When You Can’t Pray: How to Come Back to God Without Shame

 

I. You’re Not Broken—You’re Human

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28

There are times in every faith journey when prayer feels impossible. Maybe you’re too exhausted to form words. Maybe you’re angry at God and not sure you even want to talk to Him. Maybe you’ve been so disconnected for so long that you feel embarrassed to show up now.

If any of that sounds familiar, you’re not broken—you’re human. And you’re not alone. Every single saint, every single mystic, and every single ordinary believer has faced this. Spiritual dryness, anger, grief, exhaustion—none of it disqualifies you from God’s love. In fact, these very struggles are often the doorway into deeper, more honest prayer.

II. Start With the Smallest Step

The enemy of prayer is perfectionism. You don’t have to show up with beautiful words, deep insights, or even a clear head. Start with a sigh. A glance. A single sentence: God, I’m here, and I don’t know what to say. That counts.

God Himself says, "I stand at the door and knock." Simply opening the door is enough.

III. Name the Block Out Loud

Sometimes the thing that stops us from praying is something we’re afraid to admit. Maybe you’re furious that a prayer went unanswered. Maybe you’re ashamed of something you’ve done. Maybe you just feel numb.

Whatever it is, name it. Say it out loud, even if all you can manage is a whisper. God already knows, but naming it helps you break the silence—and science backs this up. Studies show that naming your emotions out loud activates the prefrontal cortex, the part of your brain responsible for processing and regulating feelings.

When you name what you’re feeling, you begin to regain control over it. Naming turns something overwhelming into something you can work with—and that’s a powerful first step toward prayer.

IV. Use Other People’s Words

There’s a reason why liturgical traditions, like the Psalms or the Liturgy of the Hours, have endured for centuries. They offer structure when your spirit feels scattered. The Catechism of the Catholic Church (very affordable edition here, CCC 2562) reminds us that “prayer is the raising of one's mind and heart to God.” That can happen with your words—or with the borrowed voices of others who’ve prayed long before you.

In fact, studies in cognitive neuroscience suggest that structured prayer can lower anxiety, improve attention, and create feelings of connection—even when faith feels faint. Ritual doesn’t replace relationship, but it supports it. Like a trellis for a vine, pre-written prayers give your soul something to cling to as it grows.

If your own words won’t come, borrow someone else’s. Pray the Psalms, which are full of messy, honest prayers—some of them angry, some broken-hearted, some full of trust. Use a simple prayer like, Jesus, have mercy on me.

You don’t have to invent prayer from scratch. Many parishes will even offer you a free booklet of prayers if you ask—something you can tuck in your bag or bedside table for those wordless days.

You can also get a copy of The Liturgy of the Hours. It’s a set of pre-written prayers used by clergy, religious, and laypeople around the world to pray in solidarity. On days when your voice feels small, these words will carry you.

V. Find God Somewhere Other Than Words

St. Ignatius of Loyola taught that God can be found in all things. Not just in churches or formal prayer, but in the quiet unfolding of your real life. That’s not a poetic idea—it’s a spiritual discipline: to notice, to respond, to be present.

Therapists and spiritual directors alike affirm the healing power of sensory engagement. Watching trees sway, tending a small act of beauty, or lighting a candle can regulate the nervous system while opening the heart. These acts may not look like prayer, but they are invitations to communion.

Prayer isn’t always verbal. Sometimes you can find God in silence, music, nature, or art. Sit outside and watch the sky shift. Listen to a piece of music that stirs your heart. Light a candle and just be still.

God is present in all of it.

VI. Remember Who You’re Talking To

If you’ve grown up thinking God is a distant judge, prayer can feel like standing trial. But that’s not the God Jesus reveals.

Jesus shows us a God who runs to meet prodigals, who welcomes the broken-hearted, who never tires of hearing our voices. You’re not performing for Him—you’re being held by Him.

VII. Accept That Prayer Will Feel Different in Different Seasons

Prayer in grief isn’t like prayer in joy. Prayer in depression isn’t like prayer in peace. That’s okay. There’s no one right way to pray. The only mistake is thinking you have to get it right.

VIII. Trust That God Wants You Back

The saints weren’t immune to prayer droughts. St. Teresa of Calcutta went through years of spiritual dryness. St. John of the Cross wrote The Dark Night of the Soul not from distance but from inside his own desert. These weren’t signs of failure—they were paths toward deeper union.

If you’ve felt far from God, you’re in good company. And you’re still welcome.

God’s grace always moves first. You don’t have to earn the right to speak. He already sees you, already knows, already loves. Your return to prayer doesn’t start with words—it starts with willingness.

However long it’s been, however messy you feel, the door is always open. You don’t have to earn your way back into prayer. You just have to turn toward Him—even a little—and He’ll come running.

You were never meant to be perfect at prayer.

You were meant to love and be loved.

IX. A Prayer to Begin Again

Jesus, I don’t know how to talk to You right now. But I want to. I’m tired, or angry, or afraid, or numb—but I’m still here. Please meet me in the silence, and show me that You’re still here too.

Amen.

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