When I was eight years old, I prayed every night. These weren’t formal, scripted prayers—they were conversations. I’d tell God about my day, the weather, the games I played with friends, and the things I was excited about for tomorrow. Most of the time, I focused on what I was grateful for, and I’d ask Him to help with things I wanted for my family, my friends and of course, myself.

Those prayers were unburdened. Simple. Light.

At some point, things shifted. What once felt like a safe place to share my hopes and dreams became a courtroom. The joy of those childhood prayers faded, replaced by a heavy sense of obligation and fear of judgment.

As I grew older, my prayers became few and far between. When I did pray, the words sounded more like this:

“Lord, I know I shouldn’t even be approaching you right now. I’ve screwed up again for the 1000th time. I’m not even sure I’m being sincere because if I was, wouldn’t I have stopped doing this by now?”

I’d trail off, overwhelmed.

“I know you’re faithful to forgive me, but aren’t you sick of me? When does this end? All this forgiveness is great, but if nothing changes… what’s the point?”

Eventually, guilt and shame weighed me down. I’d roll onto my side, bracing for another restless night.

“I’ll try to do better,” I’d whisper. “Just know I’m sorry. I hope that’s enough...”

Shame clouded every conversation, turning prayer into a cycle of guilt and striving. Instead of resting in God’s grace, I was stuck under the weight of self-condemnation—unable to see the truth of what God had already done for me.

For years, I thought those feelings of condemnation—the ones that kept God and me at arm’s length—were mine. At my lowest points, I even believed they were confirmation from God that I wasn’t worth His time.

But here’s the truth: shame and guilt, those cutting words in my mind, were never from God. They were lies planted by an enemy I couldn’t see.

Scripture calls Satan “the accuser of the brethren” (Revelation 12:10). He whispers lies like:

These accusations are designed to keep us stuck—doubting God’s forgiveness and crushed under the weight of shame. When you’re caught in that cycle, it’s not because you’ve rejected God’s true grace. It’s because the enemy has lied to you about it.

After losing my temper: “You’re failing as a parent—why even try?”
After ignoring my Bible for a week: “See? You’re not serious about God.”
After stumbling into an old habit: “You’re no different than before—this is who you’ll always be.”

When grace feels out of reach, we grasp at the only thing that seems within our control: our actions.

The problem is, when we try to fix the situation through our own works—by striving to be better or attempting to “earn” His forgiveness—we are, in a subtle way, affirming the very lie the enemy planted: that we are not good enough.

We end up believing we must change ourselves to become worthy on our own merits.

This way of thinking turns God’s free gift of grace into something we feel we must earn, leaving us exhausted, frustrated, and still stuck.

“Self-compassion” starts not with us but with Him—with God’s grace and truth. In that way, it’s really not “self” at all.

Self-compassion isn’t about giving yourself a pass or excusing sin. It’s about agreeing with what God has already said:

“I am forgiven and loved because of God’s grace—not because I earned it, but because I’m His child.”

For this reason, our salvation and the peace that comes from its assurance aren’t about perfection. It’s a gift.

One of my favorite theologians puts it this way:

When shame arises, pause. Ask yourself: “Is this God guiding me to grow, or the enemy trying to hold me down?”

If you’ve ever felt trapped in this cycle, know this: You’re not alone. And you don’t have to stay there.

Replace lies of condemnation with God’s truth of your identity:

I’ve compiled all the encouraging verses about our identity’s in Christ here to help with this.

Salvation isn’t about flawless behavior—it’s about trusting God’s grace.

You can’t give what you haven’t received. When you allow yourself to live under the freedom of God’s grace, you’re able to love others in the same way: free of judgment, shame, and condemnation.

This is why Jesus said:

“You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” (Matthew 22:39)

Living in God’s grace equips us to extend that same grace to others. But what does that look like? How do we forgive others the way God has forgiven us?

That’s what we’ll explore next time.

Forgiveness can’t be generated from yourself toward yourself. True freedom from “self-condemnation” requires letting go of the notion of working off a debt to oneself, God, or anyone else, and embracing the radically simple truth of the extreme grace and forgiveness offered to us.

Shame and guilt are heavy burdens—but they aren’t yours to carry. You are forgiven, free, and made new in Christ should you choose to believe and accept it.

This week, when shame whispers its lies, stop and speak the truth aloud:

“I am forgiven. I am a new creation. God’s grace is enough for me.”

Speak it until the truth of God’s grace drowns out every lie—because it already has.

Until next time,
Addison