When I was a teenager, I was baptized more than once.

If I’m honest, I don’t remember much about it other than standing in line with a group of other kids, walking up one side of the baptismal, being dunked, and climbing out the other side while everyone watched. It was something our youth group was doing. It felt expected. Almost routine. I remember the t-shirt afterward more than I remember the meaning.

Years passed.

By December 2020, my relationship with Jesus was no longer casual or borrowed from a group. I loved Him. I understood what baptism represented — death to the old life, resurrection into the new. This time it wasn’t about fitting in. It was about surrender.

And yet, in the days leading up to it, something strange happened.

Instead of excitement, I felt dread.

I couldn’t sleep. Panic attacks surfaced. Anxiety wrapped around me like something alive. On December 13, 2020, I stood on the steps of the baptismal shaking. I remember gripping the railing so tightly my hands hurt. Waves of dizziness hit me. I nearly passed out more than once.

When my name was called, I walked into the water trembling.

I fully expected that when I came up from the water, the fear would be gone. Wasn’t that how it worked? Public declaration. Obedience. Fresh start.

But when I rose from the water, the fear was still there.

I left that service confused and ashamed. I couldn’t understand why something that looked joyful for everyone else felt like torment for me. I replayed it in my mind for months. Then years. I would watch other baptisms — tears, laughter, celebration — and feel a quiet ache inside.

What was wrong with me?

Was I broken? Had I failed somehow? Why did others seem to encounter peace while I encountered panic?

Over time, the memory became something I avoided. I stopped wanting to be present for baptisms. It stirred too many questions.

Then, years later, I found myself at another baptism service. I had no intention of participating. I was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. No extra clothes. No preparation. I planned to quietly observe and leave.

As I watched someone else step into the water, I felt both joy for them and that familiar longing rise up in me again.

And then I remembered Acts 8 — the Ethiopian eunuch asking Philip, “What hinders me from being baptized?” There was water. There was opportunity. He seized it.

When the invitation was given, I initially declined. The old fear stirred. So did shame. I was part of the ministry team. I should have had it together. What would people think? The thoughts were rapid, accusatory, sharp.

But something deeper in me knew this was a moment.

When I stepped into the water, the fear tried to rise again. It felt familiar — like a script attempting to replay itself. My body tensed. I could feel the resistance inside me. But this time, there was discernment where there had once only been confusion.

Prayer began.

And what had been hidden surfaced.

I won’t dramatize it. I will simply say this: it was a battle. And then it broke.

I felt it leave. Not emotionally. Not imaginatively. Tangibly.

When I went under the water that day — June 22, 2024 — I came up into something I had longed for years earlier. Peace. Lightness. Joy that stayed.

The difference was not my sincerity. I had loved Jesus deeply in 2020. The difference was understanding. There had been fear rooted deeper than I realized, and it had never been addressed. It manifested when I obeyed publicly. And because no one recognized it for what it was, it remained.

Hosea 4:6 says, “My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge.”

That verse feels personal to me now.

I was saved. I loved God. But I did not understand spiritual oppression or deliverance. I thought anxiety was just something I had to manage. I didn’t know it could be confronted and expelled.

Looking back, I don’t feel anger toward the past. I feel gratitude for growth. God did not abandon me in that first baptism. He allowed the process to unfold in its time. He exposed what needed to be addressed when I was ready to face it.

And what I carry now is not embarrassment — it is testimony.

Freedom sometimes comes in layers. Obedience does not always erase struggle instantly. But when the Lord brings light to what has been hidden, it changes everything.

If you have obeyed and still feel bound, do not assume you are defective. If you have declared your faith and still wrestle internally, do not conclude that God is disappointed.

Sometimes the first step is obedience.
Sometimes the next step is deliverance.
And sometimes the breakthrough comes years after the surrender.

But it does come.

Father,

Thank You for Your patience with my process. Thank You for not leaving me in confusion. Where there is fear hiding beneath obedience, expose it gently. Where there is oppression disguised as personality, bring clarity. Give Your people knowledge, discernment, and courage to pursue full freedom.

And for those who feel ashamed that their journey has not looked like someone else’s, remind them that You are writing their story uniquely and carefully.

Let every act of obedience lead not to condemnation, but to deeper liberty.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen.