On Personality Tests and Church Hurt

My husband isn’t a huge fan of personality tests. He resents having his entire essence crammed into neat little boxes with labels, and to a certain degree, I understand his position. He knows who he is. He doesn’t need someone else to try to diagnose his strengths and weaknesses, and I promise you if you try, you’ll be met with resistance from the man. As I like to remind him, the “don’t-tread-on-me” is strong in him.

I also think it’s kind of funny because when he does humor me by taking the tests, he generally scores among the categories of humans that are specifically known for their disdain for personality tests. These categories of people are usually highly likeable individuals. They’re known for their charisma and their success with other people. They get invited to parties, and their report cards growing up read, “Plays well with others.” It makes sense to me that they don’t value these types of tools because they’re already inherently successful with other people. They don’t need the crutch.

Others (especially in faith communities) tend to frown upon personality tests as a form of witchcraft. “But look at their pagan roots” is the common refrain. To me, this is a bit legalistic. Personality tests are based on social science, not astrology. It’s just a bunch of data collection and sorting to ultimately produce a tool to help people better understand each other. Nothing more, nothing less. I mean, for all I know, the person who designed my refrigerator could be into some occultic practices, too, but that hardly stops me from utilizing the tool he created.

From my perspective, personality tests can actually be pretty helpful, especially if your personality type is chronically misunderstood. (Ahem, like mine.) I don’t need a quiz to tell me who I am. My identity is rooted in Christ. But I have to say, it’s proven pretty useful to be able to hand people a roadmap of sorts with which to navigate and interpret my behavior, which, apparently, is weird for a girl. On the Myers-Briggs, I’m an ENTP or “the debater.” While people often assume I’m being combative or quarrelsome, in reality, I just have to argue things out loud in order to learn and understand my own positions. It’s fun for me. My brain craves the exercise. Unless we’re talking about cult leaders who abuse women, it’s almost never personal for me, and I take no offense when people take a different position than I do. Other personality types recoil from this, so I’ve had to learn to reel it in a bit in light of that understanding.

In terms of the Enneagram, I’m an 8—bold, decisive, commanding, zealous for justice, unafraid of rocking the boat for the greater good

This can be healthy or unhealthy, depending on how the traits are used and for whose benefit. For example, Donald Trump is an 8. So was Winston Churchill. We can bulldoze people if we aren’t careful, even if we mean well. And please hear me say that just because a test tells you that you are something, it doesn’t mean that you have to make peace with the diagnosis if, in fact, the diagnosis is unhealthy. Just because the Enneagram tells me that I’m prone to be intimidating, it doesn’t give me carte blanche to be a bull in a china closet who just says, “I can’t help it. It’s just the way I am.” If the way you are in your natural state is hurtful and maladaptive, the appropriate response is to surrender it to the lordship of Christ and work to change it. So don’t hear me making excuses for character flaws.

That said, I will say that being a female with this personality type can be a pretty lonely experience, ESPECIALLY when it comes to navigating life in the Christian church. What does a traditional church do with a bold, assertive, free speaking woman who’s hardwired for justice and unafraid of challenging the status quo? How many of us womenfolk have found out the hard way?

I’m resisting the urge to share sob stories about our experience at the first church we joined when we moved to Idaho. Suffice to say, it probably lacked wisdom on our part to join a church that’s functionally cessationist and that requires male chaperones in order for women to publicly address the congregation. I didn’t know just how much this would bother me until we were fully immersed in a life group where I was basically rebuked in front of the group for suggesting that we lay hands on each other and pray. “We don’t do that here,” I was told.

One of the group members forbade her husband from communicating with me, and when I challenged this, he responded by saying, “I just really struggle with overbearing women.”

I’m not an overbearing woman. I’m a candid one, an honest one, a woman who would rather cut to the chase and dig out bad roots and just say what needs to be said than play pattycake and go along to get along and talk about the weather while peoples’ lives are secretly falling apart. One time in group, I pulled the leader to the side and asked if we might pray for a group member who had recently been diagnosed with cancer. He told me we had already done that the previous week, and now it was time to watch the Seahawks game. And when I privately and quite respectfully challenged one of the group leader’s views on women, I discovered a short time later that both he and his wife had unfriended me on Facebook.

We left the church a short time later after a number of other unfortunate situations, and we landed somewhere a lot more aligned with our values. Our pastors are a husband/wife team, and they’re excellent. They’re not intimidated by women with voices. My husband and kids are thriving there. But I’m not yet.

I know it’s largely my fault. I realize that I’ve got a wall up, and I’m having an awfully hard time figuring out how to tear it down. I’m afraid to invest wholeheartedly only to be rejected again. In fact, early into our experience there, I was so delighted when a woman on the worship team sent me a Facebook friend request. Her son is the same age as my toddler. I thought, “Yay! A new friend!” Two days later, I went to send her a message to initiate a coffee date only to discover I had already been unfriended. I asked her about it, and she politely informed me that she just can’t handle the intensity of my page. I went home and cried.

If I’m honest, I haven’t fully recovered. I can be 10 feet tall and bullet proof when it comes to taking a bold public stand on political issues and the like, but at the end of the day, I, like most other humans, just want to be known and loved and celebrated for my gifts rather than being constantly made to believe they’re too much to handle.

They say that when the common denominator in failed relationships is you, then it’s probably time to reevaluate a few things. And that’s what I’ve been doing for the past few months. Reevaluating, trying to soften, asking God to show me my blind spots and refine my edges to make me a little less prickly. But as of this moment, I’m left with the distinct awareness that He’s never going to fine tune me into a rose if I’m really a sunflower. There are certain things I can change, but there are others that may always just rub some people the wrong way, and if my heart is right before God, that’s their problem, not mine.

I’m not the friend you call to help you organize a dinner party, but I sure am good to know if you need someone to stand alongside you when you discover your husband’s affair.

I’m not much good at children’s ministry, but if a battered, broken, angry feminist enters your doors looking to light it all up and watch it all burn, you can send her my way, and I won’t flinch at her fury. She’ll probably end up being my friend.

I’m not great at housekeeping or crafting, but if your elder board refuses to bless your decision to leave an unrepentant abuser, you can look me up, and I will give you all the resources you need and then some.

And while my speech may be a little more “intense” than you would prefer, I can promise you I would have been eaten alive in my public fight against the gender cult if I spoke with any less urgency and enthusiasm.

I don’t yet know where I fit in our new church. At some point, I’m going to have to be brave enough to throw myself out there and risk the rejection again. In the meantime, I’m keenly aware of the unfortunate reality that there are countless other women out there who would read this and immediately understand the bind.

I write this for you. Just know you’re not alone.