She Doesn’t Even Go Here Anymore

I think one of the most dangerous lies I have ever told myself is:

“I know better now.”

Because apparently, knowing better and doing better are distant cousins who see each other at family reunions.

I know what overspending feels like.

I know what it feels like to look at a bank account after I have been treating shopping like a spiritual gift.

I know debt.

I know payment arrangements.

I know the little internal calculation of, “Okay, if I pay this on Friday, move that to next Tuesday, call them and ask for an extension, and perhaps Jesus returns before the other bill is due, we should be fine.”

For a long time, savings was basically folklore to me.

Something financially responsible people claimed existed.

Yet, I kept spending.

I knew what unhealthy relationships felt like, too.

I knew the anxiety.

The disappointment.

The crying.

The conversations with myself where I said, “This is the last time.”

Then, loneliness would show up, and suddenly, I was negotiating with something I had already survived.

That is why Proverbs 26:11 offended me this morning.

“As a dog returns to its vomit, so fools repeat their folly.”

A dog?

Vomit?

Solomon, respectfully, there were other metaphors.

Then, I realized maybe there weren’t.

Maybe I needed something graphic enough to interrupt my tendency to romanticize things that made me sick.

Because there was the first question I couldn’t get away from:

How many things have I asked God to deliver me from that I later went looking for?

Whew.

Because I can make going backward sound incredibly reasonable.

“I just miss them.”

“I deserve this.”

“I’ve been doing good.”

“One time isn’t going to hurt.”

“I’m different now.”

“I can handle it.”

Maybe.

Or maybe I’m standing over something that made me sick, trying to convince myself it looks different now.

That is what got me.

A fool in Proverbs isn’t simply someone who makes a mistake.

I make mistakes every day.

The foolishness is in refusing to be taught by them.

And suddenly, I had to ask myself a much uglier question:

How many times does something have to hurt me before I stop calling it a lesson and admit I have made it a pattern?

Because, at some point, I already know.

I knew spending recklessly would eventually put me back into financial stress.

I knew certain relationships would leave me empty.

I knew some reactions would create consequences.

I knew.

Yet, knowing did not always stop me.

So, maybe my problem was never information.

Maybe my problem was appetite.

That one hurt.

Because, when I really started looking at my spending, I realized I wasn’t just buying things.

I was parenting a little girl.

A little girl who grew up acquainted with lack.

A little girl who knew what it felt like to want things that simply weren’t happening.

Then, she grew up.

Got a job.

Got a debit card.

And adult me basically looked at child me and said, “Girl, get whatever you want. I got you.”

Except, sometimes, I didn’t “have her.”

Sometimes, I was hurting her all over again.

Because I was trying to heal childhood scarcity by creating adult instability.

There it was.

I had confused giving myself everything I wanted with giving myself everything I needed.

Those are not the same thing.

Sometimes, loving the younger version of me means telling her no.

Not because she doesn’t deserve good things.

Because she deserves security, too.

She deserves money in savings.

She deserves bills paid without panic.

She deserves a future that isn’t constantly borrowing from tomorrow to soothe today.

Maybe healing my inner child isn’t letting her buy everything she couldn’t have.

Maybe healing is finally giving her something she rarely had:

Stability.

That one sat me down.

Because I realized some of my worst decisions came from trying to make sure I never felt an old feeling again.

I didn’t want to feel lack.

Spend.

I didn’t want to feel lonely.

Go back.

I didn’t want to feel rejected.

Hold tighter.

I didn’t want to feel powerless.

Control.

I didn’t want to feel uncomfortable.

Escape.

And suddenly, I could see it.

I wasn’t always choosing what was good for me.

Sometimes, I was choosing whatever made an old wound shut up the fastest.

That is not freedom.

That is pain management.

And unmanaged pain is expensive.

Sometimes, literally.

Now, thank God, this is not where I still live.

I am married now.

Let me say that again because there was a version of me who desperately needed proof that God could bring me out of relational cycles I thought I would repeat forever:

I am married now.

Thank God for deliverance.

Thank God I didn’t have to keep returning to relationships just because I was afraid of being alone.

Thank God loneliness did not get the final vote on who I would build my life with.

Thank God I learned that being chosen is not the same thing as being loved well.

There were relationships I once thought I could not live without that I now realize I was simply afraid to live beyond.

That will preach to me all by itself.

Because sometimes, I wasn’t grieving the person.

I was grieving the familiarity.

And those are not the same thing.

Financially, I’m not that woman anymore, either.

I save now.

Look at God.

I am significantly better with money. I think about purchases differently. I plan. I save. I have learned that every dollar entering my bank account does not need an immediate assignment involving something cute arriving on my porch.

Have I reached complete financial sanctification?

Absolutely not.

Amazon occasionally catches me in a vulnerable moment.

There are days when that little “Buy Now” button seems unusually anointed.

We are still growing.

But growth does not mean I never feel the old impulse.

Growth means the old impulse doesn’t have the same authority.

That distinction matters to me.

Because sometimes, I have discredited my growth simply because temptation still exists.

Maybe deliverance isn’t always the disappearance of desire.

Sometimes, deliverance is having the same opportunity and making a different decision.

Bomb drop.

I don’t need to become someone who cannot go backward.

I need to become someone who knows she doesn’t have to.

Then, God brought Israel to mind.

Exodus 16.

They had been delivered from Egypt, and now they were hungry.

And they started talking about the food.

The food.

Not the slavery.

Not Pharaoh.

Not the oppression.

The food.

And I wanted to judge them so badly.

Like, “Y’all were SLAVES.”

Then, God essentially turned the mirror around.

Ma’am.

How many times have you remembered the food and forgotten Pharaoh?

Oh.

Because I have done that with relationships.

I remember the laughs.

Did you remember the crying?

I remember how good it felt when things were good.

Did you remember how small you became trying to keep them good?

I remember not being alone.

Did you remember how lonely you felt while they were sitting right beside you?

I remember what I bought.

Did you remember the payment arrangement?

I remember the rush.

Did you remember the anxiety afterward?

Memory is dangerous when pain gets editing privileges.

It will make a highlight reel out of something God had to drag me out of.

That may be one of the most uncomfortable things I have had to admit:

I have occasionally missed Egypt because I remembered the menu better than the bondage.

And Egypt will always have something to offer me.

That is why going back is tempting.

Bondage isn’t always miserable every second.

If it were, nobody would return.

Some bondage feels good.

Some bondage is familiar.

Some bondage knows exactly what to say.

Some bondage knows my love language.

Some bondage comes with a shopping bag.

Some bondage feels like relief.

The problem isn’t that it never feels good.

The problem is what it costs me after the feeling is gone.

Which brings me, unfortunately, to Mean Girls.

Because Cady Heron didn’t become a Plastic overnight.

That is what makes her story so good.

She slowly became what she was supposed to be observing.

One decision.

One compromise.

One justification.

One little adjustment at a time.

Until the line between pretending and becoming disappeared.

Oof.

Because how many things in my life started with, “I can handle this”?

I can spend a little.

I can talk to them again.

I can entertain this thought.

I can go back without becoming who I was.

Can I?

Because there are environments where I don’t just revisit old patterns.

Old patterns recognize me.

And sometimes, the most dangerous place for the new me is somewhere the old me knows exactly how to function.

That is why self-awareness matters.

I need to know what my instincts are when I am tired, lonely, hurt, angry, insecure, bored, or afraid.

Because spiritually mature me is not the only version of me making suggestions.

There is also scared me.

Lonely me.

Impulsive me.

Angry me.

Childhood me.

And all of them occasionally want the microphone.

Moses understood this.

His instinct was anger.

Early in his life, anger resulted in him killing an Egyptian.

Years later, after encounters with God, leadership, miracles, the Red Sea, manna, and an entire wilderness journey, anger still showed up.

God told him to speak to the rock.

Moses struck it.

That shook me.

Because time does not automatically heal an unmanaged instinct.

Neither does position.

Neither does calling.

Neither does Bible knowledge.

Neither does being used by God.

If I refuse to confront a pattern, I can carry it into places I prayed to reach.

Read that again because I had to.

I can arrive at the promise with wilderness habits.

I can make more money and still have a poverty response to money.

I can enter a healthy marriage and still have relational instincts developed in unhealthy relationships.

I can have new opportunities and still make old decisions.

I can be delivered from Egypt while Egypt is still living in me.

Freedom from something and freedom within me are not always simultaneous.

Sometimes, God gets me out first.

Then, we spend years getting it out of me.

And that means marriage didn’t magically erase everything I learned while surviving unhealthy relationships.

Having savings didn’t automatically erase the part of me that associates spending with abundance.

A changed circumstance does not automatically create a changed instinct.

I still have to let God deal with me.

That may be one of the biggest bomb drops for me:

Sometimes, God changes my environment before I have fully changed my appetite.

So, now, I have to learn how to live like someone who is actually free.

Hebrews 12:1 tells me to lay aside every weight and the sin that so easily entangles.

Every weight.

Not just sin.

That means some things don’t have to be evil to be too heavy for where I’m going.

That relationship doesn’t have to be demonic.

It can simply be done.

That purchase doesn’t have to be sinful.

Amazon is not the Antichrist.

It can simply be unwise.

That habit doesn’t have to send me to hell.

It can simply keep me from becoming disciplined.

I spent too much of my life asking, “Is this wrong?”

Maybe the better question is:

“Can the woman I’m becoming afford to keep carrying this?”

Financially.

Emotionally.

Spiritually.

Relationally.

Mentally.

Because my call is too expensive for me to keep financing my dysfunction.

Whew.

Then, Matthew 12:43–45 made this even more uncomfortable.

Jesus describes an unclean spirit leaving a person, wandering, then returning and finding the house empty.

Empty.

That word grabbed me.

Because I used to think deliverance meant removing something.

Now, I realize removal leaves space.

And space has to be filled.

I cannot simply stop overspending.

I need stewardship.

I cannot simply leave unhealthy relationships.

I need healthy love, healthy community, boundaries, and enough identity in Christ that loneliness doesn’t become my decision-maker.

I cannot simply stop reacting.

I need wisdom.

I cannot simply say, “I’m not going back.”

I have to build a life I actually want to stay in.

That one right there.

Maybe part of staying free is finally building something better than what I keep being tempted to return to.

Because temptation loves vacancies.

And I have learned something else:

Getting free and staying free are two different fights.

Sometimes, getting free happens because everything finally explodes.

The relationship ends.

The account overdrafts.

The consequence comes.

The door closes.

Now, I’m out.

Staying out?

That requires remembering accurately when the pain fades.

It requires not turning old bondage into a cute story because enough time has passed.

It requires remembering Pharaoh when my mind starts talking about the food.

It requires recognizing that loneliness is uncomfortable, but it will not kill me.

Discipline is uncomfortable, but it will not kill me.

Saying no is uncomfortable.

Waiting is uncomfortable.

Budgeting is uncomfortable.

Boundaries are uncomfortable.

Growth is uncomfortable.

Freedom has a hard, too.

I just have to decide which hard produces life.

There is a hard in bondage.

There is a hard in freedom.

One hard keeps charging interest.

The other hard builds something.

So, now, when the old pattern comes back with its little PowerPoint presentation about why “this time will be different,” I need to recognize it.

Because some of my old habits are Gretchen Wieners.

They keep showing up like:

Maybe fetch could happen now?

No, ma’am.

Stop trying to make fetch happen.

Fetch is not happening.

I don’t need another payment arrangement to confirm what reckless spending does.

I don’t need another heartbreak to confirm what ignoring red flags does.

I don’t need another consequence to prove what God already showed me.

I don’t need to touch the stove again because enough time has passed since the last burn.

At some point, wisdom has to become more persuasive than curiosity.

And maybe that is what growing up spiritually actually looks like.

Not becoming a person who never feels tempted to go backward.

Becoming a person who remembers too clearly to romanticize it.

I can have compassion for who I was without handing her the keys.

That girl survived.

I love her.

She learned how to get through things nobody taught her how to process.

She learned how to comfort herself.

She learned how to avoid loneliness.

She learned how to create little moments of abundance when life had taught her scarcity.

She did what she knew.

But I know more now.

And if I know more, eventually, I have to require more of myself.

Otherwise, “this is how I learned to survive” becomes an excuse for refusing to learn how to live.

Survival deserves compassion.

It does not deserve permanent authority.

So, when Proverbs says the dog returns to its vomit, I can’t soften the imagery anymore.

Maybe God is asking me:

Why are you still trying to make something palatable that already made you sick?

Why are you negotiating with what I already exposed?

Why are you revisiting what you begged Me to release you from?

Why are you calling it nostalgia when it is actually appetite?

Why do you keep asking Me whether you can go back when you already know what happened there?

And maybe the answer isn’t shame.

Maybe it’s honesty.

Yes, part of me still wants things that aren’t good for me.

Yes, sometimes familiarity feels safer than growth.

Yes, sometimes I would rather satisfy myself today and let tomorrow’s me figure it out.

Yes, Amazon occasionally convinces me that something I discovered 47 seconds ago is now an urgent household necessity.

We are working on it.

But self-awareness means I don’t have to obey every version of myself that speaks.

Every feeling deserves acknowledgment.

Not every feeling deserves authority.

Every desire can be examined.

Not every desire needs to be satisfied.

Every memory can be honored.

Not every memory is an invitation.

And every door I once walked through does not remain part of my future simply because I still know how to open it.

I cannot go high if I insist on going backward.

So, I’m not going back.

Not because I hate who I was.

Not because I am ashamed of every place I’ve been.

Not because everything behind me was terrible.

I’m not going back because I finally understand something:

God didn’t bring me out because there was nothing good there.

He brought me out because whatever good was there wasn’t worth the bondage required to keep it.

That one?

That one bled.

So, when my memory starts talking about Egypt’s menu again, I am going to remember Pharaoh, too.

When child me wants everything right now, I am going to love her enough to give her stability instead.

When an old relational instinct tries to creep into the marriage God has blessed me with, I am going to remember that my husband should not have to fight ghosts he didn’t create.

When impulsive me wants to spend, I am going to remember that the peace of having money saved feels better than the temporary dopamine of another package at my door.

Although, again, Amazon and I remain in ongoing sanctification.

And when an old pattern knocks and tells me maybe this time will be different, I don’t need another experiment.

I have evidence.

I have scars.

I have wisdom.

I have receipts.

Literal ones, unfortunately.

And perhaps the greatest evidence of all is this:

I am no longer the woman who needs to go back to find out what happens.

I already know.

Now, I have to become the woman who believes herself.

Because what I don’t have by default, I can obtain by design.

And this time, I am designing a life that doesn’t require me to keep recovering from my own decisions.

So, no.

We’re not making fetch happen.

We’re not making Egypt happen.

We’re not making financial chaos happen.

We’re not resurrecting relationships God already delivered me from.

And we’re certainly not resurrecting versions of me God has spent years teaching me how to release.

I can miss something and still not return.

I can remember the good and still not return.

I can crave something and still not return.

I can understand why the old me chose it and still decide the current me will not.

Because freedom isn’t proven only by what I walked away from.

Sometimes, freedom is proven by what I finally have the wisdom not to walk back to.

And maybe that is the conversation I needed to have with myself this morning:

Girl, you prayed for some of what you are living in now.

The marriage.

The stability.

The growth.

The ability to save.

The wisdom you didn’t have before.

The discernment you earned through some very expensive lessons.

Stop looking backward like the old life still has something you forgot to pick up.

You didn’t forget anything.

God brought you out with everything you needed to become who you are now.

So, keep going.

Because my call is too great to go back.

And, respectfully, my future is entirely too expensive to keep paying for lessons I already bought.