There’s a unique kind of pain that solo parents carry, the ache of knowing some things can’t be undone. Whether it was something you did, something that happened to you, or something you never saw coming, the past can feel like a locked room you’re trapped in. And the longer you live there, the more shame becomes the voice narrating your story.
But shame isn’t just about guilt. It’s about identity. It’s the quiet but relentless whisper that says, you are the mistake.
If you’ve ever found yourself spinning in your thoughts, second-guessing everything, or numbing the ache with distraction, you’re not alone. Many solo parents live in overdrive because slowing down means feeling too much. But what if facing the pain is the way through, not something to fear, but something that sets you free?
This post is for every solo parent stuck in cycles of shame or overthinking, wondering if healing is even possible when the past can’t be changed.
When pain shows up, our minds often take over. Overthinking can become armor, a way to stay busy enough not to feel. It might look like analyzing a breakup for the hundredth time, predicting worst-case scenarios about your kids, or replaying what you should have said in a hard conversation.
Elizabeth Cole, a single parent, described it this way: “Overthinking is my brain taking over so my body doesn’t have to feel, because it’s just too painful.” That’s more than a coping strategy. It’s a form of protection.
Christopher Cook, a pastor and author of Healing What You Can’t Erase, said it plainly: “Overthinking is motion without movement. It’s like being on an exercise bike, you’re burning energy, but you’re not getting anywhere.”
At its root, overthinking is often driven by fear. Fear of being let down. Fear of not being enough. Fear of being left again. And underneath that fear? Usually a deep, buried lie about who you are and what you’re worth.
It’s natural to want to avoid pain. Especially when your daily life already demands so much. Grieving might feel like a luxury you can’t afford, or a dark hole you’re afraid you’ll never climb out of. But as Christopher shared, “Grieving isn’t weakness. It’s what makes us human.”
Avoiding grief doesn’t make it go away. It just buries it deeper, and buried grief tends to show up in disguise. In anxiety. In sleepless nights. In low-grade irritation. In isolation. In shame.
True healing begins when we create space to feel what’s been left unspoken. That doesn’t mean wallowing. It means surrendering to the process of letting go.
“We don’t grieve to move on,” Christopher said. “We grieve to move forward.”
Many solo parents are haunted by shame, especially when their story didn’t go the way they hoped. Maybe you initiated the divorce. Maybe you were left. Maybe you never got the support you needed, and now you question every choice you make.
Shame says, You didn’t just fail. You are a failure.
But shame isn’t just a feeling. It’s a system. Christopher explains it like this:
- The moment of shame: A formative experience, often early in life, that left you feeling unworthy or rejected.
- The mode of shame: The way we survive that moment—by hiding, performing, pleasing, or controlling.
- The movement of shame: How it settles into our bodies—tight chests, buzzing minds, chronic anxiety.
- The maturity of shame: When it becomes identity. I’m unlovable. I’m broken. I’m too much. I’m not enough.
Shame doesn’t just hurt, it fragments your soul. It disconnects you from your true self, from healthy relationships, and from the healing you long for. But naming shame takes away its power.
As Elizabeth shared, “I can look at the shame in my story and start to see it as something that happened to me, not something that defines me.” That shift is where healing begins.
If you’ve ever been offered a spiritual platitude in your pain, you know how hollow it can feel. “Everything happens for a reason” might be well-meaning, but it rarely brings comfort. Christopher said it this way: “Those words might be true in part, but they’re cruel when offered too quickly.”
What we really need in moments of deep pain isn’t answers, it’s presence. To be seen, not fixed. To be heard, not corrected. To sit with someone who doesn’t rush us through the discomfort.
One of the greatest truths shared in this conversation was this: The absence of conflict isn’t peace. Peace is the presence of someone in the middle of your pain.
For those with a faith background, that someone is Jesus. For others, it may be a trusted friend, a therapist, or a counselor who holds space for your process. But the message is the same, you don’t have to have it all figured out to feel peace. You just have to stop pretending you’re not hurting.
You might still be overthinking. You might still feel the sting of shame. You might not even know where to begin. But you’re here. And that’s not nothing.
Maybe the next right step is to name what hurts. Or to tell someone the truth. Or to sit with your grief instead of running from it.
Transformation doesn’t come from pushing harder. It comes from surrendering what you were never meant to carry alone.
