Who Told You?

In Genesis 3, after everything had already fallen apart, God asked a question that feels surprisingly tender.

“Who told you that you were naked?”

I used to read that verse and think it was about disobedience. Now, I think it’s about shame.

Because the first thing Adam and Eve did after their world changed was hide. Something about them suddenly felt exposed, wrong, not enough. And instead of leading with anger, God asked a question that went straight to the heart of it.

Who told you that something about you was no longer okay?

I’ve been sitting with that question a lot in this season of rebuilding my life.

When your story doesn’t turn out the way you thought it would, shame has a way of showing up quietly and settling in before you even realize it’s there. For me, it didn’t sound harsh or dramatic. It sounded reasonable. Responsible, even.

You should have made it work.
You should have seen the signs.
You should be further along by now.

And then there were the quieter fears that come with being a single mom and starting over.

Maybe your child deserved a different story. Maybe you’re too much responsibility now. Maybe this life makes you harder to choose. Maybe you have to be strong all the time because there’s no one else to carry the weight.

So you work harder. You plan more. You hold everything together. You become fiercely independent, not necessarily because you want to be, but because it feels safer than needing something that might not be there.

Somewhere along the way, strength and survival start to look the same.

But the more I’ve prayed through this season, the more I’ve felt that quiet question come back to me.

Who told you that you failed?
Who told you that your story is damaged?
Who told you that doing this on your own makes you less worthy of being loved well?
Who told you that rebuilding means you’re behind?

Because when I sit with it honestly, those messages didn’t come from God.

God has never treated this season like a disqualification. He has never spoken to me like my life is ruined or my future is smaller now. If anything, His voice has been steady and surprisingly gentle. He keeps reminding me that starting over is not the same thing as starting from nothing. He keeps showing me that what looks like loss from the outside has also been protection, stability, and peace.

When I look at my life now, I don’t see failure. I see a home that feels safe. I see a little boy who is loved and secure. I see decisions that were made for health instead of appearances. I see courage I didn’t know I had and a life that, while not what I planned, is more stable and honest than the one I was trying to hold together before.

Rebuilding is humbling. It means making decisions alone that you never expected to make alone. It means carrying responsibility that feels heavy some days. It means praying over things that used to be shared. It means admitting that independence sometimes came from survival, not preference.

But it is also slowly teaching me where my strength actually comes from.

Because the truth is, anything that makes you feel like your life is disqualified from being beautiful did not come from God.

Shame tells you to hide, to overcompensate, to prove your worth, to carry more than you were ever meant to carry alone. God does something very different. He comes looking for you right in the middle of the mess and asks where you are. Not because He doesn’t know, but because He wants you to come out of hiding.

That’s what this season has felt like for me. Less about proving that I’m strong, and more about learning that I don’t have to carry everything by myself. Less about pretending I have it all together, and more about letting God meet me in the places where I’m tired, uncertain, or still healing.

If you’re rebuilding too, in whatever way your life has changed, maybe this question is for you as well.

Who told you that you’re behind?
Who told you your story is ruined?
Who told you that you are too much to carry and not enough to be chosen?

Because the God who asked that question in the garden is still asking it now. And His voice is not the one filled with shame.

His voice is the one that says your story is still being written. That your life is not smaller because it looks different. That rebuilding is not failure. That you are not disqualified from love, from joy, or from a future that is good.

You are not behind.

You are rebuilding.

And God is still building with you.