Christians Aren’t Supposed to Feel This Way… But I Do

No one talks about it enough.

The quiet torment.

The dark places Christians end up in in the blink of an eye.

Not because they stopped believing.

But because they’re exhausted.

Because life broke something in them.

Because maybe they stop believing this Good News is for them, too.

Because the enemy doesn’t just knock on the door—he barges in and doesn’t leave.

There are moments—maybe you know them—where you’re lying in bed thinking:

“What’s wrong with me?”“Why can’t I just be better?”“I’m so selfish. I don’t deserve grace.”“Other people have it so much worse. I don’t even have a right to feel this way.”

You know the truth.

You’ve read the verses.

You’ve spoken the sermons over your own heart.

You’ve told others "God loves you," while secretly thinking: Yeah, but maybe not me.

Not like this.

You spiral in thoughts like:

"Why am I so self-centered?"

"Why am I only ever thinking about my pain?"

"I feel like a walking contradiction—filled with anger, envy, gossip, hatred."

"I’m supposed to be joyful. I’m supposed to be free. Why do I feel like I’m chained to my own misery?"

You’re stuck in quicksand that is suffocating, knowing the hand to save you is right there, but you're stubborn and won't grab hold of it. For a moment, it's easier to stay stuck.

You want to believe what the Bible says, but you can’t seem to believe it for yourself.

Some days, you don’t even know what you believe anymore.

You’re numb.

You’re tired of pretending.

You're burnt out—from serving, striving, trying to make your soul come back to life.

It’s spiritual burnout, and it feels like a tunnel with no end.

People tell you to pray more. Fast more. Read your Bible more.

Just believe!

But what do you do when even your prayers feel hollow?

When worship feels fake?

When “quiet time” just becomes another way to feel like a failure?

And worst of all, you hate feeling this way. You beat yourself up for it. You don’t want to be the one throwing a pity party. You just want to feel okay again.

And deep down, you're scared. Scared that maybe you’re too far gone this time.

That Jesus is tired of pulling you out of the same mess, because you have been in this same spot many times in the past.

That if people saw what really went on in your heart, they’d walk away too.

But hear me: you are not alone.

Jesus never promised that following Him would mean an escape from pain. He actually said, “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33). What He promised us was that He would be with us in it. But that doesn’t always feel true when you're drowning, when the lies are louder than the truth, when the prayers feel empty, and the silence feels like rejection.

Feeling worthless, angry, envious, maybe even a little suicidal—it doesn’t make someone a "bad Christian."

It makes them human.

It makes you human.

The enemy loves to whisper, “You should be better than this. You're too far gone. You’re a hypocrite.”But those are his lies, not God’s truth.

God is not surprised by your darkness. He’s not ashamed to sit with you in it. He’s not pacing the floor, wondering why you haven’t fixed yourself yet. He’s the Good Shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine to find the one, even if that one is buried under emotional wreckage, convinced they don’t deserve to be found.

This is a fight. And it’s okay to be in it.

You're in the middle of a war. Just because you're weary doesn't mean you're losing.

The enemy doesn’t just whisper—he wages war. He comes to steal your peace, your purpose, your identity, your joy. He doesn’t knock gently—he storms in and rewrites the script in your mind until you believe you're unworthy of love, unfit for grace, and forgotten by God and everyone around you.

But sometimes, just breathing is a victory. Sometimes, the most spiritual thing you can do is keep showing up—even when you feel like a fraud. Especially then.

You're not too far gone.

You're exactly the one Jesus came for.

You're not broken beyond repair.

You're not a fake Christian.

You're not hopeless.

You're not unlovable.

The lie is that your darkness disqualifies you.

The truth is—Jesus came for the ones exactly like you.

The ones who are too weak to climb out.

The ones who are too numb to cry.

The ones who are too burned out to keep pretending they’re okay.

The ones who feel the sting of silence from the One who has always promised to be there, yet you can't feel or sense His presence anymore.

There’s this quiet, unspoken pressure in Christian circles to always be “okay” because “you have Jesus.” But the reality is, even people who love Jesus deeply walk through brutal, suffocating darkness. The Bible doesn’t hide that. Look at David in the Psalms—"My soul is in deep anguish. How long, Lord, how long?" (Psalm 6:3). Or Elijah, begging God to take his life. Or Job, who lost everything and sat in ashes. These were faithful people—but they were also deeply human.

Like you. Like me. Human, do you think it surprises God that you are human and that you are going through this dark season?

No.

He knows what you are going through, and He is going to see you through it. He is there waiting for you to grab His hand to pull you out of the suffocating quicksand.

Give yourself grace and patience, even if you have to ask for a double portion every second, but 0.5 seconds ago, you lost it.

Here’s what I believe God wants to say to you... and me right now:

A Letter from the Father to the One Who Feels Too Far Gone

My Beloved Child,

I see you.

Not just the version you let others see. I see you. The thoughts you hate. The exhaustion you hide. The numbness that’s stolen your joy.

You think you’re too selfish. Too broken. Too messed up to be loved.

But My love is not fragile. It doesn’t shrink back from your darkness.

You are not too far gone.

You call yourself a burden, but I call you worth the rescue. You think your heart is too heavy, but I never asked you to carry it alone.

You think you’re faking it, but I see the fight it takes just to stay alive, to whisper a prayer, to get out of bed.

That matters to Me.

You matter to Me.

I know your spiritual burnout. I know you feel like you’ve failed.

I know you don’t even know what you believe sometimes.

That the truths you tell others feel like fairy tales when applied to your own reflection.

But child, I am still here.

Not because you’ve held onto Me—but because I’m holding onto you.

You don’t have to earn your way back.

You don’t have to crawl your way out.

You don’t have to pretend to be okay.

I’m not looking for your strength—I’m giving you Mine.

You don’t need to impress Me.

You don’t need to clean up to be close to Me.

I was with you in the moment you felt furthest from Me.

I haven’t changed My mind about you.

This isn’t the end of your story . The fog will lift. The fire will come back. The truth will feel true again. Until then—I’m staying. Right here. In the dark. In the mess. In the burnout.

With you.

Because I love you. Still.

Forever.

Love, Your Father Who still runs to you.

Every. Single. Time.

If you’re reading this and it feels like your own heart bleeding on the screen—please hear this:

You’re not a failure.

You’re not faithless.

You’re not forgotten.

You’re in a battle. And God has not left you in it.

There is still hope for you.

Even if you can’t see it right now.

Even if you don’t feel it.

Even if all you can do is breathe.

Sometimes, that’s enough.

Maybe you need to hear it more than once. That’s okay, read it, share it, and ask God to help you believe it!

If you’re stuck like me, trying to believe it for yourself, know that you are not alone.

Pray for me—and I’ll pray for you too. 💜