Are You Proud of Me?

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Searching for significance

I don’t know who needs to hear this today…But I want to ask a question that’s been rising in me more and more lately:

Are you proud of me?

Not for the achievements or the perfectly curated milestones.

But for who I am.

For who I’ve always been—behind the striving, the self-doubt, the performance.

I wonder what would’ve shifted in my soul if I had heard those words from my parents.

Just once.

“I’m proud of you.”

“You’ve turned out better than I could’ve hoped.”

“You’re more than enough.”

When the Words Never Come

Some of us spend years reaching for a moment—just one moment—when our parents might see us and speak life over us.

A moment of unconditional love.

A moment of delight.

A moment of rest from the striving.

But what happens when those words never come?

And what happens when the opportunity for them has passed—when they’re no longer here?

The Ache That Lingers

Recently, we made the heartbreaking decision to rehome our dog Phin.

She wasn’t just any dog.

We purchased her from a breeder.

We spent thousands of dollars on her care—training, medical needs, allergy treatments, and behavior support.

She could be sweet and affectionate, especially one-on-one.

But despite all our efforts, she couldn’t get along with the other dogs.

She was anxious.

Reactive.

Aggressive at times we could never predict.

And with a granddaughter now toddling through our home and another one arriving in the next few weeks, we were constantly on edge—nervous, watchful, braced for something to go wrong.

We didn’t take the decision lightly.

We did everything we could.

And in the end, we still couldn’t make it work.

We rehomed her.

To a safer place.

A better fit.

And even though it was the right thing to do, I can’t shake the feeling that I failed her.

That I didn’t measure up—not for her, not for my family, and not for myself.

When Old Stories Resurface

This moment stirred something deeper.

A thread woven through so many other stories in my life—moments where I didn’t “measure up,” where I couldn’t fix what was broken, where I longed for someone to say,

“You did your best.”

“I see how hard you tried.”

“I’m proud of you anyway.”

I think we all carry this ache—this longing for our mothers and fathers to offer a simple, grace-filled blessing.

But when that blessing is absent, we keep trying to earn it.

Even through the care of a dog.

Even through perfect holidays, clean homes, or checked boxes.

Even through the tears we cry after doing the right thing—because it still feels like failure.

But What Does God Say?

Here’s what I’m learning:

God doesn’t love me because I made it work.

God doesn’t withhold blessing until I prove myself.

God never said I had to succeed at everything in order to be worthy of love.

“I have called you by name. You are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1)

And yet…It’s still hard to receive that love when I’m clinging to an old version of myself—the little girl inside still begging for someone to look her in the eyes and say:

You’re good. You’re enough. I see you. I love you.

Letting Go of What I Couldn’t Heal

Rehoming our dog brought up more than I expected.

Sorrow. Guilt. Shame.

It surfaced old grief I thought I had already worked through.

But maybe grief is like that.

It circles back when our hearts are tender—when we’re tired, and triggered, and still hoping for redemption in places that feel permanently bruised.

But maybe this is the invitation…

To stop trying to prove that I’m lovable.

To stop rehearsing the story of not measuring up.

To trust that the One who sees it all still says,

“You are My beloved.”

“I’m proud of you.”

And Maybe This is the Hope:

God doesn’t rehome us when we get it wrong.

He doesn’t reject us when we lash out in fear, or fail to fit in, or can’t quite make it work.

He draws us in.

“Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

Even now, in my sorrow, I feel the whisper of rest.

A grace that holds.

A love that sees.

A God who says,

You’ve done more than you know.

You are more than enough.

I’m proud of you, my child.

Reflection Questions

• Have you ever longed to hear the words, “I’m proud of you” from someone who never said them?

• What situation in your life feels like a failure, even though you did your best?

• What “old story” are you still carrying about your worth?

• What does God want you to know about His love for you right now?

• What would it feel like to finally release what you couldn’t fix… and rest?

I'm holding space for you my friend, space to come and sit with God and allow Him to speak to you.

My hope is that by sharing my stories, you find yourself relating, you find that healing balm of hope that God gives to our stories, and you discover, like I often do, the sweet gentle rhythm of going beyond the pain to finding restoration for your soul.

Copyright: Shel Dammann June 25, 2025