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Mable never could get a handle on her persistent and deep insecurity. Her life was unraveling on multiple fronts—a failed marriage, rebellious teens, and an unending cycle of relational dysfunction. She was anxious, frustrated, discouraged, and confused. Her consistent lament was, “The same old thing keeps happening to me.” Anxiety and fear had marked her life for as long as she could remember, but she did not know why these soul troubles had such a tight grip on her.
As we began to trace her story together, it became clear that the roots of her fear ran deep, back to her childhood memories. Mable was the child of parents who lived in constant, unresolved tension. Her parents were Christian in profession but combative in practice. Mable’s heart was formed under the emotional strain of fussy parents.
All children are born insecure. Their condition is not merely environmental—it’s theological. Our insecurity is a consequence of the fall. The first human reaction recorded after Adam’s sin in the garden was fear (Genesis 3:10). Ever since then, an innate sense of vulnerability has marked humanity. Children enter the world with unique Adamic wiring. If Adam had not fallen, insecurity would not exist. We would be in a perfect relationship with our Creator, fully secure in His presence. But until we are fully restored to Christ in glory, fear will be our regular temptation.
Thus, children need secure environments. Their primary source of psychological security comes from their parents. The wise parent recognizes this and seeks to cultivate a practice of consistency, peace, and relational harmony. The little people in their home are trying to navigate a large, confusing world, and two things make this especially hard for them:
Kids intuitively know they need protection. They may not express it, but they are deeply aware when things seem wrong. They pick up on uncertainty and instability with remarkable precision. Many adult children have told me how their parents’ frequent arguing left them feeling terrified, unsure of what would happen next. When the only two people who are supposed to make you feel safe can’t even be civil to each other, fear begins to root itself in the child’s heart.
Mable described it vividly. She would panic in silence, curling up under the covers, listening to the escalating tension just beyond her bedroom wall. The fights were routine, the yelling constant. Her heart was shrinking with each conflict. She said she would often cry herself to sleep, and every morning, Mable wondered if this would be the day she came home to an empty house. Her greatest fear wasn’t monsters or nightmares—it was abandonment.
To make matters worse, her parents enforced a code of silence. They told her that no one from the church was ever to know what happened inside the family. The message was clear: This stays in the home. We keep our image intact. That secrecy deepened her isolation and reinforced the message that no one could be trusted with the truth—not even God’s people.
Children don’t have the theological or spiritual categories to process adult dysfunction. They draw conclusions, and those conclusions are usually wrong. Mable recalled that most of her parents’ arguments revolved around money—a common source of marital tension. Eventually, Mable stopped asking for things. She didn’t want to be the reason for another war or, worse, their divorce. She watched her friends wear trendy clothes and the latest tech toys, but she kept quiet. Her heart wanted those things, but her fear held her hostage. Her mom never discerned Mable’s internal turmoil. No one inquired what she was going through, so her heart kept twisting tighter.
By her teenage years, Mable had changed. She stopped caring about sports or extracurriculars—not because she wasn’t interested, but because her fear of failure was crippling. Instead, she sought security in relationships with boys. That path would define the next season of her life. She didn’t just want affection; she craved it. Needed it. And she would take it from wherever she could find it. She knew these boys were using her. It didn’t matter. Their attention felt like love, and her soul was starving. In her mind, any attention was better than the isolation of childhood. She felt powerful and attractive. Her beauty became her worth. Her fashion, her hair, her appearance: these things became her identity and a sense of control.
She was a modern-day Samson. Her strength was in her image. But behind the makeup and the outfits was a girl getting more desperate by the day. Her craving became a vortex. Her soul was being pulled deeper into relational dysfunction. Every new boyfriend was another attempt to satisfy a hunger that only grew stronger. Eventually, her neediness began to infect every relationship, especially her marriage and her children. Her perceived needs drove her internal theology. If others met her expectations, she was pleasant. If they failed her, she withdrew or retaliated. Love was conditional. Affection had to be earned. Ironically, she was doing to others what her parents had done to her.
Over time, I had the opportunity to walk Mable through the truths of the gospel. She began to realize how her parents were supposed to reflect God’s love. They were supposed to be the hands and feet that taught her about divine security. But instead, they introduced fear and performance. They claimed to be Christians, but their fussing drowned out the gospel’s message. The home was filled with theological contradiction. Mable’s view of God became a mirror image of her parents. She believed God was watching her critically. She tiptoed through her faith, terrified that one misstep would result in divine rejection. She didn’t just have a fear problem—she had a theological issue.
Legalism had become her lens for understanding both God, but slowly, through ongoing gospel conversations, the light began to break through. Mable began to see Christ clearly, not through the distorted window of her parents, but through Scripture. She had known about God all her life, but for the first time, she started worshiping Him for who He truly is. Grace replaced fear. The cross shattered her rule-keeping mentality. The God who once seemed distant and conditional became intimate and unwavering. For the first time in her life, Mable felt secure. She stopped chasing affection and began to live in the truth that the love she had always craved had already been given fully, freely, and permanently through Jesus Christ.
God never called parents to be perfect, but He did call them to be grace-driven, gospel-centered, and faithful. Fussy parenting may be culturally common, but the effect is spiritually costly. Let your children see, feel, and know that your love is not something they have to earn. Let them grow up knowing the kind of love that points them to the cross.
Rick launched the Life Over Coffee global training network in 2008 to bring hope and help for you and others by creating resources that spark conversations for transformation. His primary responsibilities are resource creation and leadership development, which he does through speaking, writing, podcasting, and educating.
In 1990 he earned a BA in Theology and, in 1991, a BS in Education. In 1993, he received his ordination into Christian ministry, and in 2000 he graduated with an MA in Counseling from The Master’s University. In 2006 he was recognized as a Fellow of the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (ACBC).
