Overcoming ShameSample

Day 2: From Shame to Unashamed--A Better Story

One of the more humiliating and shaming moments in my life happened in 7th grade during basketball tryouts. It came down to the final two players, me and another guy. The coach had the bright idea to have us play one-on-one—in front of the entire group—and the winner would make the team. The loser would go home.

With each shot made or missed, the pressure grew. The boys surrounding the half-court began to cheer for their pick. It came down to the final possessions. He won.

Cheers erupted for him. I got a few awkward pats on the back.

In our lowest moments, we often make hidden agreements: “I’ll never lose again.” “I’ll never be weak.” “I’ll prove them wrong.” And maybe the most dangerous one: “I’ll keep this hidden forever.”

These are more than mere thoughts. They're enforcing vows—impactful contracts we sign in the dark.

Shame isn’t just a feeling. It’s an experience—one that opens the door for infectious agreements and vows, the kinds that lead to a type of spiritual cancer. Like an undetected disease, it spreads in silence. It burrows deep into our identity, distorts how we see ourselves, and sabotages how we relate to others. It doesn’t always shout. More often, it whispers: “You’re not enough. You’re unworthy. You’re too broken.”

Left unaddressed, shame keeps us small. It convinces us that love is conditional and therefore must be earned, or worse, that we don’t deserve it at all.

We’ve all been infected. Whether it’s childhood wounds, cultural lies, or religious systems built on performance, shame creeps in. It convinces us not just that we’ve done something wrong, but that we are something wrong. And it demands that we pay.

For many of us, those wounds trace back to relationships: a father’s silence, a mother’s criticism, a coach or teacher's negative comments, a friend or spouse’s anger. Even well-meaning church environments can reinforce the lie: You’re not enough. And when boys or girls hear that message enough, it doesn’t just hurt—it forms, and we co-build with the enemy of our hearts a false self to attempt to survive.

But here’s the good news: Jesus didn’t just come to forgive sin—He came to scorn its shame (Hebrews 12:2). He didn’t only die for us—He paid for us. And He did so not just to cleanse us, but to lift off the weights of shame and the false self it helps construct and over time, experiencing Jesus’s love overcomes shame and sets us free.

Romans 8:1–2 in The Message puts it like this:

“With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved. Those who enter into Christ’s being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death.”

The Gospel doesn’t just wash us clean—it restores who we are. Shame doesn’t break by effort; it breaks by love. And it breaks most powerfully when we experience that we are seen, known, and embraced.

Like the scene in Good Will Hunting, we all need someone to look us in the eye and say, “It’s not your fault.” Again and again, "It's not your fault,” until the dam breaks.

That’s what Jesus does. He meets us in our shame—whether it’s from something we’ve done or something that was done to us—and says, “You are my beloved.”

Remember yesterday with Peter? After Peter denied Jesus three times, Jesus didn’t corner him with guilt. He cooked him breakfast. He met him on the beach and gently restored him. He didn’t scold Peter—He reinstated him. That’s what love does.

Shame wants to keep us hiding, isolated, and alone. But Jesus brings freedom by being with us in it. He’s not scared off by sin or disgusted by failure. He draws near. He shows us His wounds, and He invites us to come with Him with ours—into a safe place where we can be known, cared for, and healed.

Sometimes Jesus sends a counselor, a mentor, or a safe friend. And when we walk with Him and His friends, shame starts to lose its grip. Because in the light, shame can't survive.

Your story of shame isn’t the end of your story.

It wasn’t for me. It wasn’t for Peter. It doesn’t have to be for you.

Jesus offers something new: a new story, even a new name, a new way to live—unashamed.

So, here’s the invitation:

Let go of the vow to hide.
Bring it into the light.
Let Love rewrite your story.

As you reflect on all this with God today, consider asking him:

Father, where has shame distorted how I see myself?

Jesus, how do you want to meet me in the place of shame?

Holy Spirit, show me what I’ve believed that isn’t true—and lead me into freedom.