Unpacking Jere: A Different Kind of Growth Project

I've been advised to look for ways to hold myself accountable in order to advance my own healing.

Over the past several years, I've spent a lot of time trying to learn more about myself, face myself honestly, and become the man I believe God is inviting me to become—emotionally, spiritually, professionally, and in my relationships, especially within the walls of my own home.

I've been working hard on myself for quite a while now. I read books. I listen to podcasts. I pray. I think deeply. I process. And somewhere along the way, I realized something important: I don't think my next season is about learning more information. I think it's about developing more awareness.

The truth is, most of the growth in my life hasn't come from finding new answers. It has come from asking better questions.

When most people hear the word accountability, they immediately think of criticism, correction, or self-improvement. But I've begun to see accountability differently. Accountability isn't self-condemnation. It's simply being honest enough to ask, "Where am I contributing to the life I'm currently living?" That's a much healthier question than, "What's wrong with me?"

In fact, part of this process has already led me to ask some difficult questions in real life. Recently, I've reached out to a handful of people connected to experiences that still carry weight for me and asked them where they believed my blind spots might have been. Not because I wanted to relive the past, but because I wanted to learn from it. Healing isn't just about understanding what happened to us. Sometimes it's about being willing to examine ourselves with honesty, humility, and enough courage to hear perspectives that may challenge our own. Even if it may be painful.

One of the surprising things I've learned is that growth often lives on the other side of questions I'd rather not ask.

What could I have done differently?

What were my blind spots?

How might someone else have experienced the same situation differently than I did?

Those questions don't invalidate my experiences. They simply remind me that healing and accountability can coexist. I can believe I was hurt and still examine myself. I can feel disappointed and still ask where I can grow. I can seek healing without making myself either the hero or the villain of every story.

So I’ve decided to create a journal unlike anything I've done before. Not a gratitude journal. Not a prayer journal. Not a productivity journal. A self-discovery journal. A guided conversation with myself.

As I looked back through the last year and a half of prayers, conversations, disappointments, victories, blog posts, and moments of reflection, I noticed something surprising. The same themes kept appearing over and over again.

Questions about significance and worth.

Questions about being deeply seen and understood.

Questions about achievement, identity, control, surrender, faith, grief, legacy, and purpose.

Questions about the father I never knew.

Questions about the husband, father, teacher, and mentor I hope to become.

Questions about who I am when all the roles and responsibilities are stripped away.

The more I looked, the more I realized these weren't random thoughts. They were clues—threads weaving through nearly every story I've told. I started noticing patterns I often don't recognize until I've said them out loud.

For example, I repeatedly wonder whether I'm enough—but almost never because someone told me I wasn't. More often, it's because I hold myself to incredibly high standards. That's a fascinating thing to explore a little deeper.

I've also noticed that I am unbelievably compassionate toward almost everyone except... myself.

One of my greatest fears isn't failure. It's becoming insignificant. That's different.

I've spent an entire career helping young people believe in themselves, which leads me to another interesting question: Who taught Jere to believe in Jere?

And perhaps the most revealing realization of all is that I spend a lot of time asking, "What else can I improve?" but very little time asking, "What is already beautiful that I should stop trying to fix?"

These aren't generic questions.

They're Jere questions.

And the more I noticed them, the harder they became to ignore.

So I decided to follow them.

I began collecting questions designed specifically for my life. Not generic self-help prompts, but questions that speak directly to the things I've spent years wrestling with. Questions about over-functioning for everyone else while neglecting myself. Questions about why achievement feels so tied to worth. Questions about chronic pain and limitations. Questions about faith when there aren't easy answers. Questions about my desire to leave a meaningful legacy through theatre and through the people I love. Questions about my "Living in the And" philosophy and what it really means to embrace both joy and sorrow, faith and doubt, strength and weakness at the same time.

I've decided to call this project Unpacking Jere: Conversations to Help Me Become the Man God Is Inviting Me to Be.

Notice the word inviting.

Not the man I should become. Not the man everyone expects. Not the man who finally gets everything right.

The man God is inviting me to become.

That distinction matters because transformation doesn't happen by discovering someone new. It happens by becoming honest enough to meet the person God has been forming all along.

Socrates famously said, "Know thyself." I suppose this is my attempt to do exactly that.

The goal isn't to finish this year with all the answers. The goal is to arrive at the end of the year knowing myself better than I do today. To understand myself more. To accept myself more. To love myself more. To become more comfortable in my own skin. To become comfortable simply being Jere.

Not the teacher. Not the director. Not the writer. Not the husband. Not the father.

Just Jere.

This project isn't for publication. Most of these reflections will never become blog posts. They're not intended for an audience. They're intended for the one person whose growth affects every other part of my life.

Me.

And so, with equal parts curiosity and courage, I'm beginning.

My first question is deceptively simple:

Who is Jere Van Patten without using any roles, accomplishments, titles, responsibilities, relationships, personality traits, or what other people think of him?

I don't have an answer yet.

But perhaps that's the point.

Sometimes growth doesn't begin when we find the answer. Sometimes it begins when we're finally willing to sit with the question.

For the next six months, I'll be spending time with questions like that. Not rushing to solve them. Not trying to earn a grade. Not looking for the "right" answer. Just paying attention. Listening. Digging deeper. Learning to tell myself the truth.

As a theatre director, I know that before an actor can play a character truthfully, they have to understand that character's objective, their wound, their longing, and the story(s) they've been telling themselves. This project feels a little like that. An invitation to become both the actor and the director of my own life. To step back, examine the script with compassion, and ask, "Is this really the story?"

I don't know what I'll discover over the next six months. I suspect some answers will be encouraging. Others may be uncomfortable. A few may surprise me entirely. But I believe they'll all be worth discovering.

So here's to asking better questions.

Here's to honesty.

Here's to curiosity.

Here's to growth.

And here's to becoming reacquainted with the person God has been patiently shaping all along.

Welcome to the rehearsal.

The curtain doesn't rise because you're ready.

It rises because it's time.