The Weight of Sin on Young Shoulders

The only time I ever wore ladies’ pantyhose was in church

Now, you may be the kind of man who likes wearing pantihose, and if that’s the case, all power to you. As for me, when I was eight years old, the idea of wearing anything remotely resembling pantyhose was about as appealing as a trip to the dentist

But there I was, cast as “jealousy” in a church play about sin performed by the Sunday School. The drama pitted the Fruit of the Spirit (love, joy, peace etc.) against the seven deadly sins — things like jealousy, malice and pride — in an epic fight to the death for the souls of mankind. I don’t remember auditioning to play the part of jealousy, but I was clearly an unsuitable child to be playing self-control, goodness, gentleness, or any of the other more desirable roles.

And so, jealousy it was.

The Sunday school teacher decided that the best way to depict jealousy was by decking me out head-to-toe in bright green, including a pair of stockings that could rival the Emerald City itself. That is how I ended up strutting my stuff in ladies’ hosiery in front of a congregation of largely appreciative adults.

But, if you think that was traumatizing for a little boy, I can assure you that being taught about God through the lens of your own sinfulness was an entirely different level of discomfort. As I look back on that church play, for me, it isn’t the embarrassment of wearing those green stockings; it is the underlying message that accompanies them.

I was “jealousy” in the flesh.

It reinforced an idea that was taught to me from my earliest memory: That even as a little child, I was inherently sinful and flawed and that my relationship with God was contingent upon my ability to suppress those flaws. And ever since, I’ve struggled to believe that God loves me… just as I am. What is more, I am absolutely convinced that I am not the only one who feels this way.

What a great tragedy.

A Tragic Reality

Imagine being constantly reminded of your shortcomings, your mistakes, and your very humanity every time you stepped foot into Sunday school or attended a church service. This was the reality for many of us who grew up in the church.

The unrelenting focus on my inherent sinfulness weighed heavily on my young shoulders. It shaped the way I saw myself and the world around me. I began to view spirituality through a lens of shame and judgment rather than one of love and acceptance. I wondered if I would ever be able to earn God’s love or if I was destined to be forever unworthy.

So, very early on, Christianity became, for me, largely about sin management. The degree to which I felt close to God matched the degree to which I felt that I wasn’t “sinning.” My relationship with God felt like a constant balancing act — a tightrope walk between righteousness and condemnation. If I could avoid the pitfalls of sin, if I could keep my thoughts pure and my actions righteous, then maybe — just maybe — I could earn God’s approval.

But the pursuit of sinlessness proved to be a futile endeavor — not to mention completely exhausting. No matter how hard I tried, I always seemed to fall short. Every mistake, every misstep, every moment of weakness felt like a damning indictment of my worthiness. Eventually, I internalized the idea that I was fundamentally flawed, irredeemably sinful, and unworthy of God’s love. It was as though my very existence was defined by the mistakes I made.

These doubts and insecurities followed me into adulthood, coloring my relationships, my behavior, my self-perception, and my understanding of spirituality. I may have given up on my faith completely had it not been for a few simple but profound realizations.

Perhaps they will help you, too.

God as Father

The most enduring metaphor used to describe God in the Bible is that of a loving Father. I’ve always known this in my head. However, it wasn’t until I became a father myself I realized just how powerful this understanding of God can be in shaping our relationship with Him.

Firstly, If God is like a Father, then God loves me because I’m his child, not because of what I do. When my son was born 15 years ago, I didn’t turn to my wife and say, “One day, I will learn to love this child once he has proven himself. Once he has a few achievements under his belt. If he keeps the rules. If he meets the mark.”

This is a ridiculous notion. The truth is that I love him just because he is mine. Before he did anything, I loved him. In the same way, God is a social God who created us for a relationship with him and each other. He didn’t create us so he would have someone to keep his rules. He didn’t create you to keep you at arm’s length until you have achieved something or proven yourself. No, he loves you because you are his child.

And that’s enough.

Sin as woundedness

In my years growing up in church, sin was often discussed as the things we did wrong — the mistakes we made. But what about the hurt we carry from the wrongs done to us? That was rarely part of the conversation. In many church settings, we completely overlook the complex interplay between our past experiences and our present actions, in favour of personal responsibility and repentance.

I’ve come to believe that people behave the way they do because of the things that have happened to them in their lives. Much of what we perceive as harmful actions is merely our attempt to navigate the hand that life has dealt us. When we endure pain, rejection, or trauma, it leaves deep wounds that shape our thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. These wounds not only affect how we see ourselves and others but also influence our perception of God.

Recognizing sin as woundedness encourages us to extend grace to ourselves and others. Rather than judging harshly or condemning, we can offer empathy, recognizing that everyone carries their own burdens and struggles. Instead of dwelling on guilt and shame, the concept of sin as woundedness reminds us that we are all deserving of compassion and understanding, regardless of our past mistakes or shortcomings, and directs our attention toward the process of restoration and healing without the side order of guilt.

So, be gentle with yourself.

Some of the “sins” you commit are your response to the “sins” that were committed against you. Each of your “sins” is an invitation to embrace a redeemed version of yourself.

Radical self-acceptance

Once we truly see ourselves as beloved children of God who have been harmed by other beloved children of God, it empowers us to embrace a kind of radical self-acceptance. After all, we are all just God’s kids trying to make sense of the universe without harming ourselves and others too much in the process.

Imagine God picking us up as a father when their child has stumbled while learning to walk. When we recognize that we are loved unconditionally like this, despite our bumbling attempts at life, it transforms the way we view ourselves and others. We no longer need to strive for perfection or seek validation from external sources because we find our worth and identity in God’s love for us.

Radical self-acceptance allows us to embrace our humanity fully, including the messier corners of our own souls— the ugly, insecure, and fearful parts — instead of pushing these aspects away or hiding them in a dark corner. Moreover, radical self-acceptance enables us to extend grace to others as well. Ultimately, radical self-acceptance frees us from the bondage of self-criticism and self-doubt. It allows us to live authentically and wholeheartedly, knowing that we are deeply loved and valued by our Heavenly Father.

Imagine letting go of the weight of perfectionism, of the need to constantly prove your worthiness. Imagine embracing your flaws and contradictions, not as something to be hidden but as colors that paint the canvas of your life. It is radical acceptance of self that makes space for healing, growth, and the beautiful complexity of being human.

Now, that sounds amazing.

It’s the liberation from self-judgment — the permission to be imperfect. As you navigate the dance of trauma, pain, love, and belief, this radical self-acceptance becomes the sturdy ground on which you stand. It’s like a compass guiding you through life, reminding you that you’re enough and you’re worthy of love.

Undoing the damage

You know, I wasn’t just cast as “Jealousy” in a Sunday School play. My entire evangelical upbringing cast me as every kind of vice you can imagine.

I was greed.

I was lust.

I was disobedience.

I was rebellion.

Above all, I was cast in the role of “wicked sinner” from my earliest memories. What a horrible burden for young shoulders — for any shoulders — to have to carry. I lost count of the number of nights I literally cried to God for forgiveness.

Undoing the damage wasn’t about simply shedding those green pantyhose, though that would’ve been a welcome start. Nor was it about rejecting the teachings of my upbringing — at least not entirely. But, it was about reinterpreting those beliefs through an entirely different lens.

I am not defined by my mistakes or the roles I have been assigned by others but by the inherent worth and love bestowed upon me by the God who loves me.

I am not Jealousy.

I am loved.

You as well.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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