"When is the last time you jumped for joy?" Please don't ask.

I'm on Reddit's ex-Christian subreddit. It's one of the few places I know to go to find like-mindedness. Except, not that many people are very like-minded. In large number, ex-Christians are immediately happy to be free of their religion, it seems.

I made a promise to myself, that if I left, I wouldn't leave lightly. And I'm not. And not just because of that promise. My road has made it impossible to leave lightly. For me, my experience with religion, with Christianity, has been overall, quite positive. For me, leaving means leaving a community that loved me deeply. Leaving people who wouldn't judge my journey, but would cry for me. Leaving churches who thought I had value. No one is perfect. No one's support of me has been perfect. But a lot of good people tried. And I have walked closer with Christian people when I was a Christian, than I may ever walk with another human being ever again. And that terrifies me.

Leaving, for me, is not a joyful thing. It's not a rebellious thing. It's not jumping for joy in the face of those who dare defy me. It's not seeking out debate to tear people apart (though, admittedly, I find myself in more debates because I no longer feel the need to apologize for my beliefs or to simply submit to the "stronger" person). It's having random moments when I am racked with tears, missing something that I loved dearly, and know that I'll never have again - even if I re-converted.

This evening, I began a Coursera class on Positive Psychology. Two exercises already occurred that shook me. I don't even think they were intended to. Such is the journey of the newly faithless.

1. It asked me to recall a time when I felt very negatively and to think about why, and what it felt/feels like. Some people in the video felt awkward about it and wanted to move on. Some felt tense, but uncomfortable. I felt anger. Straight up anger. Something I never felt allowed to feel in Christianity, unless it was directed to a "den of thieves" in the temple. Righteous anger was ok. Anger directed towards those who made a mockery of God. Otherwise, sympathy, understanding and compassion.

But I'm realizing how much turning my cheek benefitted others in the past. Not towards knowing love or knowing God, but towards taking advantage and manipulating, and taking from me.  And you know what my response was supposed to be? Forgiveness. And giving my cloak.

As a woman, that meant very different things than it did to a man in the church, by the way. Side-note for another time. But yes, let's talk about rape and turning the other cheek, and giving your cloak as well, sometime. This is a topic at women's retreats all the time. Why? Rape, incest, molestation. People need forgiveness. And women need to know how to love those who have hurt them.

Do they talk about this at men's retreats? No. They talk about being caretakers for their wives and children. How to be a tower for them. How to lead them.

Anyway. Those topics aren't even that closely personal to me. But it resounds deeply with my experience as a woman. Sexual atrocities or not, we hear the lesson on forgiveness and submission all the time. It defines us. The Power of a Praying Wife. It's supporting her husband while feeling denied and belittled ALL THE TIME. In marriage, even. Which isn't that different than how many women feel in the church, honestly.

So yes. We sacrifice. All the time. And people benefit. All the time. And hopefully some people see God. That's what we're told, you know. That we are like Jesus because we are sacrificing our very souls for another. And if they don't appreciate it or recognize it, what is the advice? Give until you are dead. Jesus did. Will you not follow him? How dare you claim to follow him if you don't do as he did? Die for it. Die. And as you die, pray that God would forgive those who put you in this place, for they know not what they do.

You know what? Some don't know. Some truly don't. But a lot do. A lot take advantage of your position as a sacrificial lamb. Also, for those who don't know? Maybe they would benefit more from you telling them than you taking it for them and letting them benefit from your sacrifice and those around you who sacrifice.

I'm all for rehabilitation of criminals. I am NOT for letting them get by with it. Tell the judge what they did. Tell them what they did. Let them see the pain and the anger and the incredible loss they caused at your expense. Let them see it. Don't feel shame. Let them feel the loss they've caused. You've felt loss. Let them feel it. If they don't feel it, all they experience from your loss is gain. And no one grows from it. You are still stunted and feel held back as a result of their actions. And they still benefit from your acquiescence. Or support. Or submission.

For  those who don't know what they've done? Tell them! If they are good people with good hearts who desire good, they too will desire change. Submission is only useful when it's mutual. Not necessarily equal, but mutual.

So. Positive Psychology. We were supposed to share what made us upset lately. All I felt was anger racking my body. Anger. I am feeling years of being a damn doormat. Years of being told by males how to be a doormat, who didn't know that being a female often feels like just being a damn doormat anyway. Must we be the doormats who are beat to death to be rid of the dirt from your feet? Must we? Always?

Anger is the primary emotion I feel now. Now that I know I can have opinions. Now that I know they are worth listening to and considering for validity. Knowing that I am better than being written off, yet here I am, written off. At work. At home. Wherever I am. Wherever reminds me of "turning the other cheek", just reminds me of what it feels like to be a prostitute, jerking off some guy to let him cum all over me, just so he can do it again to the next girl. But that's what love is, isn't it?

That's what I, as a woman, felt was right (figuratively, obviously - we don't use sex metaphors in the church). And here I am now, enraged at all I've endured for others at the hand of my old religion, who probably would have benefited from being set-straight. Who probably hurt a lot more people in a lot of the same ways.


The next questions was "What has made you almost jump for joy?"

I don't remember. Maybe Universal Studios. Maybe getting a pay raise - that I got from speaking my own mind and defending myself when no one else did, thank you.

Maybe I don't remember. Maybe my biggest joy is the hope that I will reclaim my biggest losses? Maybe my fear is that I never will.

Maybe I don't remember joy, because right now, all of this sucks. Maybe all the times I've jumped up and down lately have been out of anger and exasperation that I finally feel allowed to feel. Hey, maybe feeling allowed to feel those things is worth celebrating.

But right now, the journey is hard. It hurts. It's not fun. It's not super exhilarating, but with rare occasion. But this is where I find myself. And I think and hope the joy will return once I feel my anger has been expressed and I feel free.

I long for that day, and I hope that it arrives.

And this warrants a blog?

The title of my blog is: Leaving My Religion. The content is about leaving my religion.

Why, exactly, does this warrant a blog? It doesn't. Not by its own right. This blog was meant to be for my own space. I just realized it connects to my main blog - most of which contains heavily Christian posts. I wasn't intending on "going public".

I actually left this post mid-draft to try and delete this blog. I don't know how. I will just have to hope that my "followers" on my previous blog don't find this one (and that they aren't notified by Blogger that it exists), or I will just have to own up to this, far more publicly attached to my identity than I ever wanted it to be.

I'm in a weird spot. An unfamiliar spot. I don't know when it happened exactly, but I think the process has been happening for a while. The process of deconversion. I still sneer at the word because it sounds threatening and gross to me. I also hate the word because it makes me feel like a piece of technology going through a phase (one that many non-religious people might refer to as an "upgrade"). It sounds so standard and clinical. It sounds like a process rather than an identity.

The scariest thing is the thought that I don't know my identity without my faith. Everything looks a little dimmer, because I've grown to believe that you can't have an identity or know your identity (even if you could have one) without God - specifically the Christian God.

What's scary to me is that the whole time I gave my life to my faith and to my God, I lost myself. We used to sing "Empty Me" because we thought we were broken and needed fixing. And now I don't sing. I fear that I was emptied. I fear that I never allowed myself to know me. I recognize the fundamental guilt I feel for not fitting the model.

A particular theologist (whom I actually really admire) did an interesting thing in a book he wrote. I wish I could have experienced it before I learned what it was. But basically, he gave people a yes or no survey about the traits they believed Jesus to have. Then he turned around and gave them the same exact survey with which to evaluate themselves. By and large they all rated themselves and Jesus as sharing similar qualities.

His point was that everyone makes Jesus into their own image. In some ways I agree. In some ways I disagree.

I remember the countless hours of crying and praying and wishing God would just show up when I needed someone, anyone - and no one was there. God didn't hold me together. God didn't show up. The emptiness ached and the cries echoed in dark hallways. I was alone. The thing that kept me going was the misery of trying to be the perfect servant, all while I was being destroyed. And somehow in it all, I felt judgement. I felt the difference between me and Jesus.

In my estimation, Jesus would have faith. He would embody hope to everyone hopeless around him, even in his own squalor. He would praise through the storm (thanks, Casting Crowns). He would go into solitude. He would fast for 40 days. He would calm storms. He would tell mountains to leap. He would commune with God. And yet, there was I. Yes, bleeding still I praised. I killed myself trying to be everything to everyone that no one was to me.

When I was falling apart, where was I? Trying to counsel teenagers older than me not to kill themselves. Trying to tell those who self-injured that they were not alone. That they could be understood and loved. Trying to alleviate the fears of those 10 years older than me that life had a purpose. Trying to be Jesus to the world.

In those times, do I think I would rate Jesus and I as similar beings? Yes. Insofar as I wasn't selfish. In fact, I didn't care for myself much. All I wanted to do was to please the Lord, and nothing felt like enough. I only wanted to be enough. I remember the times that the very people I tried to help turned on me and manipulated me, calling me words I had never used before to describe anybody. I turned the other cheek. I took it. And I lifted them up.

A common theme in my life.

Yet was I like Jesus? No. 'Cause he was better. Were we similar? Yes, I gave up whatever semblance of life I had to try to please God. So, yeah. I can see a similarity.

However... I'm starting to realize that a lot of the similarities are ones we've been indoctrinated to think we have.

I always thought I was a servant. I often offered to help people. I did acts of service. All that. As a teen, every career test I took showed me that my strengths were empathy and compassion and love. Mostly they all told me that I should be a social worker.

I worked in non-profit social services for a while. Volunteered two places and worked at one. They drained me of my life-blood. I had nothing left to give. I pretended to have an overactive bladder just so I could go into the bathroom and cry for five minutes before putting on a good face and returning to work. You know, what with my servant's heart and all.

It was baffling to me. I was so confused. THIS is who I AM, I thought. Why isn't it working?

Well... I answered every career test question and personality test question from a Christian standpoint. I didn't realize it, but I answered every answer with who I thought I was. Who I was told I was called to be in the Kingdom. A servant. One with compassion. One that valued others above anything else. One that would sacrifice all for the betterment of others.

Ummm, obviously every test said I should be a social worker.

I was amazed when I realized later that I began answering questions differently. It began with art. Then learning. The two blossomed in my identity into this thing composed on intellect, beauty, and an overall unquenchable thirst for knowledge and beauty. Things I would never allow myself to truly love before. Because, well... They are self-focused. Selfish, actually, is what I always thought.

Academia seemed a selfish endeavor. Art was all about narcissism and being self-consumed. My heart was meant for others. For love. For exhortation. For administration.

That's what I thought.


That was a long, weird introduction. I obviously didn't plan this first entry. But basically my point is this... Does my journey warrant a blog? No. Easily most blogs out there aren't warranted at all. And I count this among those. But this journey is significant to me.

My hope is that others going through this journey will stumble upon it and know they are not alone. Or, in lieu of that, my hope is that no one will find it and it will be a safe haven for me. Certainly my hope is not to stir up concern, fear, controversy, or disagreement with friends or family who might happen upon this. If you are a friend or family and are concerned, please refrain from reacting immediately. More blogs will likely follow. Please refrain from commenting on this vulnerable journey until you have read enough to feel that you "get it". Then wait longer. Then maybe we can talk about it.

_____________

So about that theologist's Jesus test. Correlation does not prove causation. His theory is that people are self-involved and self-exalting, and that we make Jesus look like ourselves so that we don't have the inconvenience of reaching too far to have to be like him. Basically it's a way to call out Christians for making lives too easy for themselves rather than being Christ-like. They make Christ them-like.

My theory, on the other hand, is that it's just as likely that people think that Jesus-like is who they are. They connect with different parts of Jesus in different areas of their life and they latch on to those qualities, trying to foster them. They may or may not be like Jesus, but I think a lot of them answer the way they do because they really think that Jesus is how they rated him and they are hoping to God that they are who they think they are, as one who values what He values.

How can you rag on a bunch of indoctrinated kids for hoping and thinking they have the qualities they have always been told to have, and always been told that they have? Their churches have told them what to believe about Jesus. They rate themselves similarly because that is all they have aspired to be. They aren't trying to make Jesus in their image. They are keeping Jesus in whatever image was passed down to them through social/intellectual experiences, and they are trying desperately to be like him.

Probably the truth is somewhat between my theory and this one. But we can't know the cause. And we can't pretend to without knowing the students who took these surveys' stories. And if confronted with that thought, most of them will agree with the theologist. Because they are used to feeling ashamed, they are used to feeling guilt. They are used to wanting to be more. Tell them they are wrong and that they are not enough. They will seek the brokenness. They will cry in prayer and through themselves into the word, hoping God will meet them there. And regardless, they will try to reform themselves into whatever image their church/parents has told them Jesus is. Or they will break from the pressure.

Anyway. That said. You can know my story. Parts of it will be here. For better or for worse. This is my journey. And you haven't seen nothin' yet.

Though - shorter blogs in the future. Deal? Deal.