The Chronic Good Girl: When Faith Becomes Another Thing to Get Right
You’re the one who’s worked your whole life at trying to be good.
You’ve followed the rules. Kept your commitments. Done what was expected, asked, required of you. You made sure you weren’t a burden or a bother. You went above and beyond to be helpful, even to the point of being taken advantage of.
And still, you’re afraid you’ve missed something. Said something wrong. Disappointed someone. Maybe even disappointed God.
This is what I mean by the “Chronic Good Girl.” It’s not just about doing things perfectly. It’s about making sure you don’t do anything “bad.”
And that reaches into more than what you do. It follows you into what you’re allowed to want, think, enjoy, and feel.
“I can’t do that…watch that…listen to that…read that…think that…want that…because that’s bad.”
There can be so many rules and restrictions you follow that you barely hear yourself underneath them.
I get it. I’ve been there. I’m still there if I’m being honest.
When getting it wrong could cost you a relationship
For me, being good had a lot to do with staying in relationship. I was afraid of being judged, criticized, or left behind if I got something wrong. So I learned to pay close attention to what people expected of me and who I needed to be to keep them close.
It got extra messy when God was involved. I felt like I needed to always make sure I was doing the “good Christian girl thing” so he wouldn’t be mad at me. The rules and expectations I carried in my relationships started to feel like they came from him, too.
And as much as I feared being judged, I also judged others.
I remember this showing up in dating. I ruled people out because they weren’t “Christian enough” or “didn’t have enough fruit in their lives.” I wanted to make a good choice about who I dated, but I became so focused on whether they met the requirements that it was hard to get to knowthem—or notice how I actually felt around them.
Did I enjoy being with them? What did I like about them? What mattered to me in a relationship? Those questions were harder to hear underneath “Is this okay, or am I doing something wrong?”
There wasn’t much room to be curious, get to know someone, and figure things out along the way. I felt like I had to get dating “right” from the start, and whoever I dated had to meet all those rules, too.
That’s uncomfortable to admit. I was terrified of losing relationships if I wasn’t good enough, while also holding others to a standard of “good enough” to be close to me. There wasn’t much grace for any of us.
Maybe you recognize some of this. You’re trying so hard to protect your relationships that it becomes difficult to actually feel close. You’re monitoring what you say, what you want, and whether you’re allowed to disagree. You may even find that you’ve stopped noticing your own needs.
Making room for myself—and for other people
Over time, I started noticing how exhausting it was to keep trying to be good enough. No matter how hard I tried, there was always something else to get right—and something else I was afraid I’d be judged for.
Getting closer to people who were different from me helped loosen some of that. As I listened to their stories and got to know them, I started making more room for their experiences and for the things we were both still figuring out.
I was also learning to become my own friend first, so that I could make room for others. That meant getting to know what I wanted, needed, liked, and disliked—and becoming more okay with being myself. I started noticing which rules I was following and whether they still fit. My personality and temperament got to have a place, too, even when they didn’t match someone else’s expectations.
This also began changing how I related to God. I started separating him from my experiences with church, family, and friends, and questioning whether their expectations were actually his.
I started to see God loving me as something beyond rules, even those appointed by people I was in relationship with.
As I became more comfortable being myself, I could bring more of myself into my relationship with him, too. I could be honest about what I wanted, what I struggled with, and what I didn’t know yet.
Learning to turn the light on
I used to be so afraid of the “dark”—the things I’d learned I wasn’t supposed to do, think, or want. Sometimes just being curious felt like I was already doing something wrong.
As I got to know myself and began to trust that I was loved, I realized: “I get to turn the light on, and the dark isn’t so scary.”
I could take a closer look at something I’d always called “bad.” What did I actually believe about it? Where did that rule come from? Did it reflect my faith and values, or was I keeping it because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t?
I was learning to trust myself. I could ask questions, get to know my limits, and decide what boundaries I needed. I could take time to figure things out without assuming I was doing something wrong.
Of course, that familiar question still comes up: Is this okay, or am I doing something wrong?
When it does, I ask myself what brings more life. When I’m focused on being good enough, I spend so much time checking myself and judging others that it’s hard to actually connect. There’s very little room for either of us to be human.
The more room I make for myself, the more room I have for other people to be themselves, too. We can disagree or want different things without it becoming a question of who’s good and who’s bad.
I get to be here as I am, and so do they. We still get to have boundaries and decide how close we want to be. There’s room for that, and for some grace while we figure things out.
When I feel guilty even though I haven’t done anything wrong, I’m learning to ask: Do I need to make something right, or am I scared because I’m doing something differently?
Start with a little curiosity
You might be able to see that a rule no longer fits and still feel afraid to let it go. Especially if following it has felt like a way to stay close to God or the people you love.
That’s a place to start. Notice what part of you is clinging to the rules, and what part of you wants to let them go.
One part might be afraid you’ll disappoint God or lose someone. Another might be exhausted from checking everything you do. You can want something different and still be scared to try it.
Hold space for both parts, give them both compassion, and get curious about what they need in order to trust you to move forward.
Maybe you try a little “rebellion.” Leave the dishes in the sink and go to bed, even while that voice says you should finish them. Tell a friend, “I actually don’t want to,” without scrambling for a reason they’ll approve of.
Or maybe you miss your “quiet time” and notice the urge to make up for it—to prove you’re still taking God seriously. What would it feel like to talk to him right there, with your coffee getting cold and your day already started, without apologizing for not doing the morning “right”?
If that feels uncomfortable, you might need a little reassurance: “We get to try something different and see if this rule still fits us.”
Then give yourself a moment to notice. What were you afraid would happen? What actually happened? And how do you feel now?
If someone is disappointed, there’s room to look at that, too. Is there something to talk through or repair? Or does their disappointment feel like proof that you weren’t allowed to make a different choice?
You don’t have to decide everything at once. Give yourself time to notice which rules help you live out your faith and values, and which ones you’re ready to question.
I’m still learning this, too
I still notice the rules I keep and how restricted I can feel by them. When that happens, I’m learning to pause and ask, “Why is this rule here? What am I afraid of if I don’t follow it?”
From there, I can gently give myself permission to let a rule go, even if I feel nervous about it.
The Chronic Good Girl in me still wants to make sure that’s okay. I’m learning to give her some grace, too. She’s spent a long time believing she had to get everything right to stay loved.
Maybe that part of you needs some grace, too. You can care deeply about your faith and still ask questions about the expectations you’ve carried. You get to take your time figuring out what you believe, what matters to you, and which rules no longer fit.
There’s room for you here, too.
If you’d like support untangling faith, fear, and the pressure to always be good, I offer Christian counseling for women in Burbank and throughout California. We can make room for your relationship with God, your questions, and the parts of you that are tired of trying so hard.
You’re welcome to reach out for a free consultation.