Speaker
Sarah Jakes Roberts
Appearances over time
1 episodes
Episodes
1
Podcasts
Quotes & moments
Sarah Jakes Roberts became pregnant at age 13 and had her son at 14, an experience she says confirmed her pre-existing insecurity that she didn't fit in the church world her father led.
Sarah spent 10 years sitting with herself, but doing so in a punishing way — replaying negative words others had spoken — which prevented any real healing.
Sarah's central insight: simultaneously wanting to heal and punishing yourself for past mistakes is a contradiction that blocks all progress.
Sarah's 'leftovers' metaphor: instead of trying to reinvent yourself with ingredients that don't exist, you must use every ingredient — including the painful ones — to build something authentic.
Speaking your hopes and dreams out loud empties you out and creates space inside for new growth, while also stretching your environment to make room for who you are becoming.
Sarah defines power not as authority or dominance but as the combined flow of 100% authenticity, 100% resiliency, and 100% humility — a state of being, not a destination.
Sarah Jakes Roberts and her husband run a blended family of six children, a reality she uses as a practical example of needing both nurturing others and being nurtured yourself as part of authentic power.
Sarah's son, born when she was 14, is now 21 and thriving — a milestone she uses as a practice of gratitude, revisiting the moment through the eyes of her 13-year-old self.
Sarah's advice for sitting through cringe: instead of judging your life by one painful scene, look at the whole movie from opening credits to now — given what was in your cupboard, you did the best you could.
Sarah argues that 9 times out of 10, your relationships have more flexibility than you assume, and that not speaking your dreams aloud means you never discover the support that was always there.
When Sarah's wig began slipping during a sermon with 50,000 online viewers, she removed it mid-message — turning a potentially humiliating moment into an act of radical authenticity that liberated her congregation.
Sarah cites Esther Perel's definition of confidence as knowing both your gifts and your flaws and not being moved by either — an intentional owning of your full identity.
Getting pregnant at 13 in a megachurch family didn't just confirm Sarah's fear that she didn't fit — it launched a decade-long identity crisis. The shame she felt wasn't just personal; it was amplified by the scrutiny of her father's 50,000-strong congregation.
Most people sit with their past but sit there punishing themselves — replaying shame, rehearsing rejection. Sarah's radical insight: you cannot want to heal and punish yourself at the same time. The only path forward is sitting with yourself in pursuit of compassion, not conviction.
Sarah didn't try to erase her past as a teen mom — she added to it. 'I'm a teen mom, but also I'm an incredible person, but also I dream, but also I'm an author.' The refusal to let one defining moment crowd out everything else is the core of her identity framework.
Regret is what happens when you turn a movie on in the middle and watch only one scene on repeat. Sarah's prescription: look at your life from the opening credits. When you see the full context — the loneliness, the family upheaval, the lack of guidance — you stop asking 'how could you?' and start feeling compassion.
All the podcasts, all the books — if it stays inside you, it drowns you. Sarah's breakthrough insight: speaking your dreams and your becoming out loud doesn't just share information. It empties space inside you for more, and creates room in your environment for the person you're growing into.
Power isn't getting knocked down and getting back up. It's that plus humility (owning what you did wrong) plus authenticity (knowing when you're the beast on stage and when you need someone to take care of you). Power is a flow, not a trophy — and it works anywhere you place it.
Sarah cringes at 'just take the leap' advice. When you've spent more time doubting yourself than believing in yourself, you can't switch overnight. What you can do is take a baby dare — introduce the new version of yourself gradually, use your words to create space, and look up one day to find you've transformed.
When you can't live up to someone else's definition of a woman, you put a discount sticker over your value. And a lower price means you start accepting things you never would have otherwise. Sarah's point: your worth is not set by your experiences or society's standards — it's an inside job.
Sarah tried for years to build a new life on top of her teen pregnancy — to become a CFO and leave her past behind. It never worked, because she kept trying to cook with ingredients she didn't have. Real transformation requires opening the cupboard and using every single ingredient, including the painful ones.
When Sarah got pregnant, someone told her 'I always knew to expect something like this from you' — words she ate for breakfast for 10 years. Then in prayer before a sold-out tour, she felt those same words come back in God's voice, transformed into total affirmation. The very sentence meant to destroy her became her anchor.
Mid-sermon at her father's megachurch, Sarah's wig started slipping. She calculated the physics, decided she couldn't stop, and took it off. Women in the congregation started throwing their own wigs. What could have been the internet's joke became a liberation ceremony — proof that the message is always bigger than the mess.
For 10 years, Sarah tried on other women's identities — academic, government worker, waitress at a strip club — searching for herself in reflection. She finally stopped when she decided to be barefoot: standing flat-footed in the truth of who she was, even if that truth was isolation and loneliness.
Analysis
What they talk about
- Society & Culture 91%
- Health & Fitness 9%
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