Pulling Down Strongholds: It’s Harder Than it Sounds
Let’s be honest—this topic of strongholds can feel heavy. We know the verses, we nod along when someone quotes 2 Corinthians 10:4-5 about divine weapons pulling down every lofty opinion raised against God and taking thoughts captive. It’s solid truth. But if we’re not careful, it can come across like a quick-fix checklist: “Just identify the lie, replace it with Scripture, pray harder—done.” And when that doesn’t immediately shift the weight that’s been sitting on your chest for years, it can leave you feeling worse—like you’re failing at faith itself.
I’ve lived that gap. After losing the business I’d built my identity around, packing up our life for a cross-country move to Texas, and landing in a place where everything felt foreign and isolating, my mind became a battlefield. Thoughts like “You’re a failure and always will be,” “No one here gets you—you’re alone,” or “God’s probably done with your messes” didn’t just pass through; they dug in. They became patterns—loops that played on repeat during quiet nights or when I tried to pray. I’d read the Bible, quote verses about freedom, and still feel stuck. It wasn’t for lack of trying; it was because those strongholds were tied to real grief, shame, and fear that had roots deeper than surface-level affirmations could reach.
The thing is, strongholds aren’t usually dramatic “aha” moments of instant deliverance. They’re often built slowly—through repeated hurts, lies we believed in vulnerable times, or even good intentions that went sideways. In my case, the business loss felt like proof I couldn’t be trusted with anything important, and the move amplified that isolation into a full-blown fear of starting over. What helped wasn’t a magic formula, but a gritty, day-by-day process of bringing those thoughts into the light without shame.
Here’s what that looked like for me in real terms (no sugarcoating):
Naming it without excuses. I had to stop saying “This is just who I am now” and start calling it what it was—a lie opposing God’s truth. That meant sitting with the discomfort long enough to write down the exact thoughts that kept showing up. No editing, no spiritualizing—just raw honesty. Then, I’d ask the Holy Spirit to show me where it started (often tied to specific memories or wounds).
Replacing it with truth, but persistently and practically. It wasn’t enough to read a verse once. I’d speak it out loud—sometimes in the car, sometimes while walking the neighborhood—because hearing my own voice say “I am not a failure; God is redeeming even this” (echoing things like Romans 8:28 or Psalm 34:18) started chipping away at the old narrative. But honestly, some days it felt forced. The key was doing it anyway, even when my emotions screamed otherwise.
Getting help from others. I didn’t do this solo. Talking to a trusted friend (someone who wouldn’t judge) about the specific thoughts helped expose them. There’s power in confession (James 5:16)—not just to God, but to another person who can pray with you and remind you of truth when you can’t see it yourself.
Accepting it’s a process. Freedom came in layers. Some days I’d feel lighter; others, the old thoughts crept back. Instead of beating myself up, I learned to treat relapses as reminders to keep going back to the weapons Paul talks about: prayer, Scripture, worship, and community. Over time, those strongholds have begun to lose their grip—not because I’m stronger, but because God’s power has been working through consistent, sometimes weary obedience.
If you’re wrestling with something similar—whether it’s shame from past mistakes, fear that won’t let go, or a cycle that feels unbreakable—know this: the biblical steps are real, but they’re lived out in the mess of real life. God doesn’t expect perfection; He meets us in the struggle. He’s patient with the process because He’s committed to the person—you.
A Honest Prayer for the Fight Father, this isn’t easy. Some days the thoughts feel louder than Your truth, and I get discouraged. Thank You for seeing the whole story—the wounds, the lies, the battles I’m too tired to name. Give me courage to bring them into the light without hiding. Help me speak Your Word over my mind, even when it feels weak. Surround me with people who’ll walk this with me, and remind me that Your power is at work, even when progress feels slow. Break what needs breaking, and hold me steady. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
