You know the feeling when you’re in a room full of people, each one struggling to be heard, and the pressure builds in your chest, a quiet, metallic fear. You keep hearing a whisper in your heart that says if you don’t speak a little louder, laugh a little quicker, or sell your story a little better, you will simply… vanish. You’ll become a ghost in your own life.
So you straighten your back, summon your accomplishments like a shield, and perform. And at the end of the night, you come home to the quiet, and the exhaustion is a different kind—a hollow one. Well, that’s the tiredness of a soul that has been working overtime to just be seen.
But what if the very thing we’re fighting for—that undeniable, magnetic attraction we feel toward certain people—is found not in building ourselves up or bragging about our accomplishments, but in the sacred, counterintuitive act of letting go?
If we are being honest, you would realize that the people who have drawn you in have done so not with flash or noise but with a profound and quiet presence. These are the ones who listen in a way that makes you feel like you are the only person in the world. They don’t need to prove their intelligence; it reveals itself in thoughtful questions.
They don’t demand your respect; they quietly command it by giving theirs so freely. Their strength isn’t loud, but it’s a deep, still river. This isn’t weakness. This is the rarest form of strength. And that, everyone, is true humility. And trust me, it is utterly attractive.
I bet many of us feel that when you practice humility, it means you think you’re worthless. And society does a great deal in projecting this feeling. But the truth is that we’ve gotten this so terribly wrong.
We’ve confused humility with humiliation. With thinking less of ourselves. With walking around with slumped shoulders, muttering about our own inadequacies. That’s not humility; that’s pride wearing a mask of insecurity. It’s still all about us. It’s just a different costume.
My dear believers, true humility isn’t thinking less of yourself. It’s thinking of yourself less. It’s the liberation of no longer being the star, the victim, or the hero of your own exhausting movie. It’s the unshackling of your attention so it can finally flow outward—toward another person, toward a moment of beauty, and most importantly toward the divine.
It’s the posture the Apostle Paul pointed to when he wrote in Philippians 2:3, “Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; but in lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.”
That word, "lowliness of mind," doesn’t mean a self-hating mind. Rather, it means a mind that is free from the fever of rivalry. A mind that isn’t constantly keeping score. It’s the ability to see the other person—their struggles, their image-bearing glory, their inherent worth—and to esteem them. To hold them in high regard. This isn’t a downgrading of self; it’s an upgrading of everything else.
For us as christians to truly cultivate humility, we have to first understand what we’re pulling up by the roots.
That knot in your stomach before you walk into a party? The urge to namedrop? The quickness to share your side of the story first in a conflict? That’s not you. That’s an ancient, primal algorithm for survival. It’s the flesh crying out, as stated in 1 John 2:16, “For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.”
The pride of life. What a perfect phrase. This is basically the operating system of an ancient. Pride is the belief that our life is our resume. Our value is our valuation. Our safety is in our status. It’s a heavy yoke, and we are the beasts of burden, constantly pulling the weight of our own imagined insignificant importance.
This worldly system known as pride teaches us that to be humble is to lose. To be quiet is to be overlooked. To serve is to be subservient.
But have you ever thought to yourself, what if the opposite is true? What if laying down that weight is the only way to truly stand?
We all need to understand that humility isn’t a theory; It’s a practice. A felt experience. It’s what happens in the mundane moments when the spotlight is off and no one is watching.
Humility in the purest form feels like the ability to say “I was wrong” without the world ending. It feels like listening to someone’s story without mentally composing your own, better one. It’s the quiet confidence to celebrate a friend’s success without a single, secret pang of jealousy comparing it to your own. It’s asking for help. It’s receiving a compliment with a simple “thank you,” without needing to deflect it or use it as a springboard to list five more accomplishments of yours in that very moment.
It is, as the prophet Micah described, walking in a certain way. Micah 6:8 , “He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the LORD require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?”
To walk humbly. Not to run frantically. Not to stride arrogantly. To walk. A steady, grounded, present-tense pace. This is that special kind of walk that notices the cracks in the pavement, the person next to you, and the sky above you, all at once. Because you’re not looking at your own reflection in every window you pass.
The big question is, how can we achieve this genuine humility? Well, we don’t achieve humility; rather, we attend to it. We create the conditions for it to grow, like preparing soil for a seed. It’s a daily, gentle practice of pulling weeds and planting truth.
1. Practice Curious Listening. Next conversation you have, go in with a mission: to be fascinated. Your only job is to discover one new thing about the person you’re talking to. Ask a question that goes beyond the weather. “What’s something that’s made you smile recently?” “What’s been the biggest challenge in your project?” Listen to their answer. Then listen to the answer behind the answer. This act of focused attention is an act of warfare against the pride of life. It dethrones you and crowns the other person with dignity.
2. Seek Out the Small and Hidden. We are trained all our lives by the worldly system to chase the big, the loud, and the celebrated. So, counteract this. Deliberately find beauty in what the world ignores. The precise engineering of a spiderweb on a dewy morning. The patient, unseen work of a root system. The quiet faithfulness of a person who shows up, day after day, with no fanfare. This recalibrates your value system. It whispers that importance isn’t measured in decibels.
3. Embrace the Gift of Limits. Our culture screams that limits are to be overcome. But what if they are to be embraced? Your fatigue, your finitude, and your inability to be everywhere and know everything—these are not curses. They are gentle reminders that you are a creature, not the Creator. They are invitations to depend, to rest, and to receive. So, the next time you fail, instead of spiralling into self-condemnation, try a quieter prayer: “I am human. And that is okay.”
4. Sit With the Prose of Others. We live in a world of hot takes and reactive opinions. If you must learn humility, then choose to immerse yourself in the deep, patient wisdom of those who have walked before. Read the old books. The poetry of the Psalms, where every human emotion is laid bare before God. There is a humbling effect in realizing your deepest anxieties and greatest joys were felt by people thousands of years ago. You are part of a grand, human story, not a solo act.
5. Follow the Pattern. At its heart, humility is not a self-help technique. It is a reflection. It is seeing the ultimate act of strength in laying down and realizing it is the most attractive force in the history of the world.
Philippians 2:5-8 says about our Lord and savior Jesus, “Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus: Who, being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God: But made himself of no reputation and took upon him the form of a servant... he humbled himself.”
Christ made himself of no reputation. He unwrote his own press release. He didn’t clutch his status; he released it. And in that downward motion, he became the most magnetic center of love the world has ever known.
The path to humility is not upward. It is inward and downward, into the quiet, solid ground of your own beloved humanity. And it is only after you have let go of your need to be great that you will finally feel weightless. And attractive. Not because you are shining, but because you are finally reflecting a light that is not your own.
So, I'll leave you with this question. What might you lay down today to feel lighter?
Photo Credit: ©Getty Images/baona