The first time I heard about the Enneagram was in my parents’ living room about eight years ago. My mom, a Four, had recently become a little obsessed and printed off descriptions of every number. She thought she had me pegged as a Two. Or maybe a Nine. (As an aside, you’re not supposed to type other people; figuring out your Enneagram space is a personal process. I’ve heard an Enneagram instructor even suggest trying on a number like an outfit; wear it around for a while and see how it fits. If it’s a little wonky, try on another one. She herself wore around the Two for a whole year before settling in as a Four.) Even though you should let people discover their number on their own, it’s hard not to at least wonder what your offspring might be, so my mom handed me the description of a Two.

As I read it over I could see parts of myself. I’m caring and kind and generous, I thought. Yeah, this could be my number. Then she handed me a description of a Nine, and a sentence into reading it I knew I’d found my Enneagram home: the Peacemaker. It’s not that I couldn’t see myself in the description of a Two anymore (in fact, Nines often have a hard time figuring out what number they are because they can easily see themselves in every number—and Twos in particular have some very similar qualities), but the Nine struck a deep chord.

The Beauty of Nines

Calm, content, even-tempered, and most of all, conflict avoidant, the Nine fit me. As Nines, we come across as easygoing, but it takes a lot of energy to maintain that calm exterior. We work hard to keep our inner peace by putting up barriers that both protect us from the storms threatening us from the outside world and that also keep upsetting thoughts and feelings from bubbling up inside of us, particularly anger. As such, we prefer to let life take its course and we will do whatever we can to keep the boat from rocking. The most telltale marker of this is the Nine’s desire to avoid conflict at all cost, fearing that any clash may put our relationships and our sense of peace at risk. We like to be comfortable, physically and emotionally. In other words, Nines are hobbits and happy to be so.

There are wonderful things about being a Nine. In Alice Fryling’s book Mirror for the Soul, she reflects that Nines remind us that God is peaceful. Nines have the potential to be great mediators and listeners, seeing both sides of an issue, and also bringing a calming presence to the people around us. We love easily and are slow to judge others, preferring to allow people the freedom to get where they’re going at their own pace. Sounds pretty great, right? (At least, as a Nine, this sounds pretty great to me!)

I know it’s true of myself that I am quick to listen and slow to judge. I’m easy to get along with and have been told many times in my life that I’m a good and empathetic listener. I put people at ease and help them feel heard. I also know how to be diplomatic, and when two people are heated, I can easily phrase points of view in such a way as to keep hackles from rising. I have found, particularly with complex family dynamics, that this can be a great gift to those around me. It’s also exhausting, however, because I would much prefer that we all just get along all the time.

The Ugliness of Nines

Which leads me to the fact that those same things that are so lovable about being a Nine are also our weaknesses. As Ian Morgan Cron and Suzanne Stabile explain in their book, The Road Back to You, “Any number’s blight is merely a distortion of that number’s blessing.” A Nine’s besetting sin is sloth, which reveals itself in myriad ways. Nines can ignore, or even stomp down, our own dreams, desires, and opinions, fearing that to do otherwise might risk conflict with the people we love (what if their desires come up against our own?). We also procrastinate in making decisions and completing tasks by distracting ourselves with just about anything else, most often with things that take the least effort and offer us the most comfort. Nines (at least the average and unhealthy ones) are not fully engaged with life; we are out of touch with our emotions, particularly anger, that might force us to acknowledge our desires and tap into the drive we need to achieve them.

I remember that when I was a little girl I once needed to ask some adults in my life to tell me adjectives that describe me for a school project. I don’t remember every word I was given, but I do remember one: space cadet. It came from a neighbor friend, and it wasn’t very flattering, which is probably why it sticks out in my head, but it was also true. And still is. My family lovingly calls my moments of daydreaming “talking to the fairies.” Spacing out is how I’ve always coped with life; it’s easier to withdraw into my own mind than to confront whatever is overwhelming me.

My fear of conflict has even become paralyzing at times. Things that other people would see as insignificant I turn into huge roadblocks, fearing that confronting the issue would put my relationship with another person at risk. And for the past year or two, the world at large has been full of conflict, not to mention my own life. It’s been hard for this Nine to stay awake and engaged when there is potential for confrontation around every corner. I have a hard time keeping my foot on the gas pedal of life when it’s so much easier for me to put on cruise control.

That is all a hard pill for me to swallow. I know that God has given me unique gifts, not just as a Nine, but as me, Katie. I know I have a tendency to ignore those gifts because it gives me the impression of peace. But really it’s coasting. In The Road Back to You, Cron and Stabile say, “The absence of conflict is not the presence of peace, which requires work and risk.” Allowing myself, or even more, allowing God to awaken dreams and opinions and ambitions in me is a real challenge—one that I feel ready to move into when I’m healthy, but when I’m not, I get stuck in my own inertia.

On the other hand, in terms of how I relate to God, the Nines have a unique advantage. Christianity is filled with mystery—mystery that sometimes seems paradoxical. I have always been okay with paradox; I can hold it in each hand and easily say, “Both of these things are true,” without hesitation and with wonder, seeing it from all sides and every angle. This comes from my God-given nature as a Nine.

Finding My True Self

I am still coming to fully understand all my Nine-ness—how it has shaped me and how I can move into my “true self” (as the Enneagram teaches). The Enneagram is a tool to move you forward, not a destination at which to land. I recognize my tendency to sit in my inertia, and my distractibility from the task at hand when I do attempt to get things done. I also know that, irony of all ironies, I have lost at least one friendship because of my inability to handle confrontation. I’m still on the path to real peacefulness—both naming and working toward my desires and truly facing conflict when it arises. It’s hard, and I’m no expert, but the Enneagram has helped me face parts of myself I am not sure I could even name before.

One passion that I have tapped into is my love of reading. It could certainly aid and abet my slothfulness—what could be better for a Nine than sitting on the couch and drifting into the real or imagined lives of other people? But instead it’s propelled me into some creative pursuits that push me out of my comfort zone. Two years ago I started a YouTube channel where I talk about books, and I have a similar account on Instagram. Both platforms give me an opportunity to work my creative muscles, talk about something I love, and even face some conflict head on (How do I handle it when someone hates a book I’ve recommended? How do I respond when someone leaves me a nasty comment on one of my videos?).

I didn’t start talking about books on a public platform in order to lean into those aspects of being a Nine that need reconciling, but that has been the biggest benefit of doing so. I’ve pursued something that I love with intentionality and drive, a feat in its own right, and I’ve been challenged to be forthright with my opinions, which often brings about conflict, albeit mostly on a small scale and sometimes only imagined. Still, those are real achievements for a Nine—especially this Nine!

It would be a lie to say that I have come to a place of complete health. I slip and slide around the healthy and unhealthy spectrum of Nine-ness. And I definitely still fear conflict most of the time. But I also recognize the gift of being a Nine; it does have its perks. Being introduced to the Enneagram has helped me to better understand myself, appreciate the gifts that Nines bring to the kingdom of God and my relationship with the Lord and with those around me, and begin facing and working through my sloth and conflict avoidance. I have far to go, but I don’t feel like I’m journeying blind, either.

Let me start by saying that I’m not an Enneagram expert—far from it actually. I still feel like I’m learning exactly what it means to be a type Eight. When I was first hearing about the Enneagram I had lots of questions and doubts about what type I was. I took a bunch of different tests a ton of times, and even though I tested as an Eight the majority of the time, I wasn’t convinced.

If I’ve learned anything about the Enneagram it’s this: this is a tool for understanding yourself better, for making yourself more aware of who you are and how you interact with others. This tool should make us people who are better able to partner with Jesus in loving ourselves and loving others, not put us in a box and make us feel trapped!

As I’ve learned more about Eights I’ve realized that they are generally self-confident, confrontational, strong, assertive, honest (sometimes brutally), and decisive people. When I read that description now I feel like it pretty accurately describes me, but if you’re looking for someone else who’s also an Eight to compare this description to, think Donna Meagle from Parks and Rec. She gives off an intimidating, my-way-or-the-highway kind of vibe, but once other characters get to know her, she becomes fiercely protective and challenges her friends to be the best versions of themselves. She expects those in positions of power to do their job well and she won’t accept anything less than that. (Also, if you don’t know who Donna Meagle is then you should rearrange your priorities and make time to watch Parks and Rec. It’s amazing. Knowing that I’m in the company of Donna as a fellow Eight makes me so proud because she is #hilarious.)

Eights are primarily driven by their desire to be in control of their environment, especially the people around them. When Eights are healthy they are confident in themselves as well as their ability to take control in any situation, driven, and natural leaders. They are great champions for others, pushing those they care about to be the best that they can be. But when Eights are unhealthy or feel threatened, they can become egocentric, domineering, and manipulative.

I have seen all of these qualities in myself at one point or another. But when I was trying to figure out my Enneagram type, the thing that kept deterring me from believing I was an Eight is that Eights are very guarded people. They use their strong and self-confident nature to put up a front and often struggle with being vulnerable because it means letting go of the control they crave and letting others in. I just felt like that wasn’t me. I always viewed myself as a vulnerable person, willing to share exactly what was going on internally with those around me.

But as I learned more about my type and became more aware that Eights tend to shy away from vulnerability, I started to notice that when I felt out of control of a situation, all of these walls would go up and suddenly I wasn’t this vulnerable person that I thought I was. Knowing my Enneagram type in those situations is so helpful, because I’m able to recognize what’s happening and attempt to work through it. For me, working through it usually involves admitting I was wrong, and I really don’t like doing that because it means giving up control. It’s been really helpful to work on this in relationships where I have a lot of trust, where I know the person who I’m speaking with isn’t going to say, “I told you so,” or make me feel bad about being in the wrong. As I’ve practiced this with people like my husband and my closest friends it’s made these types of conversations easier in other areas of my life as well.

I have to be honest. People that know me know that I’m a very confident person. I believe that I have a lot to offer the kingdom of God as an Eight, but the majority of you don’t know me, so it feels weird to be writing about what strengths I bring to the kingdom of God. I don’t want to come across as prideful, but the reality is, I do believe that Eights have a lot of strengths to offer the body of Christ and I possess some of those strengths! As an Eight I am really good at challenging people, asking them good questions, and urging them to overcome obstacles to take risks and reach their fullest potential. As a full-time campus minister I am able to challenge my students to listen to the Lord and actively respond to what he is revealing to them. I’ve recently been working with a student who wants to reach Black students on our campus. Some fears, doubts, and barriers are keeping her from being excited about fully diving into this new challenge, and I’ve been able to walk with her through that, praying with her and urging her to see what it could be like if she took this risk and started this new small group. I know that part of this is just being a good campus staff, but I believe that my Eight-ness contributes to being able to challenge and spur her on in this new mission.

Because I struggle with a desire to be in control, especially of people in my life, I have to be very careful that when I’m challenging others, I check my own desires and make sure I’m challenging them to pursue what God has for them and not what I have for them. Sometimes as an Eight, I’ve decided that X is what someone else should do, and I push and push and push for that to get done, when in reality I’m just advancing my own agenda, not the Lord’s. I have to be aware of my desire to be in control of others and really, really listen to what people are telling me. There have been times in my campus staff work when I just kept challenging students who told me they wanted to step down from a leadership position instead of really listening to them and to their hearts. Sometimes, not doing X is the right thing, and that’s something I really need to be aware of as an Eight.

Sometimes I also feel like I’m in a constant battle with myself. My human desire is to control, manipulate, and dominate and, well, with Jesus that doesn’t really work. My truest desire is to let him be in control of my life and surrender all of myself and my plans to him, but this human desire to control all people and aspects of my life takes over a lot. I have to remind myself to remember that Jesus is in control, that his plans are best, and that I need to trust him. Remember when I said Eights struggle with being vulnerable? Sometimes it’s even challenging for me to be my full self with Jesus, but when I realize that I can be, I experience so much freedom.

In my relationships with others I have to be aware of my intensity. Sometimes my need and desire to control can come across as being a bit over the top. I like to be right, I like when people pick my decisions over others, and I like when my plans and my direction are valued and pushed forward because it means that I have maintained control. But I also need to learn to be okay when that doesn’t happen, and to practice not shutting down or bullying people into choosing what I want. This can honestly be really hard for me, but becoming aware that I struggle with these things has been really helpful.

Knowing my Enneagram type has made me more self-aware. Now when I’m experiencing tension when something isn’t going the way that I planned, I’m able to realize that my Eight-ness is showing. My fear of being out of control is coming out and I have to watch my tone, my motivation, and my reactions. I am also more able to live into the good parts of being an Eight. I know I’m good at challenging people and inspiring them to take risks, so I live into that in my job and my relationships. I know I’m good at helping people live into their full potential, so I strive to help them reach that. I know that it’s helpful that I’m decisive, so I try and serve in roles where I can be an asset in that way. Knowing my type allows me to serve in a way that hopefully honors and glorifies God.

If you relate to any of the things I’ve talked about in this post, you might be an Eight. But you could also be another type as well. My best advice is to take your time in figuring it all out. You’re still growing and maturing and developing as a human. As you pursue figuring out what type you are, try not to box yourself in or wrap your identity up in one single type. You may possess a lot of or even all of the traits of your type, or there may be parts of the description that you really feel like don’t describe you. Either way is okay. Your number doesn’t define who you are. You’re still you, beautifully and wonderfully made by Jesus, and this is just a tool for helping us learn more about who he made us to be.

Several years ago my wife Jessica and I moved our family of four into a new apartment. At first it seemed like a fine place, but upon closer inspection (which wasn’t an option until we moved in), we realized that it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. The dishwasher was broken. A couple windows were calked shut. The toilet wouldn’t stop running.

Worst of all was the carpet. It was, in a word, disgusting. The previous owners had owned a cat they never told us about, and had a propensity to never ever clean up after said cat. Jessica (who is a Perfectionist ONE—remember them?) was repulsed, and for good reason. The place had started to stink. When we stepped on certain sections of the carpet, clouds of dirt would puff up. The bottom of our kids’ feet, after walking around the place for several minutes, had turned black. To top it all off, we’d signed a lease accepting the place as it was, and we had no money for new carpet.

“What are we going to do?” asked Jessica, holding back tears of frustration.

And then I uttered the phrase that would haunt me for years.

I looked my distraught wife in the eyes, shrugged, and said, “Just don’t look down.”

Yes, I’m a SEVEN on the Enneagram, through and through.

Life Is Wonderful as a Seven, Even When It’s Not

We Sevens love life—we are cheerful, enthusiastic, and positive. Our nickname is “the Enthusiast,” and it fits our idealism, passion, and fun-loving nature perfectly. When you encounter a Seven you feel better about life because our humor, self-deprecation, and winsomeness are infectious. Think Amadeus Mozart, Walt Disney, Jennifer Lawrence: all likely Sevens.

Kids love an adult who is a Seven; they gather around us at parties because we ask great questions (we love the fact that our curiosity makes people feel great about themselves). Our most basic desires are to be satisfied, content, and happy, so our mission is to make sure other people feel those ways too. It’s wonderful to be with a Seven, and it’s wonderful to be a Seven.

The fact that life is not always wonderful is where things get complicated.

Dancing Through Life, No Matter the Cost

The realities of our cruel world, strained relationships, and personal brokenness (not to mention disgusting carpets in apartments we are stuck in) do not jive with a Seven’s desire for happiness and peace. Because of that, we are driven to avoid these things at all costs. This means Sevens try to fix things as quickly as possible, even if that means applying a Band-Aid instead of really addressing the wound. We gloss over difficult situations, skimming over the surface of hurt in order to keep from sinking into the painful realities around us. And we can always find the silver lining, no matter how thin. The glass is always half full, even when it’s three-quarters empty. “It gets better” is our rallying cry.

And if all else fails, “Just don’t look down.”

Because the world is full of pain and we hate pain, Sevens will seek out pleasure and are thus also prone to addictive behaviors. Alcoholism, drugs, addictions to food and sex—we are well versed in all the vices. Our Seven-ness works against us as people confront us with our addictions and we respond with obtuse surprise, cheery denial, and assurances that we are working on it, no problem, everything will be fine soon. Oh, we’re good at this.

Hope and Healing for a Seven

While a broken and unhealthy Seven (not unlike any other broken person on the Enneagram) not only damages themselves but also the people around them, a redeemed Seven is a sight to behold. They know how to channel the energy they’d normally put into being happy into bringing joy instead. Instead of living in a constant state of FOMO, they know how to be content in any circumstance and invite others to do the same. They have eschewed addictions and embraced living life to the fullest and deepest. And they have learned to live in a state of authentic gratefulness for every good thing in their lives.

If you are a Seven and are wondering how to get to the place where you are bringing health to yourself and others from the deepest parts of you, let me suggest two things.

​1. Fast

A Seven desires to get: get comfortable, get attention, get full, get happy. One antidote to this is to make purposeful strides to give things up. The most effective way I’ve found to heal me from my broken Seven tendencies is to fast.

This has mostly looked like fasting from food, as the Bible, and Jesus himself, instructs. When I purposefully give up my most basic need for a meal, a day, or even several days in a row, my addiction to serving myself is interrupted. In fact, each time I fast, that addiction to self begins to dissipate altogether.

In recent years I have gotten creative in my fasting to further break my addiction to self-serving comfort. I have gone on months-long breaks from media, social or otherwise. I’ve fasted from spending money on anything but basic needs. And last year I took two days off of work and blindfolded myself for the entire time in order to fully submit myself to God and see only what he wanted me to see. It was the longest 48 hours of my life, but as I gave up even the most basic of comforts, I gained insights into my life I never would have in my normal routine of living as easy as possible.

2. Look Down

Jessica’s response to me when I told her to “just don’t look down” changed me forever (no joke—when I tell people about the most life-changing moments of my life, this one is always on the list). She looked right back at me and said, “Maybe you can live your life like that, but I can’t. I look down.”

Sevens need to look down too. Living in denial of pain and brokenness might help us feel better for a short while and meet our need for comfort and happiness temporarily. But it’s just not real. Entering into the pain is actually a way for Sevens to achieve great joy, as we have the opportunity to join in the work of making our world a better place (or, in my case, calling the landlord and working out a way to pay a bit more rent in exchange for new carpet). Our deepest desires for true comfort, harmony, and satisfaction can only be satisfied if we get to those places through the pain instead of around it.

A healthy Seven is an amazing force for good. But we have to get serious about entering into the real world, having real conversations, and pursuing real joy.

When I started working with InterVarsity in 2014, I realized how little I actually knew myself. Through all the reflection, personality, and emotional health tools that I became aware of, I always proceeded with caution and excitement. Caution because I was afraid of what would be exposed. Excited because I knew, even when I didn’t want to admit it, that this was an opportunity to know God more intimately.

As I’ve explored the Enneagram, I’ve seen this also as a tool: to sharpen and deepen my understanding of myself, and to encounter God with greater vulnerability and trust. When I first heard other staff talk about “their numbers,” however, I assumed the numbers represented worth, and that some numbers were greater than others (I mean, that’s usually what numbers represent). So I hesitated for a long time to read into anything related to the Enneagram. But as I heard people whom I deeply trusted talk about how understanding their number was impacting their spiritual formation, I decided to try it out.

As I read the names of each number, I tried to guess intuitively which one I’d be; perfectionist seemed to make the most sense. But then I read descriptions and scenarios for each number, and realized I was very wrong. I even cross-checked with my wife, and she confirmed. I was a Six, a Loyalist.

The Enneagram Institute defines Loyalists as “the committed, security-oriented type. Sixes are reliable, hard-working, responsible, and trustworthy. Excellent ‘troubleshooters,’ they foresee problems and foster cooperation, but can also become defensive, evasive, and anxious—running on stress while complaining about it. They can be cautious and indecisive, but also reactive, defiant and rebellious. They typically have problems with self-doubt and suspicion. At their Best: internally stable and self-reliant, courageously championing themselves and others.” As I wrestled with both the positive and negative characteristics of a Loyalist, I realized that there is much to embrace about how I am wired, and there is much to pray and repent for. But both the positive and negative are opportunities for me to seek Jesus in a deeply transformative way.

The Positive Characteristics of Loyalists

I have always been loyal to the activities and communities I’ve been a part of. Loyalists get their name because they are most loyal to their friends and their values. It is this type of personality that has the ability to strengthen my faith as a Christian, my commitment as a husband, and my compassion as a friend. It is the loyal nature of my character that also drives discontent for injustice, righteous indignation in ministry, and anger toward manipulation. It is the Loyalist in me that helps make me a great ally, and a committed defender.

When I am healthy, I find that I am not only able to remain faithful to the people and communities around me, but I am also able to easily build trust that pushes the whole team/community forward. In ministry, this means I am able to build trust with students in ways that point them to Jesus. I am able to challenge and redirect students when we need to make a shift. I am also able to encourage and empower them when they are faithfully taking risks. Because they know I am on their side, building a team to pursue mission is fun and faith-building. I am also able to develop strong trust with peers and superiors. I am able to develop influence in a way that builds momentum for my teammates, and in a way that could healthily challenge us to consider direction that we weren’t before. This makes me a great team player, and a useful influencer. In relationships, this makes me a good partner and friend.

The Negative Characteristics of Loyalists

My biggest fear is detachment. I fear being abandoned by others and remaining alone. This fear makes my strength as a Loyalist also a weakness. Because I fear losing affection, value, and self-worth, often my motivation to commit, and to remain loyal to people, communities, and beliefs, is rooted in fear. This leads to anxiety and stress. In stress, I overperform and overcommit to compensate for my fear (which is probably why I initially thought I’d be a perfectionist). Often, my self-confidence and self-worth come from the affirmation of others, which means if I don’t have that, then I tend to struggle with self-doubt.

This impacts my relationship with God because I will often project a lack of public affirmation onto him. So if I am not feeling affirmed by the community around me, I can assume God also isn’t affirming me. In this way, relationships take the place of God in my life and can easily become an idol. Supervisors, friends, and family can all sound like the voice of God in my ear. This cripples my ability to actually hear from God, and shifts my faithfulness to people and communities, who, being sinful and part of a fallen world, will ultimately fail me. This type of inferiority complex could impact my ability to seek opportunities to grow. I often find myself only taking a growth opportunity when it is directed to me by someone else. This makes it hard for me to identify gifts that I have that haven’t already been affirmed by others, and avoid seeking opportunities to grow in those gifts (which has been true for me in my church participation). It also could impact my ability to embrace the identity that God has given me and exchange that with false half-truths that damage the view I have of myself. As a college student, though I showed very clear leadership skills and potential, I never viewed myself as a leader because of lies that were told to me in the beginning of my discipleship as a Christian.

Growing as a Loyalist

Understanding how I am tempted to believe lies about myself, others, and God; where those lies come from; and the truth about myself, others, and God has all been helpful in my journey of growing as a Loyalist. Having consistent space to reflect on my day, my emotions, and my reactions has been helpful for me to both proactively catch moments I am likely to lean into the negative characteristics of a Loyalist and willingly choose to respond differently, and reactively catch moments that I failed in avoiding the critical characteristics, and faithfully confess and repent before God and others. Every morning this looks like a care-casting exercise. Every afternoon this looks like a midday reflection where I stop, journal, and pray. Every evening, this looks like an Examen.

Since my fear of abandonment causes me to believe lies about myself, I’ve also learned to hold a few images and phrases during different seasons to remind myself about the truth of who I am daily. For example, during this season, I spend my morning prayer time reflecting on the truth that I am God’s son, and he is my Father. I look through my schedule for the day to anticipate the moments I may be tempted to believe otherwise, and declare God’s truth over those moments in faith. This has helped me not only increase my personal awareness, but also grow in emotional health.

I’m learning how to embrace both the strengths of being a Loyalist, thanking God for how I can be a gift to my communities, and how this strengthens my faith in Jesus. I’m also learning how to acknowledge the weaknesses of being a Loyalist, confessing to God where I often fall short, and diligently working on turning those weaknesses into opportunities to grow more faithful to Jesus.

My wife and I remodeled the second floor of our house a few years ago, and in preparation I watched and rewatched probably hours of videos to learn how to hang and mud drywall. The funny thing is that I had a friend who was coming to help and teach me how to do it! But I wanted to be sure that I understood the process and would be able to do it well. As a Five on the Enneagram, I love to learn and want to be competent.

Always Thinking

Some people call Fives “the Observer.” As a Five, my natural state is to stay in the background, watching and learning, happy to let others be the center of attention (at least, until there is a topic where I can demonstrate my expertise). And because we observe, research, and learn, Fives often do become experts in a specific field, which is likely why many Fives choose careers as scientists, researchers, professors, and engineers (my background). These fields encourage a deep knowledge of a specific area (and often allow you to work alone for long periods of time). I can normally focus intensely on one thing, ignoring all distractions and really diving deep into a topic, problem, or task.

But at the same time, Fives are frequently seen as detached because we don’t get emotional . . . at least in public. If I’m going to cry, it’ll be by myself or with a very trusted friend. But to others I can be like a blank computer screen; it seems like nothing is going on. Behind that blank screen, though, the processor may be running at 100 percent. Unless I’m really tired, my mind is always going, always noticing things, processing what I’m learning, and storing it away for future reference; my face just might not show it.

It’s like everything I outwardly express passes through a filter. This sounds bad, but sometimes I need to remind myself to have a smile on my face when I run into a friend I haven’t seen in a while, or to visibly show compassion when someone shares their struggles with me. I may be thinking, “I’m really glad to see that person!” or “That must be really difficult,” but my thoughts don’t necessarily connect with my body.

Because we think through our emotions, Fives can gather and analyze information and remain objective, only allowing our emotions to come out when we’re ready. A few years ago, there was a large conflict among a leadership team that I was working with. While I was deeply involved, I was able to remain detached emotionally. This allowed me to talk with those involved, ask questions, and understand their perspective, without being colored by my own feelings and initial reactions.

But my desire to observe and learn also has a major drawback: it’s hard for me to actually act on things. I can spend all day learning and not actually doing anything (the Internet is both amazing and terrible for me because it’s an endless source of information). I store that info up, knowing that someday it may be useful.

Being Competent

This gets to the core desire for a Five: to be competent or capable. When I worked as a software developer, I loved the accomplishment of fixing a bug in the code—especially if I did it by myself. I now work with international students on campus, and I love being able to help students and volunteers understand the cross-cultural dynamics that are happening in ministry. My experience overseas, the books I’ve read, and the training I’ve received make me a valuable resource.

The flip side is that a Five’s biggest fear is to be incapable. This is what often drives my actions: I never want to be in a situation where I’m useless, so to protect myself, I will accumulate and hoard. It could be possessions (“I might need this someday . . .”), money, time, or even knowledge (“If I’m in a situation where someone asks me about this, I’ll be ready”).

Last night, I recognized the feelings of incompetence surge up when I pulled bread out of the oven too early, leaving the insides doughy. Running through my mind was: My wife made this delicious bread; all I had to do was take it out when it was done, and I blew it. I can’t do anything right. When I start to have thoughts like that, I can disengage from everything and everyone and pull back into my mind—a realm I can control. I withdraw.

Leaving Afflictive Thoughts and Moving to Abundance

Learning the Enneagram over the past couple of years has taught me to recognize and respond more appropriately to that natural reaction. My withdrawal ends up hurting those around me . . . and usually doesn’t help me, either, as I often replay those negative thoughts again and again. My spiritual director calls these “afflictive thoughts”: they are repetitive and circular, and don’t bring us closer to God and his way of life.

To counter that, I’m learning to remain present and remind myself of truth. The first step has been to simply recognize when I’m withdrawing and am not emotionally or mentally present. My wife has helped me with this; she (gently) lets me know that I am pulling back and reminds me to be more than just physically present. But—and this is important—she also gives me the space I need to be able to process what’s going on. This has helped me recognize my tendency to withdraw more quickly and reverse course, staying engaged.

I also need to counteract those afflictive thoughts with truth. Am I really incapable of doing anything right? Of course not; that’s a lie! But the more I allow myself to spiral down into these thoughts and dejection, the harder it is to hear the truth. There are many things that I am good at—things that God has gifted me in, ways that I have blessed others—and I need to remind myself of these things in order to get out of these traps.

In the end, I need to remember that God is full of abundance, and he gives that abundance to us. It’s easy to settle into a mindset of scarcity—there’s not enough time, money, or knowledge, so in fear I hoard it. The antidote is to learn to trust God. A friend who is a Five wrote:

Trust comes when I don’t have all the knowledge. . . . He wants me to trust that he will work it out, so that I cannot rely on myself but need to know that I am dependent. I can be very individualistic and independent; having to trust God in my life forces me to remember that I need God.

Feasting and celebrating is hard for me, because I don’t often live in God’s abundance. But if I can remember that I need God, that I can trust him, and that he loves me regardless of my competency or usefulness, I’m taking good steps toward who he made me to be.

Confession time.

When I was seven or eight years old, my mom opened the door to our basement stairs and found me sitting on the top step. It’s unclear how long I’d been there, but it had been awhile. I was hunched over an old tape recorder, listening to Jim Croce’s “I’ll Have to Say ‘I Love You’ in a Song.”

Alone. On repeat. In the dark.

I’m pretty sure when I was seven I didn’t know any actual girls. Even if I did it was maybe a bit early in life to musically drop the L word. But I remember liking how that song made me feel—heavy, deep, full on the inside. I was in another world, one inside me that felt bigger and more colorful than real life, as if someone had hooked an electric wire to my soul and hit the juice.

My parents didn’t know about the Enneagram back in 1989. If they had, it would have been pretty clear to them what was up: I was a Four.

The Sad-Happy Deep Life of an Enneagram Four

Enneagram Fours are often called “the Individualist” type, or “the Romantic.” They see themselves as special, owners of vivid and expressive emotional lives, and are often unusually attracted to (and skilled in) the arts. Fours feel like they were born missing something inside them that makes them fundamentally different from other people. As a result, Fours cultivate a self-image rooted in being different, hoping that people will notice their individuality and affirm them. The quintessential movie Four is John Cusack’s character in Say Anything.

When healthy, Fours are creative, honest, empathetic, passionate, and authentic. When unhealthy, they can be overly sensitive, self-pitying, emotionally self-destructive, and prone to envy. Regardless of health, almost all Fours nurse moody streaks and are unusually attracted to the bittersweetness of life. Their flagship quote could be this bit of dialogue from Doctor Who: “What’s good about sad?” “It’s happy, for deep people.”

Feeling Like an Outsider

Two experiences seem to be common to all Fours: (1) the sense of being a misunderstood outsider, of not really belonging anywhere, and (2) deep shame at their perceived insignificance.

The first experience, in particular, is in many ways the root of the Fours’ primary sin, which is envy. I’ve often battled the sense of being “out of place” wherever I’ve been. For most of my childhood and early adult years, I felt like my nose was pressed against the glass of life, watching confident, secure, at-ease peers who really had this life thing nailed in a way I didn’t. Surely they didn’t feel the way I did, I thought, and I wondered what they had inside that I was missing.

Example: I remember coming home from fifth grade and telling my parents that “everyone in my class hates me.” This, despite these objective facts: one of my best neighborhood buddies was also in my class, I was doing alarmingly steady business in birthday party attendance, and when I won the school geography bee a classmate hand-drew me a little first-place medallion. Like a lot of Fours, my perceptions about if I belong or fit in somewhere are often wildly, almost comically, distorted.

This comparison game always, inevitably, leads to envy. C. S. Lewis has a famous essay where he talks about the dangers of “the inner ring”—exclusive social circles to which one hungers to belong. Fours are adept at seeing inner rings—both real and imaginary—everywhere in life, and you can guess which side of the line they think they’re on.

Finding Joy and Freedom as a Four

Reading this, you might get a picture of us Fours as constantly tortured artists, forever paddling our rowboats out in the rain to journal and listen to Dashboard Confessional. Luckily, that’s not the whole story. Far from being a constant sad-sack, I’m usually a pretty happy guy. But like most Fours, I’ve also had to learn that my emotions aren’t the seat of reality. Creativity doesn’t have to come from a storm of emotion to be genuine. In fact, my feelings are sometimes the least authentic, most temporary part of who I am.

I also don’t have to luxuriate in angst just because the emotional weight makes me feel significant, like that old Jim Croce song did once upon a time. God has, in fact, already told me I’m significant and important to him all throughout Scripture. That’s an objective fact, not a subjective reality. As my identity in Christ has strengthened over the years, God has graciously short-circuited those emotional doom loops that shout otherwise. When we are set free by the gospel and growing in the Spirit, life as a Four is rich with real joy. God has turned envy of what’s missing into celebration of what God has given- the artistry of his creation, for example, or God’s craftsmanship in shaping each individual life (even my own!). This ability to celebrate instead of resent frees me to do what I was created to do: “glorify God, and enjoy him forever” (Westminster Catechism).

Because of this, I’m at home in my interior in a way that other Enneagram types might find enviable, and maybe even a little exciting—like a harbor where the wind always blows just perfectly for sailing. When I joke that, like the TARDIS (a second Doctor Who reference!), I’m bigger on the inside, there’s something deeply satisfying about knowing how true that really is.

The Beauty Fours Bring

So what place do we Fours have in the body of Christ, where he has made Christians to fit together perfectly? In its fullness, the Christian life is a perfect balance between external and internal, between the outer life of obedience to Christ and the inner life of being transformed by Christ. Fours like me, inveterate chroniclers of our soul’s every twitch and spasm, have a high comfort level with the latter idea. By example we call our fellow believers into an experience of God’s kingdom that includes both their interior and exterior selves. A church or community with healthy Fours will never lack for reminders that personal transformation is a core part of God’s work among us.

Likewise, groups with healthy Fours will never lack encouragers and listeners. Having ruthlessly catalogued our own soul’s sludginess, very little about another person’s inner experience can shock a healthy Four. They know that God’s grace washes every part of them, even (especially!) the shadowy and shameful parts. This emotional honesty opens up spaces of compassion where fellow Christians can unmask themselves and share burdens in safety.

Perhaps the best part about being a Four is knowing that beauty is an essential part of the Christian story. Christianity—God, Jesus, the cross, the whole shebang—isn’t just historically true or propositionally true, although it is those things. It’s also beautiful. It’s aesthetically true.

Our God is one whose steadfast love never quits, whose mercy for sinners never fails, whose justice over evil always triumphs, and whose future redemption will make all things new forever. The entire redemption narrative uplifts the downtrodden and marginalized. It gives us a savior God who was born in a stable and crucified like a criminal for people who hate him. The story, this God, is so much bigger, so much fuller, so much lovelier, than its alternatives. You don’t have to be an Enneagram Four to see that—but I must admit, it might help.

“Call me if you want any help with this group.”

That was the first sentence I ever said to an InterVarsity staff minister. It was January of my freshman year.

I had stumbled into the large group gathering at my university and, after sitting through the event, I scribbled my name and number down on a piece of paper and handed it to her.

In my small Illinois hometown, I’d graduated at the top of my class and received a great scholarship to attend college in Saint Louis. I was the president of our “Friends in Christ” club in high school and a worship leader in my youth group. Basically, wherever there was an opportunity to be leading people, especially if it was connected to Jesus, I was there.

When I heard about a Christian group on campus, I knew it was something I didn’t want to just join—it was an opportunity for me to step up and lead. I was driven, ambitious, and a little too eager to shine. I was, in short, a young Three on the Enneagram.

Threes are typically called “the Performer” or “the Achiever.” We are firmly in the Heart Triad (Twos, Threes, and Fours—see the chart in the intro post for this series), which means we are externally focused on how others are perceiving us. Gaining attention and avoiding shame are key motivators.

Threes specifically want to be seen as successful in whatever arena we find ourselves. We are highly status-aware and, when unhealthy, we can be deceitful and twist the truth to maintain whatever image is held up as the aspirational model in our field.

When we are healthy, Threes have a lot to offer the body of Christ and the broader world. In their book The Road Back to You, Ian Cron and Suzanne Stabile describe Threes as “optimistic, resilient people with audacious dreams who inspire others.” Healthy Threes fully embody the values of their communities and are more than willing to blaze a trail forward and call others to join.

Threes are also gifted coaches and cultivators of gifts that others may not see in themselves. We love empowering people to accomplish a goal they thought was previously impossible.

I have a one-year-old at home who is learning how to walk. More accurately, she is learning how to not be afraid of walking. She has everything she needs—the physical strength in her legs, the coordination, the balance—she’s just afraid to take that first step out on her own. One of my greatest joys as a dad is setting up little challenges for her around the house to build her confidence, like a chair just out of reach from the one next to it so she has to take a tiny leap of faith on her little legs. Whenever she takes the risk, I cheer like a madman and she gets the biggest smile on her face.

The shadow side of Threes is that we wrap our security and sense of worth around how others view our performance, whether it is at work, in school, or even at home. We become so fixated on whether our friends, professors, bosses, and even spouses are gauging our “success” in their arena that we can lose all sense of who we are and what we desire in life. We avoid introspection and dealing with our own feelings, trading our very selves for the masks we put on to impress those we esteem.

This deception is the primary vice of a Three—the desire to so thoroughly convince another person of our competence that we would rather lie than betray a crack in the reputational wall we are always building.

When I was a kid, these lies were pretty grandiose. I remember telling a girl I thought was cute in second grade that I was, in fact, a real-life Power Ranger. She was pretty impressed for about a week until the lie reached all the way up to the owner of our daycare, who called me into her office and reprimanded me for a solid 10 minutes.

As I’ve gotten older, the lies have become more subtle and devious. I still catch myself pretending I’m further along on a project than I really am among my coworkers or telling my wife I will be home fifteen minutes earlier than I know is possible. The lies have changed but the desire is the same—acceptance based on achievement.

This shadow side comes through in my relationship with God as well. I see myself primarily as a performer for whom success equals recognition of my achievements and avoidance of any hint of failure. I have wrestled with seeing God as the ultimate audience to impress, as if I am a tightrope walker and he is just waiting at the bottom to see if I will fall off the rope.

As I have walked through some of the brokenness of my own story, I have been able to see Jesus more and more as both the “final performer”—the one who accomplished everything I needed to accomplish on the cross—and as the Lord of the Sabbath: the one who gives the gift of rest from constant striving.

For Threes, learning to see community as a place to be real and not as another stage from which to perform is a daily spiritual discipline. I was at a church event recently when a relatively new friend asked me how I was doing. Everything in me wanted to move as quickly through the conversation as possible, skimming the surface of my heart and giving him only what felt easy for me to share.

In that moment, I could sense the Holy Spirit challenging me to go deeper and both confess some sin I had been wrestling with and a tough story about my family. I experienced a profound sense of freedom and our relationship seemed to grow even in the 20 minutes we spent together.

The freedom to be vulnerable is a gift I am still learning to accept as a Three, but I know it is a crucial practice in my discipleship. One of my favorite songwriters, Andrew Peterson, wrote a line in a song called “The Dark Before the Dawn” that beautifully sums up a Three on the road to transformation:

I had a dream that I was waking at the burning edge of dawn
And I could finally believe the King had loved me all along.
(From The Burning Edge of Dawn, 2015)

That is the place of wholeness for a Three—the ability to rest from performing in God’s unearned-yet-unflinching love for us.

The gift of this awareness has changed my relationship to other people as well. I am learning that I don’t need to be perfect in order to receive love from those closest to me. I notice that as I am willing to open up and share my actual feelings, it opens a deeper well of trust for the other person too. Instead of blazing a trail of “success” for others to follow in my wake, vulnerability marks a path for communion, a place where we can be who we really are together. I have a long way to go on that path but every time I choose to speak the truth over a convenient lie, I am reminded again that it is the only thing that can set us free (John 8:32).