On Disappointment

If the title of this grabbed your attention, I have a question for you:

Did you read it as the person who has disappointed others or the person who has been disappointed?

I can see some of you right now, pausing as you read and reread that sentence, thinking about your gut reaction to those words and what that reaction might reveal about the season you find yourself in right now.

Most disappointments sting.

But disappointments wrapped in scripture, prayer, and “I’m just following God’s leading” tend to leave bruises in places ordinary betrayal can’t reach.

If I’m being honest, as an author and an author coach, I strive not to disappoint people. I always want to deliver above and beyond. The reality, though, is that there are going to be times when I fail—not on purpose and not because I’m not trying, but because I’m human.

I’ll drop a ball I thought I had suspended in air.

I’ll miss a deadline I had a reminder set for in my calendar.

I’ll make a mistake with a link for a book launch client.

I’m sure, if you’re being honest and self-aware, you can admit those times will exist for you as well.

Now that we have that out of the way, let’s talk about the thing I really came here to talk to you about today: what do we do when people disappoint us as authors in our writing worlds?

A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of spending several days on a writing retreat with some incredible authors. It was one of the most meaningful experiences I’ve had in my adult writing life. There was so much encouragement, honesty, laughter, growth, and progress packed into those few days.

But as I sat with these authors and listened to their stories, one thing became achingly clear: nearly every person in that room was carrying disappointment.

Not disappointment from readers.

Not disappointment from trolls online.

Not even disappointment from traditional publishing.

No, many of the deepest wounds in that room had come from people who claimed Christ.

Our first evening together, we spent some time pouring out the vinegar before we could get to the deep rich oil underneath. The process reminded me so much of David’s psalms. Throughout his prayers and writing, David often lamented before he praised. He poured out the grief before he counted the goodness.

We needed to do the same.

Before we could talk about strategy, marketing, goals, or publishing plans, we had to pour out the hurt first. The embarrassment. The betrayal. The stories we were still carrying around in our bodies.

Only then could we get to the deep rich oil underneath.

I heard story after story of disappointment and deep hurt—wounds that were still fresh and scars that would likely never fully disappear.

As I struggled to sleep that night, I found myself thinking about how we, as authors, can and should handle these soul-level disappointments.

I remembered reading Stephen King’s " On Writing " years ago. In the memoir section, he tells the story of hammering a nail into the wall of his bedroom and hanging every rejection letter he received on it. Eventually, the nail could no longer hold the weight. At the time, I remember thinking about the resilience it must have taken to keep going.

Now, though, I think about how many authors never make it past the first deep disappointment.

And if I’m being honest, some of you reading this might be there right now.

You might be wondering:

• Is this worth it?

• Is this calling worth the hurt?

• Is this community worth navigating?

• Is it even safe to keep showing up?

The hardest part for many of us is that these disappointments are not always coming from the secular world.

They’re coming from people who pray before Zoom calls.

People who quote scripture in emails.

People who call us “sister.”

People who build ministries, platforms, and brands around the name of Jesus.

And I think part of healing starts with being honest about why those disappointments cut so deeply in the first place.

The Betrayal Cuts Deeper When Faith Language Is Involved

It’s not that we expect Christians to be perfect.

We know Christians aren’t perfect.

We know we aren’t perfect.

But when we enter into relationships with other believers—even business relationships—there is often an unspoken assumption of safety. We assume there will be integrity, honesty, kindness, and mutual care operating underneath the interaction.

So when disappointment happens, it doesn’t just feel professional. It feels spiritual.

There’s a difference between:

“A business colleague let me down.”

And:

“Someone prayed over me, called me sister, quoted scripture at me, and then treated me in profoundly un-Christlike ways.”

That kind of disappointment creates spiritual dissonance alongside emotional pain.

Because when faith language is involved, the hurt rarely stays neatly contained to the relationship itself. It starts bleeding into trust, discernment, community, and sometimes even our understanding of God.

That’s why these experiences can leave authors feeling not only hurt, but spiritually disoriented.

Jesus Was Hardest on Religious Performance

The reality is that Jesus warned us constantly about religious performance disconnected from love.

There are people who know how to sound spiritual while remaining emotionally immature underneath.

People who know how to build platforms while quietly operating from ego.

People who know how to write captions about humility while treating others like networking opportunities.

People who know how to curate holiness online while avoiding accountability in real life.

This isn’t new.

It’s just happening now with podcasts, Canva graphics, launch teams, affiliate links, and ring lights.

Not everyone who claims Christ acts Christ-like.

And unfortunately, many authors discover this after they’ve already handed someone access to their vulnerability, trust, money, dreams, or story.

Disappointment Reveals What We Expected Christianity to Produce

I think many of us unconsciously believed Christians would automatically be safer.

That ministry leaders would automatically be emotionally healthy.

That people who talked about grace would naturally embody grace.

That shared faith guaranteed relational trustworthiness.

Unfortunately, that’s simply not always true.

And when reality collides with those assumptions, it can feel devastating.

Not because our faith was fake, but because our expectations were misplaced.

Following Jesus and sounding like Jesus are not always the same thing.

So What Do We Actually Do With All of This?

I don’t think the answer is cynicism.

But I also don’t think the answer is blind trust.

I think it looks something like this:

1. Give yourself grace for being human.

It’s easy to feel embarrassed after disappointment. We replay conversations, question our discernment, and shame ourselves for trusting the wrong people.

But trusting someone who appeared trustworthy does not make you foolish. It makes you human.

Sometimes we were drawn in because the offer genuinely met a need we had at the time.

Sometimes the marketing was convincing. Sometimes the person sounded trustworthy because they knew all the right spiritual language. Sometimes we simply wanted to believe the best.

You do not need to punish yourself forever for that.

2. Slow down before committing to people or opportunities.

Disappointment has a way of teaching us where we need more discernment.

Usually, discernment requires space.

Space to step away from the emotion of the moment.

Space to process clearly.

Space to ask trusted people for insight before committing.

If you struggle with shiny object syndrome like so many of us do, it helps to run opportunities past someone grounded before saying yes.

Not every exciting opportunity is a healthy one.

3. Stop confusing spiritual language with spiritual maturity.

Someone knowing how to quote scripture does not automatically mean they are safe.

Someone having a platform does not automatically mean they have integrity.

Someone talking about community, calling, purpose, or kingdom work does not automatically mean they embody the fruit of the Spirit behind closed doors.

Pay less attention to branding and more attention to behavior.

Over time, character always tells the truth.

4. Be honest with other authors.

I’m not talking about gossip.

I’m not talking about revenge.

I’m not talking about bitterness disguised as discernment.

I’m talking about honesty.

The last thing we want is for our author friends to fall prey to the same unhealthy people, systems, or businesses that hurt us.

Part of healing is learning how to tell the truth about our experiences without becoming consumed by them.

5. Watch for fruit, not polish.

The fruit of the Spirit is action-oriented.

If you consistently cannot see evidence of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, or self-control in someone’s behavior, that matters.

Pay attention to how people respond when you say no.

Pay attention to how they handle boundaries.

Pay attention to whether they become dismissive, manipulative, impatient, or defensive when they don’t immediately get what they want.

Titles can be manufactured.

Platforms can be curated.

Influence can be strategically built.

But fruit eventually tells the truth.

Not perfection.

Not polish.

Fruit.

So before you trust someone with your writing, your vulnerability, your money, your dreams, or your spiritual well-being, pay attention to the fruit.

Because you can never go wrong running a person’s behavior through the fruit of the Spirit filter.

I write in two spaces.

A Seat at the Table: Faith, Healing, and Honest Conversations After Church Hurtis where I explore faith, healing, and making room for honesty after it’s been made complicated.

Ink & Intention: Practical Writing Support for Nonfiction Authorsis for writers who want to show up with clarity, discernment, and integrity—especially online.

I’m also the author of Breathing Again and several guided journals, and I work with writers who want thoughtful, grounded support as they find their voice and shape what comes next.

If something here resonated, you’re welcome to explore more at your own pace. You can find everything in one place here:

Kristen Neighbarger | Author, Writing Coach, and Resources for Writers