God Is Healing My Divided Loyalties

There are moments in healing where I can feel myself standing between two worlds.

One world is made of old burdens, old thought patterns, old survival strategies, old loyalties I didn’t even realize I had formed.

The other is the quiet invitation of Jesus calling me into freedom, wholeness, trust, and rest.

And somewhere in between those two places is the sacred process of release.

It had been a little over a week since I sat down with my journal and intentionally fixed my mind on Jesus and what He wanted to say to me. Not because I was running from Him, but because deep work takes something out of us. There are seasons where God gently uncovers ungodly beliefs we have carried about Him, about ourselves, about our identity, and after a while the soul grows tired from all the uncovering.

Not weary of God.

Just weary from carrying.

I’ve noticed this rhythm in myself after doing deep emotional and spiritual work. I often feel the need to pull back, slow down, and process. For years I may have called this “checking out,” but I no longer judge myself for it.

I’m beginning to see it differently now.

Maybe it’s the in-between place.

The space between old thinking and renewed thinking.The place where truth begins settling deeper than intellect.The place where the mind, heart, body, and soul slowly catch up to what has already been true all along.

Transformation takes time.

So when I sat down with my Living Fearless workbook this morning, I was determined to simply turn the page and move forward. But deep in my spirit, I sensed the Lord asking me not to rush ahead. Instead, He gently invited me to remain where I had left off.

There was a visual exercise waiting for me there. One that required honesty. Stillness. Reflection. It asked me to look at the places where I most needed God’s wisdom—my work, my relationships, difficult decisions, areas of struggle, areas of sin, places where fear and striving still lingered beneath the surface.

And as I sat there prayerfully considering what I was truly asking God to heal, I realized something:

The heaviest part of surrender is often the releasing itself.

As human beings, we adapt to what we carry. Even burdens we were never meant to hold begin to feel familiar in our hands. Our minds carve neural pathways around fear, striving, control, self-protection, performance, and self-sufficiency. Our bodies brace themselves around anxiety. Our hearts organize themselves around survival.

So when God begins teaching us to let go, it can initially feel disorienting.

Almost empty.

Like a phantom weight still vibrating in our hands after the burden has already been removed.

It reminds me of someone who has carried a heavy backpack for years. Once it’s finally taken off, the shoulders still ache. The spine still tightens. The body still anticipates the weight.

Not because the burden remains.

But because the body remembers carrying it.

I think the soul experiences healing the same way.

And maybe that’s why surrender can feel both heavy and freeing at the exact same time.

One part of us is grieving the loss of old ways of surviving.

Another part is awakening to rest.

That’s where I found myself this morning.

Not rushing past the process.

Not skipping ahead to the next chapter.

But allowing Jesus to meet me in the middle of it.

And there, in that quiet place, He began showing me the hallmarks of divided loyalty.

Not necessarily rebellion against Him—but the subtle loyalties I still carried toward fear, control, striving, approval, self-protection, and self-sufficiency. The places where I still believed I had to hold everything together myself.

Divided loyalty fractures the soul.

It creates inner conflict where trust and fear compete for authority. One hand reaches for God while the other still clings tightly to control.

But Jesus does not expose divided loyalties to shame us.

He reveals them so He can heal them.

Slowly, patiently, lovingly, He invites us to place every burden into His hands.

Not by force.

Through trust.

And perhaps this is what becoming whole actually looks like.

Not perfection.

Not having it all figured out.

Not instant transformation.

But the gradual integration of every fractured place under the love and leadership of Christ.

Where our thoughts begin agreeing with heaven.

Where our nervous system learns peace.

Where striving gives way to abiding.

Where worship becomes more than words—it becomes surrender itself.

This morning I realized that God wasn’t asking me to perform healing.

He was asking me to remain with Him long enough to become integrated in His truth.

Whole.

Unfractured.

Undivided in my loyalty.

And maybe the beautiful mystery of healing is this:

The very burdens we thought were holding us together are the exact things keeping us from resting in the God who already is.

So today, I am learning to unclench my hands again.

To release what I was never meant to carry.

To trust the God who gently transforms heavy burdens into songs of praise.

“Teach me Your way, Lord, that I may rely on Your faithfulness; give me an undivided heart, that I may fear Your name.” — Psalm 86:11

Shel Dammann

Rhythms of Grace Life Coaching