To That Sweet Girl Who Would Hate Me

Sometimes I ponder what the girl whom I was would think of the woman I’ve become.

She wouldn’t like her. This woman is proud, outspoken, opinionated, sexy, educated, feminist, liberal and very, very atheist. She loves science and philosophy and her spirituality is downright witchy.

Yes, to the Protestant preteen I once was, I’d be pretty detestable and headed straight for Hell.

The girl on the pew would like to pull me back under that pulpit, shove that hammer back in my hand, heap original sin back on my back. She’d cover my skin and silence my voice. She’d say higher education is a tool of the devil and burn my Master’s, say God’s my Master.

Oh, sweet girl.

You were just four or five when you learned to pronounce “brimstone” and fear the end of the world.

Sweet child, just eight or nine, reading Bible stories about incest, whores, and girls bought and sold. But cover my legs so I don’t tempt a man; but stay a virgin because actual demons are transmitted during sex.

It’s got a name too: purity culture. It preys on my gender in just about every organized religion. Reduces our worth to the state of our hymen.

When I read that survivors of purity culture report psychological problems like decreased sense of worth and difficulty with relationships, I realized my trauma had affected me in myriad ways.

I left the church at age 23. I often say it was one of the best decisions I ever made for my life.

It was also the hardest thing I’ve ever been through.

I didn’t mean to lose my faith. I was just so curious! I tried to keep the faith. Reconcile it with the science I was learning somehow. But reading biblical scholars on the history of the religion put the nail in that coffin for me.

The churches I grew up in, and the televangelists on my parents big console TV, preached a brand of faith that was very fear-based. Losing faith was the worst thing you could do, because belief was required for a ticket to Heaven.

So even after I became completely convinced that the narrative I’d been fed was a farce, fear lingered.

It still lingers. No part of me assumes it is fear for my eternal soul. It is a generalized anxiety disorder that has manifested in my brain.

When I started learning about religious trauma I felt so much relief to put a finger on the pulse of that demon. That hypervigilance is a common symptom of religious trauma.

I’m often ashamed and guilty for ridiculous reasons. I think everyone hates me. I isolate. I still don’t sleep. That’s trauma. I was not given tools for healthy emotional regulation in youth, told my unpleasant emotions weren’t part of growing up, but my own shameful sin.

How do you explain that religion (even mainstream Protestant religion) can cause trauma to a person who hasn’t lived it? How do you explain to a person outside of the church, or even a member of the church who responds that “God is Love” and “What Bible are YOU reading?”

I learned early on that some people survive indoctrination better. Some survive it so well they stick with it and pass it down. I don’t begrudge them sticking with it, but I wish they would pass it down as an option, and I don’t mean with eternal damnation being the only other alternative.

No preschooler need repent for her soul.

Sweet girl.

Don’t be scared; I did this for us. Sure, I miss Jesus sometimes, but God? No, we were given a version of him that was pretty hard to love huh, sweetie? Unfortunately I let that set a precedent for me and still have yet to find a genuine love in a man.

But I’m not unhappy, honey. I’m not scared anymore. I have been through some incredibly tough times, and I only had faith in myself. I’m proud of myself. Pride feels good and I deserve it. I work hard. My values aren’t handed to me by a church. I follow my heart. And you know what? It leads us down a good path!

You are going to grow up and write books! You are going to be part of a noble fight for marginalized people. You will endure tragedy, overcome and inspire. You will teach others how to find peace. Your soul will go to the good place: stardust scattered out in space.

I remember reading Marlene Winell, author of LEAVING THE FOLD founder of Journey Free, an organization dedicated to helping people deconstruct from toxic faith. She coined the term “Religious Trauma Syndrome”.

Just reading those words was such a validating experience.

This is what I have. This is why I’m so anxious. This is why I hate myself.

Winnel compared Religious Trauma Syndrome to a combination of PTSD and Complex PTSD (C-PTSD). She addressed the challenges of leaving the fold and navigating relationships with loving family members who just want to save your soul. She spoke to the incredible journey toward self-love.

And I cried. I was seen.

Indoctrination hurt me. But now I could heal.

Part of my healing involved embracing alternative paths to peace. I began to entertain some concepts within Buddhism: gratitude, acceptance, altruism: ideas that surely weren’t adverse to Christian values but sat similarly right in my heart without forcing me to adopt a lot of dogma with that ideology.

I also became drawn to Stoic philosophy, for its simple tools for achieving mental fortitude and ideas about living a virtuous life.

Therapy has also helped me to identify parts of my psyche affected by my indoctrination, and work on unlearning ideas and behaviors that die slow and hard after fundamentalist upbringing.

I’m free. Free to think critically, doubt, learn, unlearn. I have autonomy over my body, pride in my work. I work through my anxiety and I know the worst fears are behind me. There’s peace in my present and there’s peace ahead.

Some people find it where I didn’t and I don’t begrudge them that. But this one is mine. Ours. Someday that sweet girl will understand.