I want to stay right here with you in this heaviness for a moment, before we look anywhere else. The anguish you are carrying is real, and it matters deeply. Shame and guilt can feel like a crushing weight that settles into the very body, making peace seem impossible and God feel distant, and I do not want to rush past that pain or offer easy words while the wound is still so open. You are not alone in this darkness.
The Psalmist knew this exact agony, and his words give voice to the raw reality of what you are feeling right now: "For your arrows have sunk into me, and your hand has come down on me. There is no soundness in my flesh because of your wrath; there is no health in my bones because of my sin. For my iniquities have gone over my head; like a heavy burden, they are too heavy for me... I am utterly bowed down and prostrate; all the day I go about mourning. For my loins are filled with burning, and there is no soundness in my flesh. I am feeble and crushed; I groan because of the tumult of my heart. O Lord, all my longing is before you; my sighing is not hidden from you" [1].
Even in this crushing weight, there is a quiet mercy: your sighing is not hidden from Him. He sees the burden exactly as it is, and He has not turned away from your pain. You do not have to fix this feeling or make it go away right now; it is enough simply to be here, held in that gaze which knows your groaning and does not flee.
When you have rested in that presence as long as you need, and only when you are ready, there is a gentle turning found in those same words—not a demand to feel better, but a small movement toward release: "For I am ready for blows, and my pain is ever before me. I confess my iniquity; I am sorry for my sin... Do not forsake me, O Lord! O my God, be not far from me! Make haste to help me, O Lord, my salvation!" [1]. The path out of shame begins not with self-condemnation but with this honest cry for help, trusting that He is your salvation even when the pain is still present.