In my late teens and early twenties, I was fully engulfed in the world of self-help and personal development.
Obsessed.
I overdosed on books, podcasts, and courses—
all chasing the same thing: an edge or some competitive advantage…
I wanted to optimize.
Overcome.
Conquer.
Transform.
To become more effective.
More efficient.
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger.
Outwit. Outlast. Outrun.
I biohacked before it was cool.
Woke up early.
Worked out relentlessly.
Cold plunges.
Intermittent fasting.
On the outside, it looked like discipline.
But underneath it all, something else was driving me.
I wasn’t just trying to improve my life.
I was trying to save myself.
I was trying to earn, perform, work my way to love and approval.
But you can’t hustle your way into heaven…
When Growth Becomes Performance
I didn’t have language for it back then, but what I was really chasing wasn’t growth—
it was identity.
I was trying to earn my worth.
Earn approval.
Earn love.
I thought if I could become impressive enough—
productive enough—
disciplined enough—
then peace would finally follow.
What I called “personal development”
was actually insecure pride dressed up as positive virtue.
And the scariest part?
It worked.
At least on the outside.
Inside the Industry
Eventually, that obsession didn’t just shape my habits—it shaped my career.
For years, I worked behind the scenes in the self-help and personal development world.
Audiobooks.
Podcasts.
TV broadcasts.
Email copywriting.
conference planning
and executing.
All of it wrapped in this polished, pseudo-deep sense of impact. Influence.
”Making a difference”
Helping people “level up.”
But looking back now, with clearer eyes, I can say this without bitterness:
It wasn’t formation.
It was self-centered.
Self-righteous.
Self-ambition.
A refined kind of arrogance that knows how to quote truth
without ever truly submitting to it.
We had language for growth, but no patience for surrender.
Tools for discipline, but little room for dependence.
And Jesus. . .
if He showed up at all—
was often reduced to a supporting character in the story of self.
The Hollowing Out
Here’s the part that still sobers me.
The more “successful” I became,
the more hollow I felt inside.
I was like a body in an open casket at a funeral visitation.
Handsome and polished on the outside,
slowly rotting and decaying on the inside…
Because self-help can make you disciplined
without making you dependent.
It can make you impressive
without making you healed and whole.
It can teach you to master yourself
while quietly training you to trust yourself more than God.
And eventually, the soul and spirit notices.
Mine did.
Not in rebellion.
In grief. In heartache.
I didn’t want to fake it anymore.
I didn’t want to sell hope I wasn’t living.
I didn’t want to teach truths I wasn’t submitting to.
And for a season, I almost walked away from everything.
My bitterness and pain towards those that claim to walk with Jesus didn’t look anything like Him…
It wasn’t because I stopped believing in Jesus—
but because I couldn’t recognize Him
in the version of “faith” I was surrounded by.
What I See Now
Here’s what I know now that I couldn’t see then:
Jesus never taught self-help.
He taught self-denial.
Surrender.
Abiding.
Not self-mastery—but self-replacement.
“I no longer live,” Paul writes,
“but Christ lives in me.”
That’s not motivational language.
That’s a death certificate.
And strangely enough, it’s also where real life begins.
Why I’m Writing This
I’m not anti-discipline.
I’m not anti-growth.
I’m not anti-leadership.
I’m anti self-salvation.
I’m against any system—religious or secular—that teaches people to bypass the cross on their way to success.
Because I’ve lived what happens when you do.
You may win externally.
You may look strong.
You may even help people.
But inside, something starts to erode.
Quietly, slowly until the only thing left is a shell of what once was.
A Conversation, Not a Monologue
If this stirred something in you, I’d love to hear about it.
What part of the self-help world shaped you—for better or worse?
Where have you felt the tension between discipline and dependence?
What’s one belief about success you’re starting to question?
You can leave a comment below. I read them.
And if this kind of honest, faith-rooted reflection is something you want more of, consider subscribing.
No hype.
No formulas.
Just thoughtful writing for people who are done performing and ready to be formed.
Grace and peace,
Red