5 things no one tells you about losing your faith
When you’re entering into a time of doubting or deconstructing your faith, it is scary and uncomfortable, and it’s hard to know who you can talk to. A lot of times, you feel like you can’t talk to anyone about it. And because it’s only recently become a little more acceptable and common to discuss walking away from your faith, it can be hard to find information about what it’s like and what to expect, and what others have experienced who are going through the same thing. I’ve written about deconstruction quite a bit here, but I wanted to share 5 things that no one warned me about so maybe you can better understand what you are experiencing and know that you are not alone.
1. You may lose more than your faith. Last summer, I started to notice that I wasn’t writing as much. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but it started to feel really, really hard. Days, weeks, then months went by and I didn’t write anything. For someone whose life had centered around my personal writing practices, it felt like I had lost an outlet, a friend, a way to listen to myself… As I continued to struggle with this reality, the question snuck up that maybe I was being asked to give up my identity as a writer. Of all the beliefs and identities I’d let go of thus far, this felt like one of the most difficult to consider. If I wasn’t a writer, what was I? WHO was I? Writing was how I processed, how I prayed, how I understood myself and my world. Writing was as much a part of who I am as breathing. How could I let go of that??? After more than a year of reading about deconstruction and reading all sorts of books and podcasts, nothing had warned me that something like this might happen. Then one day, randomly, I stumbled upon a quote from someone that said something along the lines of “when you go through a dark night of the soul, all your familiar ways of experiencing God may disappear.” Boom. That’s what was happening to me. So, now, I’m offering you the warning I wish I’d had: don’t be surprised if all your familiar, usual ways of experiencing and engaging with God disappear – Prayer may seem impossible, writing could be lost, music could be paused, nature might seem uninspiring… It’s disconcerting, especially when you don’t understand what is going on. Well – now you do.
2. You may experience a sudden, strange desire to resurrect old dreams. When I was 27, I bought a guitar. I had every intention of practicing and learning to play. I dragged that guitar across the country multiple times and then a few years later, it sailed across the Pacific Ocean with us because I was sure that I would learn to play while we were on the boat. I never picked it up once. This last Christmas, I was struck with the idea that i should ask for guitar lessons as a gift. Since I’m the gift-giver, I immediately contacted a local teacher and began weekly lessons in January. At our 1st lesson, she asked me if I liked to sing. “Not very well! haha” I said. Then she asked if I liked to write songs. “Um… i’ve written poetry, but no I don’t write songs.” Then she asked what kind of music I liked to listen to. “I don’t really listen to music that much, actually…” Then she asked what kind of music or songs I wanted to learn to play. “I don’t know really… maybe like christmas carols?” FINALLY, hours later, it dawned on me that she was trying to understand WHY I WAS TAKING LESSONS. And the answer is: I really don’t know. It sounded fun? It was something I’d wanted to do for a long time? Believe me when I tell you that it does not make ANY sense for me to be playing the guitar, but I love it. I suck at it so much and, after 5 months, can barely play a few chords, but it is feeding my soul in a way that I cannot explain. So, if you find yourself inexplicably drawn to an old dream out-of-the-blue, just go with it. Don’t worry if it doesn’t make sense. For me, playing the guitar has allowed me a form of creative expression when my writing was lost to me. Guitar has been a source of comfort and deep peace for me despite my inability to play well and the fact that I’m not enjoying listening to music.
3. You may crave words, but your soul craves silence. When your questions get the best of you and you fall headlong into deconstruction, there is a natural tendency to want to fill up those places that are becoming uncomfortably empty as you let go of long held beliefs. You will likely start reading tons of books, desperately trying to understand where to go next. You’ll read different perspectives on the truth of the Bible, religion and social justice issues, church abuse, etc – books that affirm that your questioning is a GOOD thing. Rachel Held Evans, Peter Enns, Richard Rohr, N.T.Wright, Rob Bell, Brian McClaren, Nadia Bolz-Weber, Mike McHargue all will become familiar names to you. You’ll start listening to podcasts by people like The Deconstructionists, Contemplative Nomad, Almost Heretical, Phil Drysdale, etc. – podcasts that reassure you that you are not alone on this journey. Your ego is going to CRAVE words. As your former beliefs dissolve, you will cram them full with new ideas. But, your soul craves silence. Eventually a strange push/pull will develop inside of you. You will hit a point where you can no longer read another spiritual book or listen to another podcast. Everything will start to feel tired and maybe repetitive. Your friends will eagerly ask what you’re reading now and there will be a strange shame as you have to tell them that you’re in between books… when really, you just feel kind of done. You’ll feel a discomfort as you are torn between “I need to know!” vs. “I need to rest.”
Our desire for comfort and the security of settling on a new worldview wants to push us to keep seeking, but our soul knows that meaning and understanding is found in stillness. So, it’s OK if you cannot read all the books anymore or listen to every podcast. It’s OK if you take a break from social media or music or social justice teachings. This is NOT a sign that you are apathetic or less than or giving up or complicit or lazy. It’s a sign that you are listening to the deepest part of yourself. “Silence is God’s first language” and it is in the silence of a quiet commute or walk that your soul will learn to breathe again.
4. Death will take on a new meaning. People naturally fear death as it’s the ending of our physical selves. But, up until deconstruction, many of us may not have experienced the death of a carefully-crafted identity. Losing our identity as a solid, devout, Bible-believing, Jesus-worshipping, church-attending, fellowshipping, potlucking Christian is a death of a new kind. Leaving that faith behind can mean loss of community, friends, family, jobs… the music you loved, the rituals you treasured, the holidays that warmed your heart with their traditions. We used to think that physical death sounded scary, but nothing prepared us for how a total shattering of our worldview could feel so much like dying.
5. Mystery may replace Certainty as your source of hope and comfort. As Christians, our hope is in our certainty; It is our security that our right beliefs and right understanding guarantee us the favor and love and guidance and peace of God. Deconstructing your faith necessarily means letting go of that certainty and accepting that the foundations we had built our lives on are nothing but shifting sand. For a while (potentially a very long while), we struggle with where our hope is to be found. There can be a strange feeling of surrender, resignation, that maybe there is no hope. It’s awful, terrifying, and heart-wrenching to believe that this is it, there is no hope of anything else. For those of us who had idolized hope for decades, the acceptance of no hope feels like losing our very best friend and all the possibilities and comfort we had ever dreamed of. But, as you go deeper, as you grieve these losses, as the dust of your initial deconstruction begins to settle, there is a sense of mystery that is revealed. Instead of questions feeling so uncomfortable, they become familiar. Instead of doubt feeling like an enemy, it starts to feel like a friend. Instead of certainty feeling like a rock of protection, it begins to feel like a web that you are desperate to disentangle from. You begin to sense that the freedom is in the mystery. It’s confusing to admit that you now find hope and comfort in this strange nothingness you can’t explain, but in your soul, there is a peace you can’t deny.
The “dark night of the soul” will be a different experience for each of us, but if you have been or are experiencing any of these 5 things, know that you are not alone! We are in this wilderness together.
