My story of deconstruction: The first thing
November 2019: I was sitting in McDonald’s working on my book about finding freedom from the shame of abortion. My Bible was on the table, open to Leviticus with a bookmark in Hebrews. I had pens and a notepad on the other side and my laptop open to Scrivener (writing software). As I read about Aaron’s clothing, the symbolism of it as it applied to Jesus our High Priest was making my heart pound excitedly. I could feel my face flush as I began typing away about all the connections I was seeing in scripture. It felt thrilling and revolutionary. I knew I wasn’t the first person to see the symbolism, but it felt new to me and I prayed it would feel fresh and vibrant to my future readers. Leaning farther forward, I started reading closely through the chapter again to see if it all made sense. I took a sip of my diet coke and, as I put it down, I heard a voice say, “Is all of this true?” I looked around, then heard it again. “Is everything you’re writing true?” I sat back in my seat, the questions echoing inside my head.
My breath stopped for a second. I felt frozen. My fight or flight reaction immediately kicked in. Like when you’re in a bad dream and you become paralyzed with fear and can’t move. Later, I recalled it as how Nathaniel must have felt whenever Jesus said, “I saw you under the fig tree…” Goodness knows what Nate had been doing there, but I can imagine his terror and thrill when Jesus called him out and said, “See, I know exactly who you are.”
My first response was to stop. I could not move forward. I sat there for another five or ten minutes, pondering the words and wondering who or what had said them. Honestly, I thought it was Satan. I thought it was a spiritual attack. (Turns out, it was, but it came from the most unexpected place.) I felt like I was being watched. I couldn’t write another word with this invisible presence hanging over my shoulder, whispering out loud my own thoughts. I gathered up my things and left.
The worst part of it was that I felt like a fraud-found-out. Because the truth was that I had been writing this book with doubts floating around in the back of my mind the whole time. The challenge I had given myself was to write the entire book without using the word “sin” and without defining exactly what category abortion fell into. I didn’t want women who’d had one to feel additional condemnation in my words, and neither did I want to give anyone a keen insight into how *I* felt about my own experience. And, I didn’t really know what I thought. Was it a sin or not? Saying yes seemed like a cop-out and disturbingly dismissive of the genuine trauma of finding oneself suddenly pregnant. But to say no felt too… all-encompassing, too black and white. Like saying, “no it’s not a sin” suggested all of these other things that I didn’t actually believe – like life doesn’t matter, embryos are worthless, abortion should be the ideal, etc. So I was writing a book all about God’s forgiveness and freedom while trying to walk a line that maybe there wasn’t anything there to actually need forgiveness for. I knew, too intimately, what I was writing about, and yet, I doubted everything I was saying.
I walked away from McDonalds confused and, then, angry. Furious. At myself! Was I really going to let some stupid demon or whatever it was stop me from achieving my life goal of writing a book?!?!!? This was my dream! This is what I’d been wanting to do since I was 5! And, at 40, I finally felt like I had something to say! And this was it??!?? But I couldn’t bring myself to go back and start again. It felt like a physical block between me and the writing, an obstacle I simply couldn’t get over.
In grief, (and faith deconstruction?) the first stage is usually denial. You don’t want to face your doubts. You might pretend like they’re not there. You might try to “lean into them” but you know, in your soul, that you’re not really going as far as you might need to go. You’re acknowledging them, sure, but you’re not really giving into them and trusting that your faith will sustain you. Because that’s the biggest fear – that your faith is all a lie. And if you really do go out and explore your doubts, you will discover that your whole life, your whole IDENTITY – the very core of who you are – is all built on a lie, and, for most of us, that is a fate worse than death.
So, the first thing for me was to stop and actually allow the question, “Is it all true?” Then, consider that it’s not.
