Grieving God: My Journey with Religious Trauma (Part 1)

My Story is pretty unique.

As a young girl, I was always fascinated by spirituality. Even though she wasn't an avid churchgoer, my mother told me about Heaven and Hell and taught me the bedtime prayer. I enjoyed going outside and marveling at the clouds, the grass, the trees, and animals... and my mother made sure to inform me that God created the earth and all the animals in it. As I continued to grow, I sought out opportunities to learn more about God.

Many of the ex-evangelicals (or "ex-vangelicals") I have spoken with were raised in the church. They either didn't question what they were told by their parents and church clergy, or they had lots of questions and were ostracized for them. The common thread I see between all of our stories is how much damage is experienced with regard to attachment.

To explain why religious trauma cuts so deep, I need to start where many of us start: with the search for belonging.

Where my religious trauma story starts

During the summer of 1996, I was ten years old. This was when my parents decided to try to get back together after years of separation. We rented a house in a cute little neighborhood, which was a big deal to me. Up until this point, I had only known apartment living, and moving every two to three years.

It was summer, and I didn't know anyone in the neighborhood, so I would ride my bike around looking for other kids to play with. Ironically, there weren't many kids playing outside. But one day, I rode past a house and noticed a purple bike in the driveway. I thought to myself, "I bet there's another girl my age who lives in this house," and I walked up to the door and knocked. Later, I was told how brave I was but truthfully, that's just who I am. I've never really been afraid of strangers, love talking to people, and deeply crave community.

Sure enough, there was a little girl (Grace) who lived in that house and we were close in age. We played together and I learned that her family was really big into church. And since I was always fascinated by God and religion, I invited myself to go along sometime. I made evangelizing incredibly easy for this family. I literally just showed up on their doorstep!

I didn’t understand it then, but beneath all of it was a simple ache to feel loved and to know where I belonged.

So I went to church, and felt accepted immediately. Music is one of my favorite modes of expression and I was excited to be someplace where everyone sang and kept rhythm together. We played games in Sunday School, and we were rewarded with treats for memorizing Bible verses. I wanted to keep going back, so that day, I told the pastor "I'd like to become a Christian," like I was ordering something off the McDonald's menu. I thought it was that easy. Just a club you join for music, friends, fun, and unconditional love. Why wouldn't I sign up for that?

About a month after my "conversion," my parents broke up again. As it turned out, my father had an addiction. As a ten year old kid, I didn't quite understand all the dynamics, but I sensed something was not good. My mother was in distress as a stay at home parent and decided to ask the church for help.

Church folk love a rescue mission, so they were happy to step in and help, with some strings attached, of course. We were seen as the charity... and my mother sure didn't do much to curb that. The church helped her find an apartment, and I was taken out of school in the middle of the day to move my belongings into our "new home." Back to apartment living... separated from my Dad again, who although he had many personal struggles, I was very attached to.

My mother wasn't the best at keeping adult topics between adults- so I was well-informed about the ins and outs of my Dad's addiction. I loved him so much and I couldn't imagine his life falling apart... and even worse... him going to hell. So as a newly converted evangelical, I did what every Christian girl would do- I prayed for him.

And that is what became my testimony. A few weeks after I prayed for my father's salvation, he hit his rock bottom. He got in contact with the pastor of our church, entered rehab, and began his sobriety walk, which he will tell you is an ongoing journey.

I was on fire for Jesus. I believed that if Heaven was real, and Hell was for eternity, it was my responsibility to tell as many people as possible about Jesus. I couldn't bear the idea that they may burn in Hell.

Although this made me the most annoying person at my school and solidified my identity as a loser, I had the best intentions.

As a prepubescent teen, I was a good Christian student. I read the Bible for fun. I immersed myself in Christian music . I denounced human sexuality as something to be saved for marriage.

But after the honeymoon of my newly found faith... I started to experience inconsistencies. I was told the good news is "Jesus loves everyone," but some people go to Hell. That God doesn't send people to Hell but people choose Hell when they sin. Thinking back on it, that didn't make a lot of sense. But as a child you believe what adults tell you.

So I accepted without question that it was a choice to be gay (which made a bit more sense to me because, as it turned out, I was bisexual and just didn't know it), but during my sophomore year in high school, my friend's parents were polyamorous, and they were some the most gentle and kind people I had ever met.

I didn't understand how the simple act of being queer was unacceptable in my loving God's eyes.

And why was it ok for God to be “a jealous god,” but a sin for us to envy the neighbor's house?

I could clearly understand why it’s a sin to kill, could get behind not lying... and even not worshipping idols... but couldn't wrap my mind around some of these curiosities- most intensely why God would have such a strong opinion about who you love.

Of course the church had an answer for everything. They said God's ways were higher than mine, and He created "man and woman" in His image- and queerness insulted that somehow. Well I would never want to insult God; I was so grateful for all He had done for me. So I filed this argument, along with many others, away in my mind. I didn't question it too hard, but it just didn't sit well with me. I didn’t know it at the time, but that discomfort would become the first thread I’d eventually start pulling.