After 6 years of freedom & healing, I'm finally exploring affirming faith communities!
Growing up, my faith meant so much to me.
It meant learning four-part harmonies. Switching back and forth between alto and soprano. Surrounded by peers. Quality time with my Mom and grandparents. Learning about my dad's legacy after he passed away from a drug overdose (I was only two). Belonging (mostly). Reading complex stories that resonated with themes of compassion. Feeling spiritual connection to something greater than just me.
At the same time, it meant judgmental stares at my widowed, scandalously un-remarried Mom with us three kids. Questioning my worth and value as a girl who would learn 20 years later that she was the 'B' in LGBTQ+. Feeling like something was wrong with me for simply existing as a sexual being. Being praised for hypervigilance.
I carried religious trauma from the time one of my dad's old mentors used his story as a cautionary tale... on the first day of freshman high school huddle... with me in the room. From being the poor kid amongst wealthy kids, treated like I should be just as successful as them. Neurodivergence never being named or claimed within those "holy" walls. Et cetera.
When I got to college, I was so empty and depressed. I ended up marrying a much older man who was a minister in my church. He was 27 and I was 19 when we started dating.
10 years later (very long story short), he had changed his mind about having kids after four years of marriage; instead of talking with me about his fears, hesitations, or whatever else was causing him pause, he asked me every single day if I'd taken my birth control pill. It broke my entire heart. All of me was torn in two as I looked at my life: the pastor-in-training's wife, worship leader, how close I felt with my friends in that spiritual community. Trapped but required to be publicly happy.
Suddenly, I realized I was in love with someone else in the worship band. We both fucked it up (our chances, I mean) but I was adamant on not cheating. COVID swept it all away.
I summoned just enough anger and courage to leave the marriage. Everyone was shocked, including the husband (after years of me telling him what I needed into a silent void.)
Echoes of that time do still plague me. I've tried writing letters-to-never-send to both the ex and the almost-lover. Still stuck with what they represented to me. Wishing I could have real closure from the guy I fell in love with, because he lives in the same city. Thankfully, the wasband got re-married and moved states. That comes with its own kind of sting, of course.
Anyway. Since 2022, I stopped visiting church. It's technically Sunday right now, and I'm a mix of apprehensive and hopeful about visiting a place I've researched that focuses on local needs, affirming couples and individuals of all genders / sexualities, and justice. Racial justice is very important, and I will be gauging for that too.
While I recognize most exvangelicals never want to go back, for me it's different. I may not stay or continue visiting this place I try in the morning. But! Just the sign that I'm ready to try is showing me that I've come so far since my exodus from the church and divorce in 2021.
I am proud of myself for finding actual truth and liberation outside of the church. Here's to building real community and to found family. 🌻💓 No matter what, whether this is simply a phase of my healing, what I've taken away from my journey is that my community will never be exclusive to religious spaces alone.
P.S. Apologies if any of this comes across weird. I'm still processing the shame from everything. I've taken accountability and apologized to the people I've hurt, but still seeking resolution to a lot of my feelings in support groups and therapy.