Shame: The Friend We Never Asked For

Oh shame… It’s the friend I never chose, but somehow, it’s always been there.

From the time I was little, it followed close. After every mistake, every impulsive word, every awkward or reckless moment, it showed up. Uninvited. Relentless. Whispering accusations into the cracks of my heart. And no matter how many years have passed, how much I’ve healed or how far I’ve come, there are still moments when I feel it wrap around me like a familiar, suffocating cloak.

Shame doesn’t yell. It whispers.

It doesn’t march in loudly. It lingers quietly in the background, rewinding the tape of your failures.

Sometimes, we confuse it for fear. But shame, oh, it’s sneakier than that. It disguises itself as logic, as guilt, as reflection. But it’s none of those things. It’s a punishment we allow without even knowing who’s pulling the strings.

And sometimes, shame attaches itself to things we never even chose.

Things done to us.

Moments that were out of our control.

Violations. Words. Absences. Betrayals.

And somehow, we still end up carrying the fallout as if we were the ones to blame.

As if it was our fault.

As if we deserved it.

That’s the cruelty of shame, it makes you the villain in your own story even when you were the one who was hurt.

And the place it digs its teeth in the hardest… is doubt.

The moment we begin to question, the moment we say, “God, I don’t understand,” shame steps in and hisses, You’re not a real believer.

You shouldn’t be asking that.

You should be stronger by now.

Everyone else seems fine. What’s wrong with you?

But can I tell you something, lovely? Doubt is part of the human experience. It’s not weakness. It’s not betrayal. It’s not the end of your faith.

Doubt keeps us searching.

It keeps the conversation with God alive.

It pulls us back to Him when we might otherwise drift into autopilot.

I think of the disciples, the ones who walked with Jesus. They saw the miracles with their own eyes. They touched the wounds. They watched the loaves multiply and the dead rise. And still, they doubted. Still, they feared. Still, they questioned.

So why are we so hard on ourselves when we do the same?

When the bills stack up, or the diagnosis comes, or the prayers feel unanswered…

When the waiting gets long and the silence feels louder than our hope…

When we cry out and hear nothing but our own voice echo back…

That doesn’t make you a bad Christian. That makes you human.

Shame will always try to convince you that your doubts disqualify you. But God is not intimidated by your questions. He’s not running from your honesty. If anything, He’s leaning in closer. Reminding you that faith isn’t the absence of doubt, it’s the act of choosing to trust anyway.

So don’t let shame steal what was never its to hold.

You are allowed to wrestle. You are allowed to ask. You are allowed to not have all the answers and still be held by the One who does.

Because faith is not a straight line. It is a returning.

A reaching.

A holding on in the dark.

And shame?

It doesn’t belong in the conversation. Not anymore.

Reflection Verse: “We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame…”-Romans 5:3–5

For the one questioning today: God isn’t disappointed in you. He’s still in the room. Still listening. Still loving you through it all.

Love,

Sarah.

Thank you for joining me here.

I know I post in bursts and at random, but your presence, your eyes on these words, means more than you know. This space has never been polished, just honest. And if my heart words have met you in some way, I’d be so grateful if you’d consider supporting this little corner of mine, whether by sharing, upgrading, or simply sticking around.

It’s just me and Jesus here, doing the best we can with the broken and the beautiful.