I Had To Unlearn How I Pray Before Prayer Started Working Again

A while back, I realized something embarrassing. I wasn’t avoiding prayer. I was still doing it. I was still saying words. I was still tossing “Lord bless this” into the air like salt over my shoulder. But I wasn’t being honest. Not really.

I was sitting on the couch with my phone was face up, buzzing every few minutes. I kept flipping it over like that would fix the tension in my chest. Bills. A text I didn’t want to answer. One of those “quick question” emails that is never quick. And I prayed. I did.

I said something like, “God, help me today,” and then I immediately started rehearsing how I was going to handle everything myself. That’s the part that got me. I prayed, and then I acted like I didn’t.

So I started paying attention. Not in a dramatic, spiritual-hero way. More like a guy who finally noticed he’s been driving with the parking brake half on. Same car. Same road. Just unnecessary strain. That’s what my daily prayer had become.

This article is my anti-checklist. Not “do these ten steps and you’ll be unstoppable.” No. It’s more like, “Here’s what I had to stop doing, because it was making prayer feel fake, and it was making me tired.”

Why An Anti-Checklist Helps More Than Another How-To

We’ve got a thousand “how to pray” guides. And I’m not against them. I’ve benefited from them. But when I’m stuck, it’s usually not because I don’t know what to do. It’s because I’m doing something that’s quietly sabotaging me.

It’s like trying to work out while eating junk all day. You can do the workout, sure, but you’re fighting your own choices. Same with prayer. Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is stop pretending you’re fine, stop performing, stop rushing, stop using religious phrases to avoid real conversation.

Also, the world has been loud lately. People are exhausted. Everyone’s got opinions. The news cycle is a treadmill that never shuts off. And with AI everywhere now, even online spaces feel… weirdly unreal sometimes, like you’re talking to a fog machine. If you don’t have something steady, something real, you can end up spiritually numb without noticing. So, yeah, this is a good time to get honest with God.

Let me ask you a blunt question, colleague to colleague. When you pray, do you feel like you’re connecting, or just completing?

Stop Treating Prayer Like A Text You Send And Forget

I did this for years.

I’d pray the way I send a quick text. “Lord help.” “God bless.” “Please handle this.” Then I’d move on. No listening. No staying. No space for God to answer, correct, comfort, or even just sit with me.

Here’s what changed for me. I started saying one sentence and then shutting up for ten seconds. Ten. That’s it. Not an hour. Not a whole morning routine with candles and a playlist. Ten seconds.

At first it felt awkward, like standing in an elevator with someone you don’t know. But then, something started happening. I noticed what was actually going on inside me. That’s the part I usually skip. I don’t like admitting what I’m feeling because it makes things real.

Practical shift: after a short prayer, pause and breathe. Not to be mystical. Just to be present.

Stop Using Polite Religious Words When You’re Actually Upset

This one might step on a toe, but I’m going to say it anyway.

Sometimes I’ve prayed like this: “Father, we thank You for this day, we praise You, we trust You,” while inside I’m thinking, “I’m mad. I’m scared. I’m disappointed. I’m confused. And I don’t like it.”

God already knows. The polite version doesn’t impress Him. It just keeps you distant.

There’s a line of thought I’ve always respected from C.S. Lewis, the idea that God doesn’t need your words as much as He wants your reality. Not your performance. You.

I remember a night I was praying in the living room, lights off, everybody asleep, and I kept circling the same safe phrases. I caught myself and just blurted, “God, I don’t even know what I believe about this situation right now.” My voice cracked, which I hate. I’m a man, I like control. But that prayer was more real than the previous ten minutes combined.

Practical shift: name the emotion before you ask for the solution.
“God, I’m angry.”
“God, I’m ashamed.”
“God, I’m tired of waiting.”
Then pray from there.

Stop Asking God To Do What You Won’t Do

This one got me good.

I used to pray for peace while refusing to stop scrolling. I’d pray for patience while staying overbooked. I’d pray for a better marriage while being stubborn and defensive. I’d pray for financial breakthrough while ignoring the budget and buying convenience like it was oxygen.

I’m not saying God only helps people who help themselves. That’s not the gospel. I’m saying sometimes we pray for God to change the consequences of what we refuse to change.

And look, I’ve done it. I’ve prayed, “God fix my attitude,” and then kept feeding the attitude with the same inputs. Same podcasts that rile me up. Same conversations that turn into gossip. Same late nights that make me short-tempered.

Practical shift: ask God for the next obedient step, not the whole miracle.
“God, what do I do next.”
And be ready for it to be something plain and unglamorous.

Stop Making Prayer A Performance For Yourself

This is subtle. You can pray alone and still perform.

I would sit down to pray and immediately feel this pressure to sound “good.” Like God was grading me. Like heaven had a clipboard.

So I’d use big words. I’d repeat myself. I’d try to sound spiritual. And the whole time, I wasn’t being myself.

Here’s how I know I was performing. If I stumbled over words, I’d restart the sentence. Like God didn’t hear the first one. Like I needed to get it clean. That should tell you something about what I believed God was like in those moments.

Prayer is not a speech. It’s a relationship.

One of the most freeing things I started doing was praying like I talk. Not sloppy. Just normal. “Lord, I’m struggling.” “God, I don’t like how I’m acting.” “Help me not be a jerk today.” That’s real. That’s the stuff I actually need help with.

Practical shift: if your prayer sounds like a formal letter, try one prayer that sounds like a real conversation.

Stop Using Quick Prayers As A Way To Avoid Quiet

This one surprised me.

I love quick prayers. I do. I pray in the car, in hallways, in between tasks. I’m all for it. But I realized I was using quick prayers to avoid silence.

Because silence makes you feel things you’ve been outrunning.

It’s like when you finally sit down at night and your body realizes it’s been holding stress all day. Your shoulders drop, and you suddenly feel sad or irritated or scared, and you don’t even know why. That’s what silence does. It tells the truth.

In daily prayer, the quiet parts are where I notice what I’m actually carrying. And that’s where God meets me, not in the speed, not in the rush.

Practical shift: build a tiny quiet moment into your day. Two minutes. No phone. Just you and God and the truth.

Stop Thinking “Authority” Means Louder Or More Confident

I’ve heard people talk about “how to pray with authority,” and sometimes it turns into this idea that if you say it hard enough, fast enough, strong enough, God will respond.

Authority in prayer is not volume. It’s alignment. It’s faith. It’s surrender. It’s also humility.

I’ve prayed bold prayers and still been scared. I’ve prayed quiet prayers and felt the peace of God settle like a weight blanket on my thoughts. You don’t have to shout at heaven to be heard.

What helps me is remembering I’m not trying to intimidate the devil with my tone. I’m not the hero in the story. God is. My job is to show up and agree with Him, even if my knees are shaking.

Practical shift: pray one simple, scripture-shaped prayer without hype. Just truth.

Stop Treating Unanswered Prayer Like A Personal Rejection

This is tender. And messy.

If you’ve been praying for something and it hasn’t happened, it can mess with you. It can make you feel like God is ignoring you. Or punishing you. Or that you’re doing it wrong.

I’ve been there.

I prayed for a situation in my family for a long time, and it felt like nothing changed. I’d pray in the morning, then check my phone later like God was going to send a notification. Nothing. And over time, something ugly started growing in me. Not full-blown disbelief, more like irritation. Like, “Really, God.”

Here’s what I had to stop doing: interpreting God’s timing as God’s attitude.

Sometimes God delays because He’s doing something deeper than the thing you’re asking for. That doesn’t make waiting fun. It just makes it less personal.

I’ve learned to pray, “God, I don’t understand, but I’m not leaving.” That’s not a tidy conclusion. That’s a stance.

Practical shift: keep praying, but add honesty.
“God, I’m disappointed.”
“God, I feel forgotten.”
And then, “Hold me here.”

A Simple Anti-Checklist For Your Daily Effective Prayer

If you want something to save or screenshot, here you go. Keep it messy and usable.

Stop praying vague when you’re actually hurting. Get specific.
Stop performing. Talk like yourself.
Stop rushing every prayer. Add ten seconds of quiet.
Stop asking God to change outcomes while refusing to obey.
Stop using prayer to avoid feelings. Bring feelings to God.
Stop assuming unanswered prayer means rejection. Stay close anyway.

That’s the list I keep coming back to. Not perfectly. I still mess up. I still pray like a man trying to control things sometimes. I still want quick fixes.

A Couple Things I Keep Telling Myself (Because I Forget)

I’m going to end this the way I actually live it, not a perfect conclusion.

Sometimes my prayer life looks strong on paper and weak in practice. Sometimes I pray and still feel anxious and I hate that. Sometimes I feel peace and then lose it five minutes later because I check my phone and somebody’s mad online again, or the news is heavy, or I’m comparing my life to someone else’s highlight reel. And I have to come back. Again.

So here’s what I’m chewing on lately.

What if the point isn’t to feel powerful every time you pray. What if the point is to stay close.

And what if the real win today is not a miracle story, but a softened heart, a guarded mouth, a quiet mind for ten minutes, a decision not to lash out, a moment of trust when you don’t feel it.

If you’re reading this and you feel a little called out, good. Me too. Pick one thing to stop doing in prayer this week. Just one. Try it for seven days, not to prove something, but to get real.