I didn't know there was a word for it, and even when I found it I didn't know it's what I was doing: deconstructing. Sounds so intentional. So much like taking a wrecking ball to things – wait, no, that's demolition. To deconstruct something is to pull it apart by its pieces until it isn't anymore. That about sums up what I've been doing.
Really, it started as a slow process, more like a loose thread that began a true unraveling. It's not yet finished, either, so it's a little terrifying to name, but not unlike untangling a knotted mess, there is relief the further I go.
It all began when I couldn't hear God anymore. Having grown ever more steeped in the belief that I could not be abandoned, well, that didn't seem to help all that much when I felt the very most alone. When darkness and sadness took up residency in my life, nothing had better answers or a louder voice. I tried, I asked and I sought, though wearily. I persistently showed up on Sunday mornings.
For so long it was so painful and uncomfortable, until I finally allowed myself the space to stop enduring the pain I had been experiencing while still trying to participate. I got up, bussed my coffee cup, put on my sunglasses and coat, and walked to my car – doing my best to avoid eye contact. Far before that day when I walked out of those doors the last time, people didn't seem to understand my struggle and pain, so why would they that day? I didn't want to be stopped. Something had finally begun in me, it was the pieces coming apart.
The next few months there was a dull ache. I wondered if I was betraying everyone I knew, because, well, everyone I know is a Christian and I wasn't sure I wanted to be one anymore. Even saying that to myself was hard, I don't think I uttered it aloud for months. At first it was because I wasn't sure I wanted to walk away, though gradually it became because I had walked away and desperately didn't want to be cornered with looks of concern and offers of prayer that didn't seem to change anything. I felt more well away from church, away from constant attempts to gloss over the pain and errs of the human experience, than I did slouched in a seat every week trying to find peace again. I wanted my choice to be accepted, not challenged and questioned, or worse dismissed.
Some of the time that followed was painful, because I'd wrapped my identity up tightly in all things Christianity and my church, that without it I felt hollow and very alone. At the same time, I knew I was nowhere near ready or interested to go back. Not just that church, any church. I tried once and while it was more accessible and realistic, I still felt uncomfortable. Since I started to let myself question, I wasn't sure what to say I believed anymore which suddenly made the world feel unsteady, too.
Over time it became a new normal and the sense of dread over whether I was missing something started to dissipate. Instead, I found so many facets of the Christian life I lived were with flaw that I couldn't fathom how I'd ever overlooked. It also became harder to reconcile the life I've lived so far, with where I am now and where I'm headed.
Writing this is a risk; a way to say aloud what I've been quietly turning over and over in my mind for over a year now. And it's not even finished – pulling apart several decades worth of layers and intricacies takes time. While some have fallen away like dust, others take prying and elbow grease and the right leverage.
The odd thing is, although it's been a challenging time and the things that brought me to deconstruct changed me, I am still me. Sure, I'm a little different me without church and without a formal life agenda, but I hope that I can be seen and respected for where I am. I hope I can be valued at more than a "lost soul" or a wandering sheep. The peace of mind I have is this: If indeed, God can influence me, surely he can do so without using a human's voice. So, it is to be seen.
Afterword: Although I share this publicly, I ask that you please refrain from digging or sending words laden with overt tone or undertone. I shared publicly in hopes of helping highlight that religion can be harmful and painful, even for those who were formerly a tight-knit part of it. There's no easy way to drop losing faith into conversation, so I wrote a blog instead.
