I'll Go First

 I’ve always been the observer.

The one who sits quietly, watches, and listens.

Never the loudest in the room or even the first to speak up. Sometimes because there wasn’t space for my reserved personality, and other times because there was simply nothing to say.

I’ve seen this pattern throughout my life, and people have affirmed it. I was once told I was a silent leader.

At first, this offended me.

What did that mean? Silent leader?

As I have grown up, I’ve learned that leading from the front isn’t about being the loudest personality or the most decisive leader in the room. Leading from the front is leading by example.

It’s not asking others to do something you wouldn’t be willing to do yourself. 

It’s modeling the way, just as Christ did for us.

I’ve found my voice in my identity, and I’m still finding it in my leadership. But here’s what I’ve noticed.

I am often the first to go in vulnerability.

The first to share the hard truth, the opinion, the encouragement, and sometimes what no one else wants to say.

I used to think, “Ugh. Can’t someone else do it?” or “Why does it always have to be me?”

But so many times, after I’ve shared something, someone else will say, “That’s what I was feeling, but I didn’t want to say anything.” Or, “Thanks for saying that. You put words to how I was feeling.”

I stopped looking at this as a negative and started realizing that authenticity can’t be forced.

It just needs someone willing to go first. 

And maybe that’s part of why it has become one of my greatest desires and strengths.

I know what it feels like to wear a mask.

In high school, I remember struggling to fit in with the crowd around me. I wanted to belong, but at the same time, I knew there were parts of me I was hiding. I didn’t know how to reconcile my faith with the person I was trying to be around other people.

The longer I wore the mask, the harder it became to know what was real. Looking back, I realize how exhausting it is to constantly manage who people think you are.

There is a certain freedom that comes when you stop pretending.

Not because you suddenly have everything figured out. Not because you no longer struggle. 

But because you no longer feel the need to be someone you’re not.

I think sometimes we misunderstand authenticity.

Being authentic doesn’t mean saying everything we think, sharing every detail of our lives, or using “this is just who I am” as an excuse to never grow.

Authenticity isn’t perfection, but it also isn’t giving up.

It’s being real while still allowing God to shape us.

It’s striving to be the same person no matter where we are or who is watching.

It’s living in alignment with who God has called us to be instead of constantly trying to become who we think other people want us to be.

And there is freedom in that.

Jesus didn’t set us free so that we could spend our lives trying to maintain an image.

He set us free to actually live.

To bring our real selves to Him.

To bring our struggles, our questions, our failures, our joy, our grief, and our uncertainty.

I love the picture in Psalm 30 where God turns mourning into dancing and clothes us with joy.

God can take off our sackcloth without requiring us to put on a face.

We can be walking through something difficult and still have joy.

We can be honest about what hurts without becoming defined by our hurt.

We can acknowledge where we are without believing we have to stay there.

That kind of authenticity is freeing.

And I think there is something powerful that happens when we are willing to go first.

When one person takes off the mask, it gives someone else permission to take theirs off too.

When one person admits, “This is hard for me,” someone else realizes they aren’t the only one.

When one person says, “I don’t have this figured out,” someone else feels safe enough to admit that they don’t either.

When one person apologizes first, tells the truth, asks for help, shares the hard thing, or simply says what everyone else has been thinking, it creates space for other people to do the same.

Authenticity can’t be forced.

But it can be invited.

Sometimes the invitation is simply someone willing to go first.

That has changed the way I see leadership.

I used to think leadership meant having all the answers, being confident, being decisive, and standing at the front.

Now I think leadership often looks much simpler. It looks like going first.

Not because I’m the most courageous person in the room.

Not because being authentic is always easy for me.

Not because I have everything figured out.

But because I know what it feels like to need someone else to go first.

If I can be that person for someone else, I want to be.

I want to model what it looks like to follow Jesus honestly, imperfectly, and authentically.

So I’ll go first.

Not because I have it all figured out.

But because I know someone else might be waiting for permission to be real too.