I think we have a truth problem. We’re telling an entire generation to “live your truth” and “speak your truth.” And honestly? It sounds like freedom. It sounds like finally being seen. But I don’t believe it’s as simple as it sounds.

According to research from Barna, 60% of Gen Z respondents say that what is morally right or wrong depends on the individual. I get why that resonates. When institutions fail you, when people let you down, when the world feels unstable, the idea of being your own anchor is appealing. It puts you in control.

The problem is that truth doesn’t work that way. Because at some point, a question starts to surface: if everyone has their own truth, what happens when those truths collide? Whose wins? And that leads to a bigger question, one that, once it surfaces, won’t leave you alone: what’s actually true?

I know that question personally. At 17, I left home to “live my truth.” I wanted to be who I wanted to be — not who others expected, not who God was calling me to be. I walked away from structure, from limits, from anything that felt like it was holding me back. By 22, I was in California with a good job and a social life that looked like freedom from the outside. I thought I was finally winning.

Then one night while out with my friends, everything changed. I was the most sober person in our group, so I drove. Leaving a parking lot, I accidentally clipped a car door. We pulled over. Police were called. Within minutes, what started as a small accident escalated quickly, and I had to face the consequences of choices I had made. I found myself sitting handcuffed in the back of a police car, on the way to jail on a DUI charge.

I remember that holding cell clearly. Small. Dirty. A tiny toilet in the corner. Other young women were in there, looking just as scared as I felt, all of us carrying the sudden weight of choices that had brought us to the exact same cell. It’s the kind of place you see in movies and tell yourself would never be your reality.

But it was mine. No distractions. No phone. No noise. Just me, a concrete wall, and the full weight of where my choices had taken me. I had been so committed to building a life on my terms, and I had ended up somewhere I never saw coming.

That night, a question I’d been outrunning finally caught me: if “my truth” is supposed to be freeing, why does it feel like this?

Here’s what I’ve come to understand, and what I see reflected in the young people I spend time with: when we build our lives around a truth we invented, it shifts. It changes with how we feel, what we’re going through and whatever culture is calling “authentic” this season. What feels true at 19 doesn’t always hold at 25. And if a truth cannot hold under pressure, it is not strong enough to build a life on.

We told a generation that total freedom would be a gift, but for many, it has become a burden. It’s exhausting to have to make up who you are. What if truth is not something we create, but something real and unchanging that can actually hold us when life feels unstable?

That question eventually led me back to Jesus. I stopped asking what truth meant to me and started asking whether truth existed outside of me. Truth is not something we get to create for ourselves. Truth is a person. And His name is Jesus.

Jesus said in John 14:6, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” That statement is either true, or it’s not. It doesn’t shift because culture shifts. It doesn’t change because our feelings change. And for me, coming from a jail cell and years of chasing a version of freedom that kept leaving me empty, it held.

When we begin to understand who Jesus actually is, why He lived a perfect life, why He went to the cross, and what His resurrection means, we start to find answers that do not fall apart when life gets hard.

The Bible isn’t just an old book or a strict rulebook. It shows us the character of a God who has never changed, never contradicted Himself, and never needed to update His truth to keep up with culture. For a generation that has watched the world shift again and again, that kind of stability matters.

Jesus actually wants you to know Him. Not in a distant or religious way, but in a real and personal way. He wants to steady you when life feels confusing, encourage you when you feel tired, and guide you toward what is true.

That is what this generation needs to know. Not because they need another argument thrown at them, but because they need something culture cannot give them.

They need truth that is personal, but not something they have to invent. They need truth stable enough to hold them when life falls apart.

So when someone asks me what truth is, I do not point to an idea or a feeling. I point to Jesus, the One who stayed true when I was unsteady, and the One who met me with grace when I finally saw where my own way had led me.

For a generation tired of carrying the weight of having to be their own authority, that kind of truth matters.

Naomi Anderson is the co-founder of Verity Collective, a movement that exists to bring clarity and point a generation back to the One who has never changed: Jesus Christ.