The "Strategic Lean": When We Start Looking for the Exit

Doubt doesn't always scream. Sometimes it’s just a quiet curiosity about the things that might break us.

I’m currently about halfway through writing my memoir, When the Son Breaks Through. Once a month, I’ll be sharing a “raw cut” or a snippet from the manuscript here. I’d love to have you along for the journey.

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I hadn’t left. Not physically. I was still sitting in the same chair, sleeping in the same bed, and playing the part I had always played. But in the quiet theater of my mind, the lights had already dimmed on my current life.

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The fruit I was reaching for didn’t hang on a tree.

A fresh start ignited the hunger. Starting over seemed simpler than trying to mop up the mess we had on our hands. Resets feel exciting. I could reimagine my life anyway I wanted. Caught behind walls of unmet expectations was suffocating.

Logic reframed truth to fit my narrative. Happiness not responsibility, change of scenery not resolve, giving up not fighting for—these were the fruits dangling in front of me.

We were listening to each other, but not hearing. Our worlds were colliding against the wounds of our pasts. Standing two feet away, yet miles apart. In my next life, I would be heard, understood, seen. Logic argued that walking away was the only way towards a better version of myself.

The bridge to connection felt completely destroyed. Repairing the breach seemed impossible.

Once doubt moves in, a new perspective takes shape. God’s words become suggestions and love demands conditions. Like a train switching tracks, trust changes hands — and new choices suddenly seem possible.

Once truth feels negotiable, everything’s on the table. It’s not rebellion—it’s freedom, we tell ourselves. More than that, it becomes entitlement and entitlement masquerades itself as survival or self-preservation. Desire hides itself within the sentiment, “I deserve!”

Entitlement has a voice—blame.

“If God had only provided, then I wouldn’t need this!” The box wasn’t just a prison; it became my justification. If the walls were this tight, I told myself, I had every right to kick them down.

For Eve, that shift revealed another door—one that promised more than obedience ever had. The stitches holding her in place were tearing away—and it felt wonderful. Her mind went silent. Eyes locked, she leaned in—slowly. The guardrails began to peel away—she was in motion now.

Letting go felt freeing—

The ground gave way and fear was gone.

Only momentum.

I hadn’t left. Not physically. I was still sitting in the same chair, sleeping in the same bed, and playing the part I had always played. But in the quiet theater of my mind, the lights had already dimmed on my current life.

I began rehearsing who I would be when I finally stepped out. I practiced the conversations I would have, the way I would justify my departure, and the relief I expected to feel.

Doubt had done its work; it had convinced me that the “safety” of God’s boundaries was actually a box that had grown too small.

That is the deceptiveness of the “strategic lean.” We think we are just exploring a thought, just weighing our options, just curious about the “what-ifs.” But there is a weight to doubt that eventually creates its own gravity.

Once you lean far enough, you aren’t just looking anymore—you’re falling.

And that, for me, was freedom. Or so I told myself.

But freedom is a heavy thing when it’s built on a lie. My mind was made up, yet my hands were still trembling. I was standing at the very edge of the garden, the fruit already sweet on my tongue, facing a reality I hadn’t yet named.

The momentum was there. The pull was undeniable. All that remained was the act of the will. Because while doubt gives us options, choice is the hand that finally plucks the fruit. And once that fruit is taken, the landscape of our lives changes forever. We move from the ‘what if’ of the mind to the ‘what now’ of reality. As I stood at my own crossroads, I realized that every choice, no matter how small, eventually demands a reckoning—a journey out of the garden and into the wilderness of our own making.

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We often think of “falling” as a sudden event. But as I watched my toddler test boundaries in a mall years ago, I realized it starts with a lean. We weigh the safety of the Father’s presence against the mystery of the “what if.”

Have you ever found yourself “leaving” a situation in your mind long before your feet moved? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.