It’s My Turn

If you follow my Instagram stories or read this blog regularly, you know that several people recently told me in their own way to stop writing. Despite the positive feedback I receive both online and off, because of the negative feedback, I am...UHgain...struggling to show up for what feels like the hundredth time. Dammit, I need to get past this!

Despite what my critics might think, I really wrestle with what negative feedback means and how I need to respond. I don't treat it lightly. But now, it's my turn to say what I need to. 

Reader, maybe you are not my audience.

Are you still in the church and have no intention of leaving? You are not my audience. Are you someone who knew me in the past and reads as a voyeur to my process, never leaving any feedback but making conclusions about me? Do you talk with others from our past about me? You are not my audience. Do you read to make sure I don't write about you? You are definitely not my audience. Friend, I am being SO careful. But, I have to let that go. To not makes me sick. And please consider that the way to react is not to try and control me, but to talk to me instead. Or more importantly, ask good questions, and for fuck’s sake (my sake!), listen.

People, I am not writing to those who are still in the church. I am not trying to convince anyone. I write for myself and others who are leaving or who have left. We desperately need to speak and write our truth out loud and heal! It helps us put back together the pieces of our shattered identity. Support and celebrate this process!

Those who have had to let go of our Christian identity and community have gone through a divorce. I haven't had to go through an actual marriage divorce, but I have had to watch those close to me go through it. The loss of friendship, anger, blame, and hurt by those once close to us are excruciating. Those I know who have gone through it feel like their very personhood is at stake. If they stay, they will die, and if they leave, they will die. But leaving is what means hope. It also means facing all of the above, which is terrifying. As humans, we have to choose whether to cut off our hearts and essence and stay numb. Humans choose numbness all the time. Those who leave anything - an addiction, community, a toxic marriage, etc. are incredibly brave. The misunderstanding of others is inevitable, I suppose. Still, when our motivations are questioned by those who claim to love us, it really sets us back. Please don’t do this.

I write for those trying to find their way in the dark and a way out. I write for those who might read, step away, and think, "Huh. I never thought about it that way." 

It's ironic to me. The church expects confession. Whether it's part of the Catholic's rituals or the American Evangelical church’s prayers, we are told it is freeing to bring what we hide into the light. To not carry secrets. But my attempt to do that here has led to scorn. God forbid (pun intended) I would write of my former culture's sins. "Just stop," I've been told. How dare I make sense and finally say what I didn't allow myself to for years. Decades. For example, for me to (finally!) say out loud, "Our pastor was a terrible preacher" is so important. It is one sentence after not saying it out loud for my ENTIRE 20s. It must happen! Publicly! Friends! Give me this gift! Celebrate with me, do not condemn me! To write sentences like that helps release me, and I desperately need to be released! 

I believe my role is to speak out of the darkness. I cry, "Hello! I'm here!" and hear it echo off the cavern walls. But those lost in the cave we share hear that echo, too. It gives them the strength to feel along the walls and move toward my voice so we can find a way through together. 

Friends, grief is very personal. It is also incredibly lonely. I write so others and I know we are not alone. If that's not why you are here, feel free to stop reading. If we shared a relationship in the past and you want to follow my process, great. But for God's sake (again, pun intended), believe the best about me. I am really trying to, and it cuts at my core for you to think otherwise.

Carry on. I am going to do the same.