On Miley and the Thief of Confidence

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On Miley and the Thief of Confidence

I always think I’m not going to like Miley Cyrus. But she always manages to change my mind.

Case in point: this year’s Grammy Awards.

Her performance was not the most beautiful, flashiest or most technically perfect to ever grace the Grammy stage. She sometimes misses her pitches, and her dance moves—while on point and effective—will never be mistaken for those of Tina Turner or Janet Jackson.

It doesn’t matter.

Miley is an entertainer. And she has the one thing any successful entertainer absolutely must have.

Confidence.

She has it in abundance. It oozes out of her, not only while she’s performing, but also while she’s speaking. While she’s walking. Eating dinner. And—I suspect—while she’s making love.

This is why she wrote the song “Flowers,” the song she just won a Grammy for.

“Flowers” is a new classic breakup song. It’s in the vein of Carrie Underwood (“Before He Cheats”) and Taylor Swift (pick one). But “Flowers” is all Miley.

I can buy myself flowers
Write my name in the sand
Talk to myself for hours
Say things you don’t understand
I can take myself dancing
And I can hold my own hand
Yeah, I can love me better than you can

Miley wrote this song—and this is speculation, but not much—because she has discovered the one uncomfortable truth about living one’s life as a confident woman.

Most men hate it.

So do most women.

And because of this, most confident women cave. They allow that confidence to be stripped away, bit by bit, day by day, until they become the tired, soft, appropriately cowed woman our society will approve.

Not Miley.

As Mom and I watched Miley sing, I said, “You know, what bugs me about Miley is that she has not a speck of humility.”

And a tiny alarm bell went off in my brain. And a tiny voice—the one that’s helping me deconstruct—said, How DARE you, Lisa?

Humility is a significant part of the Official Christian Code of Behavior. It’s revered in churches and lionized in sermons. We not only love it in church—we love it in society. “He’s wildly successful but still so humble!”

Well, of course. Men can get away with humility (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) because they’re already at the top of the heap, and they know it.

For women, however, humility is a requirement for navigating life—especially as a Christian. This is evidenced in articles like “15 Personality Traits of a Humble Woman (Who Everyone Respects).” Right out of the gate, the author writes,

A humble woman is someone who knows herself and her capabilities – but doesn’t feel the need to show off.

“Show off”? Excuse me, but why is “showing off” always applied to women and girls? Boys are lauded for “showing their strength” or “growing into their leadership abilities.” But girls are criticized for “acting bossy” or “showing off”?

The article goes on to say that a humble woman will do things like bake delicious banana bread without feeling the need to post about it online, because by doing so she’s thoughtful and empathetic.

Because God forbid a woman’s skills and talents should make someone else feel bad about himself.

Other authors emphasize that a woman should have “a biblical view” of herself, not be a worrier or a people-pleaser, and admit her need for “help” and “rest.” The list goes on. In more conservative churches, it includes things like submitting to one’s husband and pastor, focusing on the children, volunteering in the kitchen. Keeping “her place.” Staying in “her lane.” It becomes a way of thinking, a mental pattern that, after years of conditioning, becomes very difficult to shake, and demonically easy to inflict on the next generation. Which, of course, is the whole point. Once I, as a woman, have accepted that humility is a fruit of the Spirit, I, as a woman, must work diligently toward that end to become acceptable to the church—and by extension, God.

There’s just one problem. Humility is not listed in the Bible as a fruit of the Spirit.

From Galatians: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” The closest you can get here to humility is “gentleness,” and that’s a reach.

Before you get me wrong, I’m not suggesting we canonize Miley Cyrus. I don’t think she’d be comfortable as Saint Miley, anyway.

What I am saying is that all too often, we allow our perceptions of what is and is not biblical to determine how we perceive people. And all too often, those perceptions are flawed, because we do not and cannot know a person as well as God knows her. My words to Mom were a knee-jerk reaction from decades of flawed teaching—teaching I’m currently deconstructing from.

The effects of tainted humility hit me hardest in my most vulnerable place: my voice.

Like Miley, I’m a singer. And like Miley, I’m an entertainer. I was born to it. I’m a natural on stage. This works at the Grammies. In the church? Not so much.

I spent years singing on praise teams, and every single time I got up to sing, I tied myself up in spiritual knots. I’m enjoying this. Oh no! I’m supposed to be humble. Don’t be too happy. Don’t want the best new solos. Don’t draw too much attention to yourself.

Needless to say, this didn’t work out too well.

Every time I got up to sing, I was nervous. I worried about how I was coming across to the congregation. (Because if you think those good, godly people won’t judge everything you do the minute you step on the dais, you are WRONG.) I was worried my “worship” was becoming “performance” and someone would notice. I was worried that my clothes were wrong or I was moving to the beat too much (which I did get called on the carpet for). I was trying to transition from being a confident performer to being an appropriately humble praise-team member.

And I failed.

God has gifted me with an incredible ability to communicate Their love through song. By trying to be what I thought the church—and God—wanted, I destroyed my talent and very nearly destroyed my faith.

Miley is a terrific role model because she embraces who she is. She knows she doesn’t always get it right, but that isn’t a woman problem, that’s a human problem. Her learning is messy because she’s in the public eye. Most of my learning (mercifully) happens in private.

The best thing about this essay? Miley won’t care what I say, either way.

I think that’s what I love about her most.