By Ruthann Weece 
If you grew up in the Church in the late 1980s to the early 2000s and you’re a woman, this is for you. Whether you were raising a family, navigating singleness, or were a young girl, you likely felt the unique pressures prevalent in Christian culture during this time.
I married my husband, Joe, in March of 1989, and within three years, I became a mom. I knew very little about parenting, but I knew I wanted to raise our kids in the church, which was honestly a given because I married a minister. But along with this desire was an even deeper longing to raise kids who would grow up to be adults who loved God.
As a young mom without Google at my fingertips, I immersed myself in parenting and marriage advice like a sponge—reading books, watching other mothers, attending Sunday School, and participating in small groups. I applied whatever I learned with rigidity, afraid that any diversion might mean failure. With only my Bible as a filter and no way to discern between cultural expectations and biblical truth, I took everything as gospel to avoid “messing up.”
The culture in the Church back then placed a lot of pressure on women to be perfect in every way—a perfect family, house, and hostess. I found it hard to measure up, but went along with it because it felt safe. In that space, I was protected from critique and judgment. I feared that if they knew who I was and used to be, I wouldn’t be accepted.
Recently, a friend and I—both with grown children now raising their own families—reminisced about those demanding years. “How did we manage spotless houses, large families, nightly home-cooked meals, and support our husbands in ministry?” I said, “Our bodies are paying for it now. We beat ourselves into the ground and piled unspoken expectations on ourselves and our kids.”
My friend laughed, “I dragged all five kids to my hair appointment! Today’s young moms would never—they get babysitters for every errand.”
“But their way is healthier!” I responded. “They have boundaries and know their limits—we didn’t. We never felt like we had a choice; we just pushed through it all. We would’ve never thought to tell our parents what they could and couldn’t do when it came to our kids. We lived with expectations that were never communicated.”
When it came to God, I had a performance-driven faith because I operated every other relationship in my life this way. I naturally assumed that’s what God wanted from me too—perfectionism and exhaustion became my honorary badges.
The breakthrough came when I was asked: “How would you describe your faith if it were a tree? Would you be high up in the branches, midway through the trunk, or just beginning at the ground level?”
This question struck me. Despite years of Bible study, church attendance, and ministry work, I realized I was stuck in the roots. My entire relationship with God centered around whether I was deserving of him. Just the week before, I had prayed for God to break down my religiosity, not realizing he would reveal a painful truth: my deepest belief was that I needed to earn God’s love.
This revelation became my turning point. I decided to rebuild my faith from the ground up, anchoring it in the truth that God loves me, not based on my performance but simply because He chooses to love me. The perfectionism that had driven me to exhaustion wasn’t God’s design but cultural expectations I took to heart.
Thirty years later, I’m still unlearning these patterns. I look at young mothers today setting boundaries and honoring their limits, and instead of judging them as less committed, I admire their wisdom. They’ve discovered something that took me decades to learn: God desires our hearts more than our accomplishments, and our authentic presence more than our perfect performance.
That’s the message I share with my grown children as they raise their families: You are loved not for what you do, but for who you are. The house can wait. The perfect appearance isn’t worth the emotional price. And God’s grace covers any expectation that you could ever fail to meet.
This shift changed everything. I began to see that all those years of striving—the spotless house, the perfect family, the fear of criticism—had created a faith built on performance rather than grace. As I rebuilt my relationship with God through His Word, I found freedom I never knew was possible.
The good news isn’t that we can be good enough—it’s that we don’t have to be.
The irony is that in letting go of my need to earn God’s approval, I found a deeper, more authentic faith. And this is what I hope to pass on—not a perfect home or appearance, but a heart that understands the freedom found in being completely loved by God.
by Ashley Daniels 
by Shannon Whitmore 
