the hymn His Robes for Mine. It isn't just that He offers us respite under an umbrella--He knows we will yet have to walk through deep storms and valleys. But He offers us guidance, love, and provision beyond measure as His own Son. Who are we to receive such a gift? To receive such care?

I have seen small bits of pride chip away at my countenance for the last decade. Most notably, it arrives as the elder Prodigal Son (too bad there wasn't another son so we could evaluate those sibling dynamics!) who expects praises and rewards for behavior. Even as someone who firmly believes in our salvation through grace alone, this Puritanical works-based mindset is at the core of some of my deepest beliefs.

This season has been one of exploring and admitting pride I did not know I'd been harboring. And this brings me back to my pop culture love and hook into this whole thing: after years of thinking I was dear Lizzy Bennet, I am realizing I've instead taken after the awkward, fiercely loyal (though sometimes misguided), and prideful Mr. Darcy. In this most recent revelation, I wish Austen had written a story from his perspective. I wish I could know what took place over that year when he did the personal growth to take on the challenges unintentionally issued by his yet bride-to-be. If only there were such enjoyable and Regency-era protagonists to serve as a guide for me now!

Unlike my vulgar comparison of pride to literal refuse, Jonathan Edwards's essay on undetected pride compares it to an onion (although my zillennial rotted brain can only conjure images of Shrek brusquely dismissing Donkey). He lays out some of the most insidious ways that pride can rot the heart of a child of God, spoiling the fruit of the spirit. In all things, pride tears down our capacity for love--for others and for God. I have noticed I have filled my idle time over the last few years with an unkind aptitude for snark, particularly for those I don't even know--but this is unbecoming to the Christian mind and heart. It puts my relationships with others in danger. It puts me in a wrong posture towards the Lord.

Greater, though, is the obsession with self in pride or humility. In reading J.I. Packer's Knowing God last summer, and again dipping into and through it over the last few months of unemployment, I have had the blessing of getting to learn more about, in particular, the majesty of God. While He is not distant from us in space, he is "far above us in greatness, and therefore to be adored." We often lose sight of this. This might be in mistaking man made in His image for His image reflecting ours. It could be in that, understanding him to be a personal God, we diminish Him to the "same sort [of people] we are--weak, inadequate, ineffective, a little pathetic." When we struggle with pride, we fail to see the majesty of God which would rightly humble us. We fail to fully understand the weight of grace--not earned or deserved.

When we struggle with pride, we also remove God from the role of the Judge--the ultimate judge. This is not to say He has to wait to go last--but that no other judgement will be needed or have merit once He has made His known. Though our removal of Him as judge might not be evident right away, it can be evidenced by our desire to run or to fight. But in all of our efforts, we will never come near to God's wisdom and discernment (which, by the way? separate things!) The judge must first discern the truth--this task is rendered moot by an omniscient and omnipresent God--and then, unlike our modern judges, the final Judge must execute the sentence. God is the jury, judge, executioner.

Edwards writes "Another effect of spiritual pride is a certain self-confident boldness before God and men. Some, in their great rejoicing before God, have not paid sufficient regard to that rule in Psalm 2:11 — Worship the Lord with reverence, and rejoice with trembling." Reverence for the Lord, while a lost practice by most proclaiming Christianity today, is a cornerstone to knowing God, which is necessary for the living of our Christian lives. The study of God while on this earth is necessary unless we wish to stumble around our short lives here aimlessly.

Of course, all of this must be balanced in our gangly and imperfect human pursuits. Our propensity to pride, our desire to know God further. Packer warns that we must be fully honest with ourselves to identify the ultimate goals of getting to know God further: what do we intend to do with the knowledge? Pursuing theology for the sake of knowledge will not serve us as we desire--it feeds pride and selfish conceit. We can often find ourselves puffed up with a small bit of knowledge, despite maybe only ever getting to a sophomoric understanding of God in full this side of heaven.

I've been blessed in this season (is blessed the right word? I don't truly delight in the work, but appreciate it) of reflection to learn so much of my own heart and try to recalibrate my time and heart to serve the Lord. I'm hoping that this time will serve to pull my whole self into alignment for an authentic and honest offering to God with how I'm spending my time in this world.