Too Much
I’ve always been a little too much.
Too outspoken for a young girl.
Too sarcastic for a teenager.
Too unfiltered for a country church.
Too independent for my own good.
Too much.
When I was a freshman in college, I sat in a Gen Ed classroom next to a high school friend. He was trying—in his mind—to be kind. Helpful, even. He explained to me how intimidating I was. How I might have an easier time in the world if I made myself a little smaller. A little quieter. A little less opinionated.
For those of you who are righteously angry on my behalf: I’ve healed from this conversation. But I’ve never forgotten it.
And here’s the part that took me years to notice—those voices didn’t stay in that classroom.
They followed me into my faith.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped being honest with God. I stopped showing up as I was. Instead, I tried to be a little less. A little more polished. A little more “acceptable.”
Not too needy.
Not too emotional.
Not too loud.
Definitely not too annoying.
Because I thought—maybe subconsciously, maybe explicitly—that I could control whether or not I had a seat at the table. With people. With God.
If I just acted right. Prayed right. Asked less.
And maybe you know this feeling, too.
Because there are so many voices filling our heads every day, and if we’re not careful, we start mistaking them for the voice of God.
The Widow, the Judge, and the Lie We Believe
Jesus tells a parable in Luke 18 that I return to again and again—especially when I’m tempted to shrink.
It’s the story of a persistent widow and an unjust judge. A man who does not fear God and does not care about people. A woman who keeps showing up anyway, asking for justice, refusing to go away.
Eventually, the judge gives in—not because he’s good, but because he’s tired.
And Jesus says, Pay attention.
Not because God is like the judge—but because God is nothing like him.
This is where we often rush to the ending of the parable. God is better. God is just. God responds quickly. All true. All important.
But don’t miss the detail we tend to skim over.
The widow is not portrayed as polite.
She is not measured.
She is not concerned about being “too much.”
She is persistent. She is desperate. She is bold enough to keep showing up.
And Jesus doesn’t rebuke her for it.
He doesn’t say, “Now be careful not to overdo it.”
He doesn’t warn her about asking too often.
He doesn’t suggest she give the judge some space.
Instead, Jesus holds her up as an example of faith.
Which tells us something critical—not just about prayer, but about God.
You Are Not Annoying God
This parable isn’t permission to pester a reluctant God until He caves.
It’s an invitation to trust a willing God who never needed convincing in the first place.
If an unjust judge will respond to persistence, how much more will a loving Father respond to His children?
And here’s the part some of us need to hear twice:
If your prayers are not answered immediately,
it does not mean you are doing something wrong.
It does not mean you are asking too much.
It does not mean God is annoyed with you.
Delay is not rejection.
Silence is not abandonment.
And persistence is not disobedience.
For those of us who have spent our lives being told to tone it down, this matters more than we realize.
Because many of us didn’t just learn to shrink around people—we learned to shrink before God.
A Bigger Table Than You Were Told About
The people who removed chairs from their tables so you wouldn’t take up too much space? They are not reflecting the heart of God.
God is not threatened by your honesty.
He is not exhausted by your questions.
He is not irritated by your repeated prayers.
The table you were warned about?
It’s bigger than you were told.
It’s sturdier than you imagined.
And there is room—for you and your voice and even your “annoying” prayers.
You don’t need to make yourself smaller to belong here.
A Gentle Invitation
If you’ve been holding parts of yourself back in prayer—your anger, your longing, your grief, your questions—this is your invitation to bring them back to the table.
Not perfectly.
Not politely.
Just honestly.
Sit with this today if you need to.
And when you’re ready, talk to God like someone who knows they’re already welcome.
Reflection Questions
Where did you first learn that being “too much” was unsafe?
What parts of yourself do you withhold from God?
What might it look like to pray with persistence instead of permission?
If this resonated, I write weekly for those rebuilding faith after it was made conditional. You’re always welcome here. Pull up a chair.
I write in two spaces on Substack. A Seat at the Table is where I explore faith, healing, and making room for honesty after it’s been made complicated. Ink & Intention is 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: https://kristenneighbarger.com/
