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I joined christianity when I was 15. It was 2015 when an old book that was supposed to hold promises of freedom took advantage of a disadvantaged 15-year-old. I was 16, 17, and 18 when churches took my passion and defined it without my consent. I couldn’t stay a Christian, because I loved humanity more than god.

When I lost what greedy hands sculpted to be my identity, I was terrified. I was alone. The reason for my isolation was the conditioned shame and silence in our society.

“If you leave the faith, you will be alone.” “If you speak up, you will be shamed.”

Perhaps the fear was fed to them as well— but on silver spoons.  The leaders began to fear people that left the church, because those people knew the insides of the church and the red script in the Bible well enough to see the corruption. There is fear that those “backsliders” might shatter the beloved belief that keeps them in control.

I had to take the time to recollect my rightful place. I had to purposefully position myself back as creator of my own body, heart, mind, voice, words— as my own self. 

I have no obligation to hold onto shame and remain silent. I did not arrive at a death sentence. This is more of a reclaiming than a rebirth. I am reclaiming my voice in order to be alongside those who may be stuck in the same place I was.

I have left the pew,

but I still stand with my piece of the pulpit.

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