You are not alone in leaving or losing or questioning or deconstructing your faith

It feels like a secret I have to keep, this strange space I’m in right now with my faith. For the past 30 years, I followed – and considered myself a member of – mainstream Christianity. It was always easy to find a church that resonated with *most* of what I believed. I could drop into a bible study and *mostly* fit in with the other women there. I could sing the songs and pray the prayers and take notes on the sermon and feel part of a community. I could have deep conversations with friends and feel like we were on the same page – know that we were on the same page. Even if I wasn’t personally close to people in my church, there was a sense that we were bonded through our beliefs. When I talked about “God,” they understood. When they talked about “faith,” I understood. We lived the same language, we rallied around the same cause, we supported the same mission. I belonged.

Well, I don’t belong anymore.

At least not in the way I used to.

It started when I began voicing my doubts, questioning in a really deep, scary way that made people uncomfortable… and made ME uncomfortable. I remember that day like an earthquake, when the cracks between us shifted dramatically. The day when it became clear that my questions were too much for the others to handle. There were no easy answers, but I wasn’t looking for answers as much as I was just hoping someone else would say, “me too. I wonder that, too.” I stepped out into the void and held out my hand, desperately wanting someone else to go into the darkness with me.

Braving the wilderness is hard enough but, with faith, it can feel even more vulnerable because stepping out isn’t just stepping away; it calls into question your salvation, your identity, your soul… Your peers may say that you are “backsliding” or being “spiritually attacked.” You might get kicked out or excommunicated from your church. Your friends may no longer trust you because you are now “rejecting” or “quenching” the Holy Spirit that had linked you so intimately. People may outright avoid you because you represent what they fear and what they are trying so hard to defend against. And YOU can feel bad because you know that your questions are likely challenging your friends in ways that they really don’t want to be challenged. No wonder most of us keep our doubts to ourselves.

For me, once I expressed my thoughts amongst other Christians, the bridge had been crossed and I found myself standing in that expanse – knowing I couldn’t go back but also realizing that it was incredibly terrifying to keep walking into the unknown. I didn’t move for a long time. Months. Years. A decade. And when I finally did take another step, it strangely didn’t feel like walking, it felt like I was being pushed.

Shocked and confused at this sudden, unexpected spiritual confrontation, I became angry and stumbled headfirst into atheism – I pushed back.

I’ve been wrestled into agnosticism and now I’m not entirely sure where things fall. I am a spiritual person, I always have been. Faith is not something I can easily let go of and I trust that there is a way to surrender everything I believe and yet, somehow, still keep my spirit intact.

If you are on the edges right now looking into the black clouds of doubt, on the verge of stepping into the void, and desperately wanting someone to go with you, understand this:

You have to take that first step alone.

Depending on the circumstances that draw you into the wilderness, you may enter with joy and excitement, or fear and trepidation, or relief or resignation, or an indescribable sense of sadness. You may go in believing that there is simply no other option, or you may be thrilled that you finally found one. Each person’s experience is singular and important, and that is why it can also feel so, so, so lonely.

But I’m here.

And so are a lot of others.

We are wandering and constantly discovering that there are an overwhelming number of paths to take. The beauty of it all is the FREEDOM to finally be ourselves and welcome the questions that have plagued us for so long. The other amazing thing is that there are answers to be found. Despite the fears that churches and doctrines may have instilled in you, “God” REALLY IS big enough to handle whatever you can throw at it. Your understanding of “God” (and/or Jesus) might become radically different than how you were raised to see them, but there is a sustaining Divine Goodness and Truth that remains.

You may start alone, but you will not stay alone.

That is not to say that it still isn’t a lonely place. I think of Jesus with his disciples, hanging out with them all the time but still needing to retreat into prayer because only God could provide the deep communion his soul craved. I think that’s the point. The loneliness I am experiencing these days is driving me to seek God in a way that I have never done before. I am craving silence and stillness and introspection. I am craving spiritual understanding like a person dying of thirst. When the community around you doesn’t – or can’t – brave the wilderness with you, you are forced to look into the farthest-reaching depths of your soul and befriend what is there.

When you begin this journey of losing/leaving/questioning/deconstructing your faith, it’s important to recognize that letting go of everything doesn’t have to mean letting go of everything. We are spiritual beings. Don’t starve your soul completely. Becoming vegetarian doesn’t mean you stop eating altogether, you just discover a new way to feed and fuel your body. If you say goodbye to all your conservative/evangelical/fundamental beliefs, that’s fine. But know that there is a whole other big beautiful world of spirituality out there! There are other ways of filling and fueling your soul that have very little (or nothing at all) to do with mainstream Christianity. A good friend told me, “Deconstruct, but don’t forget to re-construct.” Like tearing down a house, I have taken my faith down to the bones; there is barely a frame left. I think I may have dug up some of the foundation, too. As I sor through the rubble, I see that the cornerstone is still there but what this next house will look like? I have no idea.

What I do know is that there will be more rooms, and a bigger, longer table. There will be an invitation that really truly goes out to all. There will be many windows and an open door. There will be wine and dancing but also lots and lots of silence.

If you are in this space, or are fearing this space, know that you are – but are not alone. We can be alone, and not alone, together.

You can take the first step, the scariest step, and know I am waiting for you.