I grew up in a very religious household, which meant that most of my young life was spent in and around church in some capacity: Vacation Bible School; youth group; prayer group; family Bible study; Sunday school. You get the picture.

Until high school, when I entered the public school sector for the first time, ninety percent of my peers were from church. In sixth grade, I left my homeschool education to start attending a tiny private Christian school. My eighth grade graduating class consisted of twelve people. So, I’m sure you can imagine how limited my scope was. The bubble I existed inside. 

Instead of giving me a path to follow, a guide in how to approach my life, religion – or more specifically, how religion had been delivered to me, packaged up in absolutes and tied together with fear and shame – only distorted my reality until I didn’t know what else to do but abandon it altogether. 

To be clear, I don’t think religion is bad in itself. There’s nothing wrong with raising your kids or family with certain beliefs. Religion is the backbone to many cultures across the world. It offers a lot in terms of lifestyle, community and culture. And everyone experiences religion in a different way. There is a lot to be gained from it, whether that’s through personal belief or studying different religions to help broaden your understanding of the world. In my experience, religion —more specially God — was it. The only explanation for anything and everything. Any question I had about the world could be found in the Bible. That in itself is not bad. Limited, sure, but not inherently bad. I just wish my parents had given me the opportunity, the space, to question the world outside of the Bible, outside of God. And until much later in life, I didn’t even know how to question anything. All I knew about was God and what His word said. There was nothing else. No need to think about anything beyond it. Instead of being encouraged to believe what I was surrounded by, I was shackled to it. 

As I saw it, as my young brain tried to process what was being told to me, religion was black and white. Either Or. Religion was a way to impose rules as a means of control. Fear was religion’s backbone – you better believe in God or else you’re going to hell. And shame and guilt were religion’s beating heart and lungs. This is how I viewed it. 

One afternoon after soccer practice, while we were standing around drinking capri suns, a couple of the girls on my team were talking about how the light coming from the clouds in the sky was actually the light from angels. I was nine or so at the time. I distinctly remember my royal purple jersey, how itchy my shinguards were on my legs. The smell of grass and sweat. My dad picked me up, and when we got to the car, he, having overheard the conversation, said, “you know that’s not true, right? About the angels? Angels don’t do that.” I nodded and said yes, I knew. But looking back at that memory, I wonder what he and I would have discovered together if he’d asked me what my thoughts were about the conversation, and why I believed or didn’t believe what those girls were saying.  I wish it had been a conversation, instead of him inadvertently telling me what to think. 

Other than Disney movies, I watched a lot of Christian films. I read a lot of Christian books. In ninth grade, in a public school for the first time, one of my classmates was named Ariel. I was shocked that someone had named their kid after a Disney character. That’s not right, I told myself. Obviously, she was not named after a Disney character (that I know of). But it shows how small my world was. 

My introduction to “critical thinking” was in eleventh grade English with Miss Denny. I was so excited to be in Honors English— writing and reading were my jam. Throughout middle school and so far into high school, teachers praised me for how well I wrote. Honors English, I thought, would be fun. It didn’t take long to realize that I wasn’t prepared for the level of work this class would be. I was ill-equipped. I’d never been asked to analyze writing, never been asked to analyze anything, really. I believed what I did because that’s what the Bible said. I’d never read books like the ones in her curriculum. My sheltered world view was expanding, and I felt lost. 

Lost, and like I knew very little about the world. I’d parrot ideas I heard from my folks or peers at church, but have no way to back them up. I rejected ideas others had because they didn’t align with what I’d been told growing up and it felt shameful to consider anything else. I had one way of thinking and for a long time, it was the only way. Considering any other train of thought was impossible. 

Probably it’s normal for kids to go through a period of feeling confused like this. As we grow up, we examine the ideas passed down to us from the adults in our lives and morph them into our own independent thoughts. But my introduction into “real life,” the life beyond church and homeschool and the small bubble I’d been put inside, the life I was inevitably going to find myself in, regardless of how hard my parents tried to protect me from it, was jarring and uncomfortable. I’d been thrust into it with no preparation and I struggled to find my place in it. 

I’m not trying to shit on religion, or how my parents raised me and my sisters. They were doing what they thought was best and had no malicious intent. I’m not even sure religion is the culprit here. It’s all so complicated. There’s so many parts to it. Religion and how it was instilled in my life is the frosting on the cake; and the lack of space to examine my world through a bigger lens, the layers in that cake. If my folks had known to allow me to question things and provided answers beyond “that’s what God says,” or “because the Bible says so” (I’m generalizing a little), I wonder how that might have changed how I moved through the world. If religion had been less about rules and fear, and more about believing in something bigger than yourself, it might have changed how I came to view it as an adult. 

Curiosity is natural and healthy. Curiosity can exist beside a steadfast faith. Religion doesn’t have to be one or the other. The people I know who have the strongest faiths are people who examine the world outside of their religions. They ask the hard questions that might shake their faith because they know their faith is strong enough to withstand the quakes. I think in order to truly believe in something like a god or a higher entity, you have to consider the other side. The other opinion. How else can you know something on a deep level if you don’t look at it from all angles? 

I’ve been wrestling with the vicegrip religion had on me for years, but it’s only been in the last few that I’ve allowed myself to leave that world behind with no trace of guilt or shame trailing behind me. I’m beginning to write my own formula and fuck, does it feel good. To own my choices, good and bad. To steer my life in the direction I want it to go, not in the direction I think it should go because that’s what my parents think or society dictates or religion demands. If I ever find faith again beyond the spiritual lens I view the world in now, it will be because I want to, not because it’s what I should do. Enough with the “shoulds.” I’m so tired of them.