Christopher Cook
We’ve become fluent in the language of pathology. From TikTok therapists to curated Instagram bios, it’s never been easier (or more socially rewarding) to name what’s wrong with us.
People build entire identities around mental health diagnoses, wear them like badges of honor, and gather communities around shared dysfunctions. But what happens when naming the pain becomes the end of the road? What happens when diagnosis replaces deliverance, when awareness replaces surrender, and when identity is formed not by the Word of God, but by a wounded past?
This isn’t a diatribe against clinical care (in the least bit). Mental illness is real. Trauma is real. And for some, diagnosis is the beginning of clarity. But clarity is not the same as healing. Awareness is not the same as transformation. And self-understanding is not the goal of spiritual formation.
The danger is not naming your pain. The danger is building your personality around it.
Neuroscience Is a Mirror, Not a Master
The human brain is neuroplastic, constantly rewiring based on repetition, belief, and behavior. Whatever narrative you rehearse most becomes the default neural pathway. If you live in a loop of “I am broken,” “I am anxious,” or “I am a trauma survivor,” the brain reinforces that identity. The result? It becomes neurologically easier to remain stuck and psychologically harder to imagine an alternative self.
But neuroscience doesn’t get the final word. It can describe the brain’s condition, but it cannot define the soul’s calling. And the Gospel doesn’t conform to your wiring. It rewires your conformity. A familiar verse to us, here’s Paul: “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind” (Romans 12:2, ESV).
That’s not behavioral. That’s ontological. Not cosmetic. Transformational. True renewal comes not by validating the brain’s habits but by yielding to the Spirit’s authority.
The Gospel Doesn’t Diagnose. It Reconstructs.
The central claim of the Gospel is not “God understands your pain.” It’s “You must be made new” (John 3:3). That’s the non-negotiable. Salvation is not about insight, it’s about rebirth. And that means that following Jesus is not an invitation to self-betterment. It is a summons to die that you might be raised to new life in Christ.
There’s no version of Christianity where you carry your diagnosis like a surname while also claiming freedom. Of course, that doesn’t mean you ignore your struggle. It means your struggle doesn’t get to name you.
There’s a difference between living with something and living from it.
Pain may explain where you’ve been, but it doesn’t have the authority to dictate where you’re going. And when identity becomes fused with pathology, the outcome is predictable: people get stuck rehearsing dysfunction with spiritual language but never experience transformation. The name changes, but the root stays alive.
Not Every Diagnosis Is a Demon. But Not Every Disorder Is Spiritually Neutral.
Discernment matters. Pain and pathology are not the same thing. And emotional suffering does not equal sin. But not everything labeled “trauma” is trauma. Not every cycle is clinical. And sometimes, what the DSM would call a disorder, Scripture would call idolatry, pride, or spiritual immaturity.
That’s not a denial of neurobiology. It’s a refusal to outsource spiritual authority to clinical vocabulary. Labels can offer insight. But insight without repentance is dead weight. And if the label becomes a license to excuse behavior or to live indefinitely in self-protection, a person will remain in spiritual infancy, armed with sophisticated language but void of transformation.
My point is that you don’t have to “cast out” every emotion. But you do have to test every allegiance. And if the allegiance is to a name that keeps you comforted in dysfunction rather than crucified with Christ, the issue isn’t medical, it’s informational.
Culture Isn’t Helping You Heal. It’s Helping You Brand Your Pain.
In today’s culture, victimhood is currency, and every platform is saturated with incentivized self-disclosure. Our postmodern, progressive culture says you are more credible if you’re more wounded. You’re more influential if you’re more undone.
That’s why we must understand that there’s an unspoken economy at play: the more broken you are, the more you “belong.” The danger is that this trend doesn’t just validate pain, it commodifies it. And when pain becomes marketable, healing becomes a threat to identity.
Modern culture doesn’t disciple people into healing. It disciples them into performance. Into permanence. Into paralysis.
This is not a rejection of honesty. It’s a call to integrity. Honesty names the pain. Integrity refuses to be mastered by it. What’s being lost in our therapeutic obsession with transparency is the slow, deep, sanctifying process of actual transformation. The kind that strips you down, reshapes your impulses, and reorders your interior world.
Pain Is Real. But It Was Never Meant to Be Lord.
Jesus never dismissed suffering. But He never submitted to it, either. The undeniable emotional weight he bore didn’t define His mission. The Father’s purposes did. And that distinction matters. Because when feelings are your compass, you will never walk in the direction of maturity.
We now have an entire generation of believers more fluent in self-diagnosis than in surrender. More equipped to explain their anxiety than to pray through it. More trained in trauma terminology than in spiritual resilience. And while none of this begins with rebellion, it can end in resignation. Not because people are resisting wholeness, but because they’ve stopped believing it’s possible.
We don’t need more emotionally aware Christians who still live like victims. We need mature sons1 who are emotionally honest but spiritually grounded, capable of naming the wound without identifying with it.
Spiritual Maturity Is Not Fast. But It Is Forward.
Now, here’s where this gets complicated: healing is rarely instant. It’s layered. Complex. Non-linear. We have been taught that naming our struggles was enough. But naming is only the first move. Surrender is next. And it’s much slower, much quieter, and much costlier.
No one gets discipled out of survival mode overnight. And the Church must recover a theology of patient formation: a discipleship model that doesn’t rush people to “get over it,” but refuses to let them build houses in the wilderness.
Not everyone stuck in dysfunction is choosing to stay there. Many are clinging to what has been familiar, not because they love their wound, but because they’ve never seen the other side. What’s needed isn’t condemnation. What’s needed is confrontation without humiliation. A voice that refuses to let people rot in their diagnosis, but also refuses to shame the slow process of becoming.
The Cross Still Holds
If all we offer is language to describe suffering, we’ve failed. Language is not liberation. The cross is. That doesn’t mean callously quoting a Bible verse at someone’s trauma. It means refusing to accommodate theologies that reduce the Gospel to validation therapy.
You don’t follow Jesus so you can stay stuck. You follow Him because you know there’s no other way out. And the only real transformation is the kind that doesn’t just ask for insight—it demands death and resurrection. Not metaphorically. Literally. In your desires. Your attachments. Your self-concept. Your loyalty to the story you’ve always told about yourself.
There’s no formula for maturity. But there is a pattern and a call to it: die to self, yield to truth, be formed by the Spirit. Again. And again…and again.
Stewardship Over Sentiment
The goal here is not to provoke shame. The goal is to wake us up. If your diagnosis gives you insight, pursue healing. If therapy gives you tools, apply them.
But please don’t stop there.
Don’t build a life around wounds Jesus never asked you to carry into your future. Don’t curate an identity around language that only explains you, but never frees you to become who you are called to be.
You don’t need better labels. You need spiritual authority. You need maturity. You don’t need more coping mechanisms. You need deliverance and formation. And most of all, you don’t need to feel better. You need to become whole.
And that is not found in naming your condition. It’s found in surrendering your entire self to the only One who can remake it.
For more, I invite you to check out my book, Healing What You Can’t Erase, and listen to my weekly podcast, Win Today: Your Roadmap to Wholeness.
