“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” — John 8:36
Before we get started, there’s something I must do which may be somewhat unconventional.
But this is not a conventional message.
So I’m going to begin with how I hope we can finish, because shame can be absolutely debilitating.
This word is for you:
You are not the mistakes you’ve made.
You don’t owe the world an apology for healing.
You can lay the guilt down.
You are loved!
For too long, shame whispered in my ear, convincing me that I was never enough. It told me to shrink back, to stay small, to apologize for taking up space.
It’s sneaky, isn’t it? How shame dresses itself as humility and how it cloaks control in concern.
It says, “Be careful. Don’t shine too bright. Don’t draw attention.”
But the truth is, shame doesn’t protect us. It imprisons us.
When we live under its shadow, we forget who we are and whose we are. We trade the radiant confidence of being children of God for the shaky approval of others.
We dim our own light because someone once told us it was too much.
I’ve learned that joy and shame cannot coexist in the same heart. One liberates. The other limits.
The Slow Unraveling of Shame
Shame doesn’t fall away in one grand moment. It unravels slowly, tenderly like the loosening of a knot.
For many of us, it starts when we finally tell the truth:
“I’m tired of pretending.”
“I’m tired of carrying this weight.”
“I’m tired of believing that my mistakes define me.”
That’s when God begins His quiet work of restoration.
He doesn’t scold or shame, He redeems.
He meets us right where we are; in the messy middle, in the half-healed places, and reminds us that His grace was never contingent on our perfection.
“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” — Romans 8:1
Every time we speak kindly to ourselves instead of tearing ourselves down, shame loses its power.
Every time we forgive ourselves for being human, joy takes another step closer.
The Scar That Spoke Grace
For most of my life, I carried the echo of other people’s opinions and the greatest pain often came from those closest to me.
My father used to tell me I talked too much or that my makeup or hair wasn’t quite right. Sometimes even a comment about the clothes I was wearing made me insecure.
There was a long string of “you can’t, you aren’t, you don’t, you wouldn’t, you shouldn’t,” spoken with such conviction, that well into my forties, those words struck like small stones in my spirit.
Over time, they became boulders heavy enough to keep me from entering relationships where I could truly thrive.
He preached independence: “Look out for number one. You can’t depend on anyone. No man is going to take care of you. You have to look out for yourself!” He said it was for my good to prepare me for the future.
And he did teach me to stand on my own, but what began as strength grew into a kind of armor.
I became fiercely independent.
I was seven years old when I made my first few dollars selling assorted greeting cards from an ad on the back of a comic book. I still remember taping fifty cents; one quarter, two dimes, and a nickel to the order form and mailing it in. Two weeks later, a box of cards arrived. I went door to door selling them to neighbors. My mom bought the rest.
By fourteen, I had my first job.
At sixteen, I bought car insurance for my first car. A 1970 Chevy Nova 250 that once belonged to my mother. I’ll never forget walking into the insurance agency with my dad, carrying a brown paper bag full of money I’d saved. I poured it out on the table, and they wrote the policy on the spot. That car became my badge of pride through high school and my first year of college.
I learned early that I could take care of myself and I wore that lesson like a crown.
But over time, independence hardened into control. I didn’t need anyone. I didn’t trust anyone to do things the way I would.
What I called strength was really self-protection.
When I began dating, my father once asked why the young men I saw didn’t take me to nice restaurants like the ones my parents had taken us as children. The truth was that would’ve been a difficult feat for any young man at that time.
My dad was able to introduce us to fine dining places located on the Sunset Strip, other locations in Hollywood and Century City because he was somewhat of a celebrity in his own right.
Daddy was one of Hollywood’s first African American animators, whose artistry appeared in Scooby-Doo, The Hulk, Animaniacs, The Fantastic Four, the animation opening for the original Soul Train and much more.
He traveled the world supervising studios in China and the Philippines, won an Emmy, and was twice inducted into the Black Filmmakers Hall of Fame alongside his friend Floyd Norman, both featured in the documentary An Animated Life.
But that’s another story for another day.
So yes, my father’s standards were high, but that was the least of my struggles. The truth was, I barely went on dates.
And when I did, I often stayed too long in relationships where I wasn’t valued. I spent years with men who were emotionally absent or self-absorbed, mistaking persistence for love. My independence had built a wall I didn’t know how to climb down from.
Those choices led me to carry deep shame. Shame I buried beneath competence and self-reliance. I knew better, but I also longed for approval and looked for it in all the wrong places.
At twenty-five, I married. Within four months, I came home to an empty apartment.
My husband had taken the refrigerator, leaving the food to spoil on the counter, as well as taking a few pieces of furniture and the television. Our divorce was finalized just eight months after we said “I do.”
I told myself I wasn’t enough for him, because he never told me his reason for leaving.
That became the lie I lived under for years.
It took decades and a few more heartbreaks for me to see the pattern clearly. Each time I tried to prove my worth through what I thought was love, shame tightened its grip.
But God… He never stopped pursuing me.
Through church, I found a Bible study group that began to change me from the inside out. I’d been saved for ten years prior, but still lived like a “baby Christian,” holding on to control.
This time, I surrendered fully. I stopped trying to fix my life and let the Lord lead.
When I turned fifty, on 11 ⁄ 11 ⁄ 11, the same weekend I received my M.B.A. , my father finally said the words I had longed to hear. “I’m proud of you daughter.”
It was healing to hear, even though it came wrapped in old habits and pain. Still, it was the first crack of light breaking through.
At fifty-two, almost thirty years later, my now-husband found me. That season brought its own challenges as I uprooted my life in California and moved to Texas to marry. But this time, I faced change with an anchored heart. I had learned that true strength isn’t about control, it’s about surrender.
At first, I thought I was surrendering to my husband as a form of submission. I was confused. But I’ve learned that even in marriage, true surrender comes only when I give it all to Jesus.
Through it all, I’ve grown spiritually and emotionally. I no longer hold on to the shame that once defined me. I see now that my scars tell a story not of failure, but of grace.
I’ve been healed by the blood that Jesus shed for me. God has written my story, and I continue to be amazed by every new chapter.
And in that moment of realization, something inside me shifted. I no longer needed permission to speak. I just needed to remember that my words were meant to shine light, not seek approval.
Choosing Freedom Daily
Freedom is not a one-time event; it’s a daily choice.
It’s waking up and deciding, “Today, I will not rehearse my regrets.”
It’s looking in the mirror and declaring, “God’s love covers even this.”
It’s allowing yourself to take up space, to be seen, to speak truth with trembling lips and to believe that your story still matters.
Joy grows in that soil.
Each yes to freedom is also a yes to joy. Because joy is not just a feeling; it’s a posture of the heart, a steady openness to God’s goodness, even when the world tells us we’re not enough.
When we say no to shame, we’re saying yes to presence.
Yes to laughter without apology.
Yes to rest without guilt.
Yes to grace that flows like sunlight through the cracks.
The freedom Christ offers isn’t permission to be perfect, it’s permission to be whole.
A Few Reminders for the Journey
You are not the mistakes you’ve made. You are the beloved child of a forgiving God.
You don’t owe the world an apology for healing. Growth may make others uncomfortable, but joy isn’t meant to fit in; it’s meant to overflow.
You can lay the guilt down. It’s too heavy for the path ahead. Let God carry what you were never meant to hold.
You are loved. Tell yourself “God loves you and so do I!”
“For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.” — Galatians 5:1
When you choose freedom, you reclaim your voice.
You reclaim your peace.
You reclaim your joy.
And as you walk lighter, freer, and more open to the grace of God, you become a living testimony that shame does not get the final word.
Freedom does.
Love does.
Christ does.
🙏 Closing Prayer
Lord, thank You for the gift of freedom.
When shame tries to whisper lies, help me remember who I am in You.
Let Your truth silence every voice that tells me I’m not enough.
I release the past, the guilt, the should-haves, and I open my hands to joy.
Teach me to walk boldly in Your grace —
unashamed, unafraid, and free.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Share the Joy!
If this message spoke to your heart, forward it to a friend who could use a little light today.
Together, we’ll keep saying yes to freedom and yes to joy …God’s way!☀️
Joyfully yours,
Tina 💗
If this post encouraged you, I invite you to subscribe to Joy God’s Way™ for weekly reflections, prayers, and gentle reminders that joy is never lost, it’s simply waiting to be noticed.
Let’s walk this freedom journey together. 💖
Have you ever wrestled with shame that tried to quiet your joy?
I’d love to hear how God has helped you find your voice again. Share your story or a prayer in the comments below so we can lift one another up in grace and freedom!