Dancing Free: Praise in the Midst of Shackles

There are seasons in life when the weight of the world feels chained to our feet. Every step forward drags, every breath feels heavy, and even the smallest act of hope takes everything we have left. It’s in those seasons that the thought of dancing—whether literally or figuratively—feels impossible. And yet, I’ve come to believe that true freedom often begins with praise, even before the chains fall away.

The lyrics of “Shackles (Praise You)” by Mandisa capture something deeply human. They echo the cry of so many hearts that have known despair but choose worship anyway. “Take the shackles off my feet so I can dance… I just wanna praise You.” That’s not just a catchy line—it’s a prayer. It’s the yearning of someone desperate for release, but who has also realized that praising in the middle of pain can be a key that unlocks joy, even before circumstances change.

When we hear the word “shackles,” we often picture chains of iron, like something from a prison movie. But many of us walk around every day carrying invisible shackles. Fear, anxiety, grief, depression, unforgiveness, shame—these are heavy restraints that keep us from moving freely in life. They restrict our joy, silence our laughter, and convince us that we are unworthy of freedom.

I’ve had my own shackles. Maybe you have too. Sometimes they look like long nights spent lying awake with thoughts I can’t quiet. Other times they look like the weariness of caregiving, or the dull ache of disappointment when life doesn’t look the way I once hoped it would. Shackles don’t always rattle when we walk, but they weigh us down just the same.

The song reminds us that lifting our hands—an act of surrender, of reaching upward—isn’t just a symbolic gesture. It is often the first step toward freedom. When I lift my hands, I admit that I don’t have the strength to fight my battles on my own. I open myself to something greater, something holy, something healing.

Praise is not about ignoring the pain or pretending it doesn’t exist. It’s about choosing to see beyond it. It’s saying: Yes, the chains feel real. Yes, my heart is heavy. But I will praise anyway, because I know the weight I feel is not the end of my story.

In lifting my hands, I give God space to remind me that He is stronger than my fear, deeper than my grief, and nearer than my shame. That reminder doesn’t always erase the struggle, but it gives me the courage to dance while I’m still waiting for freedom to fully come.

The song also mentions the corners of the mind—the places where doubt lives, where hopelessness builds its little nests. Those corners can be dark. They whisper things like, You’ll never change. You’ll always be stuck. Nothing will ever get better.

I know those voices. They’ve spoken to me in moments of exhaustion and loss. But here’s the truth: praise pushes light into those corners. It speaks a louder word than despair. When we choose to sing, pray, or simply whisper gratitude in the dark, it breaks through the mental chains that tell us we can’t be free.

Dancing is an act of joy, but it’s also an act of defiance. To dance while carrying sorrow is to declare that sorrow does not own me. To dance while still healing is to proclaim that healing is possible. To dance with shackles falling off is to embody freedom with every step.

And sometimes, dancing is not physical at all. It might look like laughing when life tries to crush your spirit. It might look like showing up for another day of caregiving, or choosing kindness when bitterness tempts you. It might look like praying one more time when you feel too tired to believe. These are dances of the soul.

One of the hardest but most beautiful lessons I’ve learned is that praise isn’t reserved for the day when everything is perfect. If we wait until our circumstances are exactly the way we want them, we’ll never begin. Praise, instead, is the strength we carry into our circumstances.

To praise through the storm is to declare that my peace isn’t determined by the weather. To praise in the valley is to say the shadows can’t silence me. To praise with shackles still around my feet is to believe that freedom is on its way—and to dance as though it has already come.

Freedom doesn’t always arrive in the form of sudden miracles. Sometimes it arrives slowly, one lifted hand, one whispered prayer, one quiet dance step at a time. But every time we choose praise, we loosen the shackles. Every time we lift our eyes, we take back a little more ground from despair.

So maybe today, even if you feel heavy, even if your circumstances haven’t changed, try lifting your hands. Try whispering gratitude. Try dancing—if only in your heart. Because freedom begins here. And joy, once tasted, has a way of breaking every chain.