#ex protestant

It's been almost ten years since I stopped calling myself a christian, but only about five since I could stop going to church. I've come a long way, I've been through all the different stages of an angry atheist. I often like to think that that is behind me, that I've processed my religious trauma, I don't have the need to tell everyone about it and think about it constantly like I did in my teen years. I've made my peace with it. That's what I keep telling myself at least.

Even if it feels scary or wrong, your life is ultimately going to be better for it. They made you afraid of practicing your free will because they want to keep controlling you. 

But they can't touch you now. 

You're free. You belong only to yourself. You can rest now. 

ON STARING AT THE SUN AND BEING BLINDED BEFORE YOU CAN SEE ANYTHING OF CLARITY // ON RELIGION

God is an explanation to what we don't know, yet, what explains God? Is it the gentle touch of someones skin on mine? Is it the harsh flames that surround me? The crown of thorns on my head?

5/22/23

There's thing thing christians sometimes do, called "testimonies." Most of my memories of testimonies involve dudes with tattoos getting up in front of the congregation and saying something like, "I spent the last ten years in prison, and while I was there, I found jesus!" And then all the people say, "praise be" or "amen" or some such nonsense. Then the dude expounds on his story about how he did all these terrible things, but when he was born again, he felt the chains of sin fall away from him and he became "free indeed." 

(Side note, "Free indeed" is evangelical rhetoric/gaslighting designed to counter the realization that religion actually binds you.)

These testimonies weren't always from dudes with tattoos. Technically, everybody had a testimony. The formula was this: 

All the bad stuff you did —> your encounter with jesus and/or being born again — > how it changed you — > freedom

For example, "I used to be selfish but then I became born again and gave all of my self to christ and now I am free!" 

Or, "I used to be bound by the shackles of lust! Then jesus cleansed me of my sins and I was born again. I no longer feel constrained by my sinful desires. It's like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders!" 

Literally anything that counts as a "sin" works. Even if you were young, like I was, and hadn't experienced much in the way of deliberate sinfulness, you could simply swap out a specific sin with "sinful nature" or "sinful desires." 

"I was born sinful but then learned about jesus, accepted him into my heart, and now I know I don't have to give in to sin and am free in christ."

BAM: Testimony!

The proclamation of freedom at the end of a testimony has stuck with me.

There were tons of ways people described it, always very visceral and visual. Shackles breaking. A weight lifted from their shoulders. As if everything had been in darkness and now they could see the light. As if they had been limited or bound or contained in some way, but now they were released. Imprisoned, trapped, captive. And then freed.

I had this vision in my head of atheists walking around with a ball and chain hooked to each leg. With metaphorical backpacks that weighed hundreds of pounds making it impossible to keep their spines up straight. With black, slimy tendrils of sin licking around their bodies, pulling them into a quicksand of sin.

I could hardly imagine how non-christians slept at night. How did they not see the black cloud that followed them everywhere they went? Did they not imagine life could be better? 

Honestly, this intense visual is one of the reasons I stayed christian as long as I did. I didn't want to become like that. I didn't want life to be heavy. I didn't want to bear the weight of my sins—not when jesus had offered to do it for me. 

But eventually, the weight of my doubt grew heavier than the weight of my sins. After all, I'd spent my entire life trying to be as perfect as possible. Not to mention, jesus had supposedly cleansed me. 

So why did everything feel so heavy?

When I finally had the courage to Exit christianity, officially and for real, something crazy happened. You'll never believe it. 

I felt free.

It was like a metaphorical weight had been lifted. Like I'd been walking around with a ball and chain hooked to each leg—but now they were gone! Like I shed that metaphorical backpack that made it impossible for me to keep my spine straight. Like the black, slimy tendrils of christianity licking around my body and dragging me into the quicksand of religion had been utterly, irrevocably banished. 

The black cloud—gone! Only a blue sky above. 

Never had I ever imagined that life, existence, self could feel so light.

christians imagine that that sense of freedom comes from jesus. That the lightness comes from having your sins "forgiven." From choosing to live your life for god and walk on that dusty road to heaven, instead of the glittery road to hell.

But the truth is, that sense of freedom and lightness comes only in making the choice.  And which choice doesn't really matter. It's just that you made the right one for you.

It's about looking your own darkness in the face and saying, "No. I reject you."

Sometimes that darkness takes the form of the "sins" we've committed or the harm we've caused. Sometimes it's our guilt. Sometimes it might be mental illness. Or the trauma of past experiences. 

And sometimes, it's christianity.

Usually, Clay is the one in control, beating his son before teaching him a horrible lesson. And Orel used to respect him then.

But now Orel just looks at his father unimpressed, and Clay is at a loss for words because he knows he no longer has power over his son.

And when I think about that moment, I'm reminded of my own relationship with my father.

He's not completely powerless as yet, but I think he knows he's losing his grip, and he's trying too hard to maintain control.

But at the same time, he's getting old, and because he's too prideful to take care of himself, his age is catching up to him.

He is losing his hearing, his sight, and is willfully becoming dependent on us doing things he could easily do on his own. Not to mention, he is acting more immature, probably thanks to being enabled by people who use him or pastors who could've been manosphare podcasters if they weren't involved with the church.

I've lost a lot of respect for him as I get older and realize how toxic he is. And with how he acts up, even people outside of our household are losing respect for him.

If mom ever brings up the possibility of leaving him again, this time, I'll encourage it and leave with her. We'd all be doing much better without him.

Oh Lord, you know

I have no friend like you

If heaven’s not my home

Then Lord, what will I do?