Tl:dr I’ve come to a new phase where I’m just apathetic a bit if God of the Bible is real. I still believe and consider myself a Christian, but I’m really open to the idea it could not be real. And I don’t really care either way?

Background: raised religious in a high control, abusive setting. Joined a high control religious church at 12 that was conservative. Left and joined a Christian church with “cult” (don’t sue me plz) vibes in my 20s that was more new age in nature. Left at 30 and spent the last year figuring shit out and building a new community not based on religion or ideology.

I’ve deconstructed. I’ve reconstructed. I’ve deconstructed some more. Now I’m just kinda of…whatever? I like the Bible as a book but read it more as a fable or ancient text that isn’t the word for word word of God. But just like, people writing their experiences and trying to record histories. I do believe more in the Gospels as more accurate for a lot of reasons.

So I call myself a Christian. I believe in the Gospels being fairly literal. But I’m also open to the idea it’s not real and I might be believing something made up. And it doesn’t terrify me? It’s just like “uh yea there could be no God 🤷, and I like to believe Jesus is legit.”

This low stakes form of engaging with faith is new for me. I’m used to being in a breakdown deconstructing. OR be ALL in trying to reconstruct. Now I’m just like, either way is fine what the reality is…I just like to believe in the God of the Gospels.

Wondering if anyone else has had this low stakes experience with faith? And also maybe give hope that if you are in the throes of leaving high control religion, one day it might feel less high stakes. And it’s weird. But cool? But also a voice in the back of my soul saying “you are doing something bad by feeling this way!”

The writers at focus would love for viewers to believe John Avery Whittaker is this shining example of what humanity should strive to become but there are many moments throughout the show that prove he's the opposite, a flawed human like the rest of us. But what makes this guy tick? Well, Whit is a prime example of how the cycle of abuse continues. This is not to excuse any of Whit's problematic behavior in the slightest, it's simply a scientific dive into a character ruled by control. In the infamous episode A Member of the Family, we see that Whit has anger management issues and an inability to keep his hands to himself. The writers want us to think 9 year old Monty is the bratty one, and to a degree he is, but Monty's not the one blowing up at people over brownies, shutting down basic questions and hitting others when he doesn't get what he wants. We see that under pressure, Whit is unable to control his big emotions like an adult and instead resorts to screaming and hitting...much like a kid even younger than Monty. This tells us that Whit was never taught to get to the root of his emotions but instead, forced to suppress them. Someone with healthy self actualization would know to stay calm and composed when the child in their care is acting up, to diffuse the fire while setting boundaries and using clear communication, not screaming and hitting. Imagine if I hit a stranger every time they were rude to me, I'd go to jail right? So why is it ok when it's a child? It's not! Whit's behavior also tells us that he was not taught to keep his hands to himself, his parents absolutely have struck him and instead of recognizing that hitting is wrong, he suppressed his pain and went along with his parents out of fear, and craving that power for himself. We also learn in this episode that Whit has a pride problem. He can never admit he's wrong, even when his estranged daughter lays it out right in front of him. Whit is the kind of abuse victim that tries so hard to emulate his parents, out of fear of physical punishment or mental disapproval, a behavior that can last long after the victims abuser has passed away. Whits pride chokes him in this episode but because this is focus on the family, he never swallows it, never realizes that he was a victim and kept the cycle going with his daughter and grandson. The lack of accountability on Whits end is exactly how Christian abuse continues. Whit's parents were too proud to admit their abusive behavior so...it continues with Whit. The cycle goes on. But perhaps most disturbingly heartbreaking in a sense is the psychology around Whits personal guilt. In this episode, Whit shares a story with Monty about a boy who let his dog run offleash while the dog ran into the road and got hit by a truck. I highly doubt Whit made this story up. Whit never tells Monty that he was the boy with the dog, but why? Perhaps this dog was a gift from Whit's parents, and little Whit adored this dog more than anything because the dog never judged him. When this dog got hit by the truck, I guarantee this is what happened knowing evangelical culture. Whit was likely shamed by his parents instead of consoled and comforted. They likely used God as a scare tactic to hammer home the idea that Whit is a horrible dog owner and should feel every ounce of shame and sadness, struck him with some sort of object and convinced him he deserved to lose his dog and be struck by the object. A good parent would comfort their child after the trauma of seeing their beloved pet die, not hurt them and rub salt into the wound. Should Whit have kept the dog leashed? Absolutely, but when a child experiences a trauma like that, there should be kindness, comfort and gentle lecturing. Whit probably never processed this trauma properly but instead was told to hide his feelings by his controlling parents and in turn, can never admit that he feels horribly guilty about the trauma. Instead, Whit uses this story as an excuse for why hitting Monty is somehow ok, it isn't, but this is the abuse cycle in action. At the end of the episode, Monty reveals that the spanking did not work, instead it left Monty traumatized, so he suppressed himself the same way Whit did through the week in Odyssey, masking in order to survive by being the Americanized baseball loving robot Whit wanted him to be instead of the atypical movie and art fan he really is. When Janna arrives to take Monty home, Monty reacts by running away and vandalizing a window at whit's end, he can't mask anymore, he's traumatized and angry, as much as the writers of this episode want us to think otherwise, hitting Monty didn't make him a better person at all, it scared him into being a robotic drone, it's no wonder Janna pleads "what did you do to my son?" She knows this baseball loving robotic behavior is not who Monty is, Whit did something to force him to mask. I don't know if this is subconscious guilty conscience on the writers part but the thing that makes Monty a better person in this episode is not Whit, it's his mother firmly setting a boundary that he must repair the window and save up for the cost in a clear, but non cruel way, no hitting needed. Whit is constantly at odds with Janna throughout the series but that's because Janna's big enough to break the cycle Whit was continuing. You either are big enough to stop the cycle or you aren't. Evangelical Christianity fuels that cycle.

tldr: trying to deconstruct from Christianity/ confront religious trauma and wondering how to do so while still being financially dependent on/ around very religious parents.

hi! some context about me: grew up in an evangelical household, and as I’ve grown older, I began questioning a lot of what I was told (about LGBTQ people, purity culture, some contradictions) and recently (around a month ago) Ive decided to try and take a step back from Christianity.

part of this was inspired by the way my parents reacted when I started seriously dating a boy who was not Christian in the start of college. They expressed not only their disapproval, but Gods as well, straight up telling me I was a bad Christian or going against Gods word. so, even though I didn’t think that God was against me for dating him, it was really hard to have to almost constantly hear that, and would constantly be afraid that God hated me and that I was going to hell. I broke up with him after over a year and a half of dating because of my parents and what they were saying, as it became just a lot of anxiety and fear and shame over it all. it’s something that I’m really sad about because he was a great boyfriend, but I just don’t think I can be with him while I have all this inner turmoil around us being together.

And then it made me realize that if I don’t figure out a healthy way to engage with religion (or not at all) and a healthy way to exist with my parents without the crippling shame or anxiety if I’m doing something I think they’d not approve of, my life will be one lived where I don’t feel comfortable doing the things I want to do and will be one spent living for others’ approval. it’s also made me realize how a lot of fundamental teachings like us inherently being born sinners has contributed the way I view myself, and has allowed me to be super hard on myself for not being perfect or always doing the right thing.

I guess I’m asking for advice on how to move forward and deconstruct and work through a lot of the things I was taught from a young age, and also how to do all that while still being largely financially dependent on my parents and unable to cut them off (if I wanted to), as they’re currently paying for my education and such. what has worked for people who have families who are very religious still? And how do I start feeling comfortable living my life and making choices that might not be aligned with my parents and their version of God?

Lighthearted trigger warning for my VeggieTales brethren (safe to assume 98 percent of us in this subreddit).

A non-exvangelical (she grew up ~secular~) friend texted me this and I saw it at 2 in the morning (didn’t respond until next day hence the time stamp). Exactly what my text said. I. Cackled. Then felt guilty. Then cackled again at my guilt.

(Totally understandable if you remove this mods, it is kind of unhinged meme. Don’t be mad at me lol)

Did any of you witness domestic violence in your household

I'm just so tired and exhausted and my heart hurts everyday. I don't remember the last time I was happy. Everything feels so dull all the time. I am attracted to men and I feel fundamentally disordered and disgusting and biologically useless. I spend hours obsessing over how I’m going to be eternally tormented in hell after I die.

Tonight I went through a thread on a religious subreddit and all Christians were saying that said even if you never act on it, just having the desire inside you is inherently sinful and dishonorable. What the fuck do they even want from me. What do they want me to do. What is the solution? Fucking kill myself? I feel so angry at myself and at everyone. I feel like I deserve to get killed or die. I'm 19 and I can't imagine living to my 70s. I feel disgusting but the word disgusting barely even scratches the surface of how I feel about myself. I physically recoil at how gravely depraved I am. I feel sick in the head and diseased and I desperately want a cure.

I know people say that nature is diverse, that same sex behavior exists throughout the animal kingdom and that it's therefore normal, but are they really "gay" when they will mate with the opposite sex whenever the opportunity arises? We are the only species with an exclusive same sex attraction. I feel like both sides are lying to me. I would much rather die than live like this. I am too scared to do anything because I'm terrified I will wake up in hell and burn endlessly while the people who say these things to me and make my life like this will be in heaven. I didn't do anything to anybody. I don't understand what I'm doing wrong by just existing. Am I really worse than a rapist or a pedophile? Am I really worse than or the same as a pedophile because my attraction falls into atypical attractions?

I don't even have Instagram or use YouTube anymore because every time I see something about religion, any religion, I start shaking and thinking about it for hours. I think about hell to the point where I can't focus on anything else. I'll wake up at 9 am and before I know it, it's 5 pm and I've spent the entire day desperately trying to convince myself that I won't go to hell or hoping that it's not real. I would much rather die because I know what awaits me than keep living like this. I have an intrinsic moral evil. I thought I could avoid hell by staying celibate until I die but apparently I'm not even safe like that. I see no point in living anymore. My dad is abusive, we're struggling financially, I'm inherently destined to hell and I don't have any close friends I regularly talk to. I don't feel like I am deserving of love. I don't feel like I deserve anything good at all. I feel like I deserve to be harmed. I don't see the point of anything anymore

I guess this is kind of an AITA post? I just also wanted to share and see if I seemed insane for answering this way.

Backstory: grew up in a nondenominational church (USA) with about 3k members. Was a Bible thumper, was hired as middle school pastor and kids director, took it VERY seriously, did everything right as a dutiful Christian girl, voted republican, got burned out, became an alcoholic for 3 years, got sober (4 years), met my atheist husband, navigated church hurt and deconstruction, now unchurched and still clinging to aspects of faith and have lots of doubts and questions. Started reeducating myself on history and politics and have flipped on nearly issue and very distraught at evangelicals in the US. ANYways..

So I'm a server (29F) at a restaurant and had a great time serving two couples in their 50-60's on a double date. They were very pleasant, no issues, the two gentlemen got into a convo with me about my husband who was in the army and now a police officer, and they really wanted me to tell him that they are so very thankful for his service. Told them I'm going into teaching. Anyways, felt like a great interaction.

Then when I dropped their receipt off, all four asked me how they could pray for me. I felt really on the spot and immediately felt like an "outsider". It really made me see how patronizing it is now as an unchurched person. Well since I didn't have a canned answer ready, I told them how I really felt.

I said something along the lines of "well at the moment I'm a bit spiritually homeless. It has been very difficult for me to be part of a church community when many there support what's going on in our country and doing so using Jesus name to hurt others.."

Silence

then I said they could pray for reconciliation because my parents have a hard time accepting my atheist husband and that he is my husband and will always choose him exactly how he is

Silence

Then I said sorry for oversharing, they said "oh yeah we just love Jesus so we wanted to ask to pray for you" and I said "oh yeah, I love Jesus and his teachings as well" and told them to have a wonderful evening and thanks for coming in. It was busy so I had to cut it off a bit.

Anyways it just made me feel weird and icky and also felt like I overstepped. But I mean they asked!! Idk in these moments I feel like my nervous system immediately responds to making sure I am a kind and pleasant Christian so any seemingly verbal conflict like that made me feel like a bad and difficult person. It's hard to tell now since deconstructing whether I'm being an ass, or just sticking to my guns.

Thanks for listening this far, I guess I just had to get that off my chest lol

I posted about a week ago that my friend had called me over the weekend and it was odd because we haven’t spoken in a few years. he is also technically an exvangelical and we bonded over that but he went the way of the trad catholic. I became Catholic as well after he and I had several debates and eventually between him and a few other people I was convinced.

recently I left the church altogether because I realized I just didn’t believe it and I was only there because I was afraid of people giving me crap for it. I didn’t tell anyone except my best friend but I figured people would notice I wasn’t there and possibly discuss. anyway i thought maybe that’s why my friend wanted to catch up, or he just actually wanted to chat. but that didn’t really seemed like it was the case given the circumstances

and wouldn’t you know, I wait a few days (had a busy weekend lol) and sent him a message. he told me that he wanted to ask if I’d support him in mission work either and asked if I’d meet him to talk about it. long explanation short I did agree to meet him. I know for these types of things they have to ask a bunch of people, whether they’re willing to help or not. and it does seem like maybe he does just want an excuse to catch up.

it might up being a little awkward but whatever, o have to face my fear eventually I suppose. and I guess I confirmed my suspicion that there was a string attached there…

You might find that he is helpful on your journey. If not, feel free to move along. He has been so helpful to me, however, and so I wanted to share!

I don’t mean to offend anyone or hurt anyone or bring up bad memories. I’m just interested in talking to others who have done this, if that’s okay? Is this the right place?

I basically grew up going to that sort of church. Church attendance was hit or miss as a kid but became regular when my mom converted when I was in like 4th or 5th grade. Those lessons really messed me up, and home life wasn’t ideal either to say the least.

I want to ask…for those who are still Christian’s, how do you navigate being a Christian and reading your Bible and even your own opinions on this or that when you have been told that x is the only correct answer for a given topic?

I’m at a point where I believe the bible is written by humans about each author’s journey to understand and know God. Especially the New Testament. The Old Testament was written by and for the Jewish people, so I think it should first be understood through that lens. As their history and culture and journey and faith. I don’t believe the bible is the inerrant, literal, perfect word of God. I don’t believe in the creation story or much of the beginnings of Genesis period.

Most controversially, I believe that everyone will be saved. Christian Universalism. I don’t believe that a mere human like me would be more loving than God. I wouldn’t want someone tortured forever so why would God? Doesn’t make sense to me and it also causes me lots of mental suffering believing that. Like no wonder I was such a depressed kid who hated herself. Even at church I was being told I wasn’t good enough, and worse.

Please, if this is the wrong place let me know. I don’t mean to hurt anyone. I’m just having trouble reading my Bible and trying to relearn how God actually sees me if the church I grew up in was wrong about a lot of things. Which they were. There’s dramatic if brief stories I could tell but this isn’t the place/time.

Fundy mother in-law refuses to use new masculine name for trans grandchild. Even after a whole year. Even after every other family member has made a real effort to use the new name.

MIL still tries to stay in though though, which is nice, I guess.

So the young one had a birthday recently.

MIL called to congratulate, and started singing the birthday song. But she hadn't thought things through, as she got to the part with "Happy birthday dear _____"

The most embarrassing moment to date transpired: "happy birthday dear eh..bla bla something something"

As a dad, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

It all happened on speaker, so we all heard it, and she knew we did. It was like nails on the blackboard.

You gotta feel sorry for those fundies.

They have no clue what this is all about.

Recently deconstructed ex-evangelical. I've been exploring all the bad beliefs that were forced upon me, especially around sex, dating, marriage, etc.

I'm looking to build a useful and healthy sexual ethic and want some advice.

A lot of the books that people suggest are either targeted towards women and have this baseline belief that male desire/men are bad/evil. Obviously, as a man, this is not very attractive.

A lot of secular books on the topic from the male perspective are more about how to get girls, not really what to do if you already have an abundance of options.

A lot of my own frustration with the topic comes from the fact that a lot of secular ethics still has purity culture and Judeo-Christian values baked in them.

Books I've read so far on this general topic:

• The Game
• Models
• No More Mr. Nice Guy (reading)
• Recovering from Purity Culture (horrible garage book)

AIBU to feel like I've finally reached breaking point?

I'm an only child.

Earlier this year my Mom fell at home and fractured her shoulder. She spent several weeks in hospital before coming home with a package of care. Since then, either my husband or I have stayed with her every single night. We have a seven-year-old son with additional needs, jobs, our own home, and I don't drive.

I'm also late diagnosed AuDHD, have CPTSD, and am working through religious trauma. Life hasn't been easy for me either, but I've always put my mom first. We've done everything we possibly could because we love her, even when we've had very little left ourselves.

Behind the scenes we've spent months advocating for services, speaking to professionals, arranging carers, installing CCTV (with her knowledge), sorting medication, buying equipment, organising appointments and trying to make sure she has everything she needs to stay safe.

Nobody sees any of that.

The biggest issue is that she repeatedly gets out of bed to toilet herself, whether we're there or not. She's fallen twice since coming home. We recently discovered she'd been hiding her furosemide because she doesn't like how much it makes her urinate. She also refuses to do her shoulder rehabilitation, pelvic floor or leg exercises. She has mental capacity, so ultimately they're her decisions to make, but watching someone repeatedly choose not to engage with things that could help them is heartbreaking.

My mom is a woman of deep Christian faith, and I respect her right to believe what she believes. But I often feel she's waiting for God to heal her rather than engaging with the treatments and rehabilitation available to her. When something good happens it's described as a miracle or an answer to prayer.

What hurts is that, from my perspective, many of those "miracles" have actually been the result of months of work by my husband and me behind the scenes.

But what has really broken me isn't even the caring.

It's what I've realised about our relationship.

My mom has always been my world.

I'm slowly realising that I don't think I've ever been hers.

One of the hardest things I've realised is how little emotional support I've ever really received from her. Looking back, I can't remember many times when I simply felt heard, comforted or accepted for who I was. Instead, whenever I struggled, I was often told I needed to try harder, pray harder, read my Bible more, surrender my life to God properly, or that God was trying to teach me something.

During some of the darkest periods of my life, when I desperately needed my mom, I was told that perhaps I needed to "hit rock bottom." The truth is, I have. More than once. I cried out to a God I no longer believe in because I was so desperate for someone to hear me. Looking back now, I don't think I needed more doctrine. I needed my mom.

Since my AuDHD diagnosis, I've become even more aware of how often I felt judged rather than understood. I know some of her church friends pray for my "deliverance". I know they believe they're doing something loving, but what I've needed all my life wasn't deliverance. It was acceptance.

Something else has shaken me deeply.

I was brought up believing honesty mattered above almost everything else. Yet over the last few months I've discovered that my mom sometimes tells completely different versions of events to different people. She'll tell us one thing and tell her friends something entirely different.

For example, she's implied to people that we don't feed her. Of course we feed her. What she really means is that I don't spend hours in the kitchen cooking homemade meals every day. I live miles away, I don't drive, I work, I'm raising a child with additional needs, and I'm managing my own disabilities. We make sure she has food, meals and everything she needs, but hearing people believe we're somehow neglecting her has been incredibly painful.

She also has what feels to me like a very selective memory. We have conversations that later seem to disappear completely or are remembered very differently. I don't know whether it's age, stress or something else, but it often leaves me doubting myself and wondering if I'm losing my mind.

What also hurts is that she never tells her church friends about the practical reality of what my husband and I do. They don't hear about the overnight stays, the advocacy, the endless phone calls, the appointments, the medication, the paperwork or the emotional toll.

Their relationship with her is light and easy. They chat, encourage her and go home.

I'm the one who hears every worry, every complaint and every fear.

I'm the one carrying the emotional weight.

I feel like I've been expected to carry her sadness while she shields everyone else from it. I don't begrudge her having supportive friends, but sometimes I wish they knew the whole picture before telling us what we should do.

Some have suggested we should "just put her in a care home." If only it were that simple. There are significant legal and financial complications surrounding her property following a DWP investigation into her benefits and assets, which makes decisions about residential care far more complicated than people realise.

The hardest lesson I've had to learn is that I can't save someone from choices they have the right to make.

I can't make her take her medication.

I can't make her do her exercises.

I can't make her ask for help before she stands up.

I can't make her choose rehabilitation over waiting for a miracle.

And I can't keep sacrificing my own family, my marriage, my son and my mental health trying to carry something that was never mine to carry alone.

I've realised that I'm not just grieving my mom's health.

I'm grieving the relationship I always hoped we'd have.

I love her more than I can put into words, and that's what makes this so painful.

Am I being unreasonable for feeling hurt, resentful, invisible and completely exhausted? Or has anyone else reached the point where caring for a parent has forced them to confront painful truths about the relationship you've had all your life? ❤️

I don’t know if this fits but I was watching this tonight and there is a scene at the end, I don’t want to spoil it or say anything too horrible, but I felt I had to come here to at least say hi.
I’ve not had any “virginity” issues, but purity culture has bothered me forever. God bless you?

Anyone read it?

Anyone remember singing the mass glut of songs that refference some sort of war?

generally spiritual, but they frequently reffer to getting ready for battle.

and earlier I just remembered that one verse where Jesus told his disciple not to fight for him/let down his sword/healed the ear of the guy who the apostle cut off.

So much for peace

AIBU to feel like I've finally reached breaking point?

I'm an only child.

Earlier this year my Mom fell at home and fractured her shoulder. She spent several weeks in hospital before coming home with a package of care. Since then, either my husband or I have stayed with her every single night. We have a seven-year-old son with additional needs, jobs, our own home, and I don't drive.

I'm also late diagnosed AuDHD, have CPTSD, and am working through religious trauma. Life hasn't been easy for me either, but I've always put my mom first. We've done everything we possibly could because we love her, even when we've had very little left ourselves.

Behind the scenes we've spent months advocating for services, speaking to professionals, arranging carers, installing CCTV (with her knowledge), sorting medication, buying equipment, organising appointments and trying to make sure she has everything she needs to stay safe.

Nobody sees any of that.

The biggest issue is that she repeatedly gets out of bed to toilet herself, whether we're there or not. She's fallen twice since coming home. We recently discovered she'd been hiding her furosemide because she doesn't like how much it makes her urinate. She also refuses to do her shoulder rehabilitation, pelvic floor or leg exercises. She has mental capacity, so ultimately they're her decisions to make, but watching someone repeatedly choose not to engage with things that could help them is heartbreaking.

My mom is a woman of deep Christian faith, and I respect her right to believe what she believes. But I often feel she's waiting for God to heal her rather than engaging with the treatments and rehabilitation available to her. When something good happens it's described as a miracle or an answer to prayer.

What hurts is that, from my perspective, many of those "miracles" have actually been the result of months of work by my husband and me behind the scenes.

But what has really broken me isn't even the caring.

It's what I've realised about our relationship.

My mom has always been my world.

I'm slowly realising that I don't think I've ever been hers.

One of the hardest things I've realised is how little emotional support I've ever really received from her. Looking back, I can't remember many times when I simply felt heard, comforted or accepted for who I was. Instead, whenever I struggled, I was often told I needed to try harder, pray harder, read my Bible more, surrender my life to God properly, or that God was trying to teach me something.

During some of the darkest periods of my life, when I desperately needed my mom, I was told that perhaps I needed to "hit rock bottom." The truth is, I have. More than once. I cried out to a God I no longer believe in because I was so desperate for someone to hear me. Looking back now, I don't think I needed more doctrine. I needed my mom.

Since my AuDHD diagnosis, I've become even more aware of how often I felt judged rather than understood. I know some of her church friends pray for my "deliverance". I know they believe they're doing something loving, but what I've needed all my life wasn't deliverance. It was acceptance.

Something else has shaken me deeply.

I was brought up believing honesty mattered above almost everything else. Yet over the last few months I've discovered that my mom sometimes tells completely different versions of events to different people. She'll tell us one thing and tell her friends something entirely different.

For example, she's implied to people that we don't feed her. Of course we feed her. What she really means is that I don't spend hours in the kitchen cooking homemade meals every day. I live miles away, I don't drive, I work, I'm raising a child with additional needs, and I'm managing my own disabilities. We make sure she has food, meals and everything she needs, but hearing people believe we're somehow neglecting her has been incredibly painful.

She also has what feels to me like a very selective memory. We have conversations that later seem to disappear completely or are remembered very differently. I don't know whether it's age, stress or something else, but it often leaves me doubting myself and wondering if I'm losing my mind.

What also hurts is that she never tells her church friends about the practical reality of what my husband and I do. They don't hear about the overnight stays, the advocacy, the endless phone calls, the appointments, the medication, the paperwork or the emotional toll.

Their relationship with her is light and easy. They chat, encourage her and go home.

I'm the one who hears every worry, every complaint and every fear.

I'm the one carrying the emotional weight.

I feel like I've been expected to carry her sadness while she shields everyone else from it. I don't begrudge her having supportive friends, but sometimes I wish they knew the whole picture before telling us what we should do.

Some have suggested we should "just put her in a care home." If only it were that simple. There are significant legal and financial complications surrounding her property following a DWP investigation into her benefits and assets, which makes decisions about residential care far more complicated than people realise.

The hardest lesson I've had to learn is that I can't save someone from choices they have the right to make.

I can't make her take her medication.

I can't make her do her exercises.

I can't make her ask for help before she stands up.

I can't make her choose rehabilitation over waiting for a miracle.

And I can't keep sacrificing my own family, my marriage, my son and my mental health trying to carry something that was never mine to carry alone.

I've realised that I'm not just grieving my mom's health.

I'm grieving the relationship I always hoped we'd have.

I love her more than I can put into words, and that's what makes this so painful.

Am I being unreasonable for feeling hurt, resentful, invisible and completely exhausted? Or has anyone else reached the point where caring for a parent has forced them to confront painful truths about the relationship you've had all your life? ❤️

throwback to when my dad cornered me into giving my life to jesus then made it a family event and anniversary and got me a brownie bc I devoted my life to god.

Hi all, (Long post alert)

While in college, I attended a church that became a backbone of my life. I had been at the church for eight years and during the eight years I thought it was wonderful. In reality it wasn't. I now realize that is a high control group, manipulative, etc. I won't go into to many details (although some later in post). This was the kind of church that to be a member you had to do interviews with the elders and be voted into the congregation, etc. They even went as far in this community as highly suggesting (read: force) that you moved to the immediate area of the church. If you for whatever life circumstance could not do that and still wanted to attend the church they would just make you feel very uncomfortable each Sunday (read: harrass). In my case, I couldn't live in that area for personal reasons but loved the church at the time and would have loved to move. For me, they would ask me sometimes three times on a given Sunday "If I had moved yet, "Why I am still living there instead of here" - after I responded to the question, thinking that was the extend of the conversation - the same people would ask me the same set of questions the next Sunday and the next - until one day - among many other things that happened that I won't get into I just decided to not go back to the church. I was deeply involved but I lived about 30 minutes away from the church and realized that I was part of the problem, that I should not drive myself 30 minutes to be treated so poorly.

I will explain a few things to give context:

While the church was under 100 people (read: small) and there was an encouragement that we live in community (read: are involved in each others life, "doing life with each other"), there were cliques. After eight years of knowing many people, I was always suprised when I wasn't invited to any weddings of my friends (they would pass out invitations at church and skip over me, etc).

My pastor's children (7-16 yo) would say racists things and he would not correct them.

a dear friend of my at the church who i really trusted invited me to an event. the event was downtown so I drove us there. She got out of the car while I got parking because it was downtown. When I parked and went to the building it was locked. I called my friend and she didn't respond. I called her several times, still no response. She ends up coming downstairs after the event is over and saying - "it was a complete lapse of judgement " that she forgot to come and get me and that she was sorry. I ended up driving her home. To make matters worse, when I would eventually leave the church, this person called me "bitter" for leaving and alluded that I was probably sinning out there in the world and should come back. (read: bitter black woman)

As previously mentioned, without pomp and circumstance, I decided one day to just not attend the church from thence forth. I was in grad school at the time and was busy too so I just ended up not showing up. Initally, they did church "wellness check texts" but for which I ignored all of and then they started emailing me threatening excommunication essentially. The argument was that while I could leave the church, I had to have another church lined up for them to affirm my faith. I wasn't at that point. I needed space from church in general for a while. They kept pushing I kept pushing back. blah blah blah. I ended up having some pastor at a church I had attended a few times write them so I could stop recieving their threats of excommunication.

After leaving, I have a therapist and a spiritual director who is helpful. I cannot help but feel like as I process through this experience, I am not reaching all the conclusions that I need to. I have explored the agency, autonomy, racism, control angle but I think something that deeply hurts me more than I realize was how people who benefit from going to churches like that will never critisize them to the extent that they need to be critisized. The idea that people would rather speak badly about you and call you bitter (read: bitter black woman) than to call out sin, etc. These people benefit from the church programming for their kids, etc so they treat defectors as godless, etc. It's hard for me to make sense of how people will deny truth if it will make their world less comfortable.

Let me know what you all think. What angles should I work through ?

Hello all,
I joined this subreddit a couple months ago and I need to be honest- I am frustrated by the posts in this group.
Every post seems to be “I’m still in the church and what do I do”.
This not something I want to expose myself to. Even in tertiary deconversion, I have anger and triggers. I’m not interested in mentoring strangers at this time.

I’m completely deconverted for almost a decade, and looking to have deeper discussion with individuals who are also removed from involvement with religion (evangelicalism specifically).
Topics of interest are impacts of our past on parenthood, sexuality, and outlook; cultural differences and our experiences within culture and society; relationship impacts and sharing wisdom to overcome common issues; exploration of ongoing family dynamics and how to maneuver.

Are there any groups for mature deconverted individuals?

Hello,

I just discovered this group. I was raised under the very strict guidelines of GKGW and have had extensive emotional trauma manifest for all my life. I am just looking for others who may have been raised under these same philosophies to help me not feel so alone.

We do not worship the same gods.

You filled your sanctuary with thousands.

You crowned a translation and called it untouchable.

You crowned a ritual and called it eternal.

You bowed before commentaries, dress codes, altar calls, and traditions.

You found prophets in strange men with television smiles and radio voices.

Of Falwell, of MacArthur, of Dobson and Reagan.

You waited for every new prediction of the end.

You worshipped certainty, purity, respectability, and certainty again.

You worshipped fear disguised as wisdom.

You worshipped the past because it could never disagree with you.

We do not worship the same gods.

Every room held another altar.

Every argument revealed another deity demanding sacrifice.

They were all so remarkably small that none of them deserved worship.

We do not worship the same gods.

You said your creator God conquered death, hell, and the grave.

Yet every sermon insisted it was our responsibility to conquer them again.

Every generation had to save the faith from collapse.

Every child had to rescue truth from extinction.

Every disagreement became another apocalypse.

Your victorious god never seemed to allow you to rest.

You made enemies of Christmas trees because an ancient idol once stood beside one.

As though that forgotten god still breathed, as though wood itself remembered old loyalties.

You made enemies of Smurfs. Of Cabbage Patch Kids. Of SpongeBob and Patrick.

Of books, music, colleges, science, therapists, professors, neighbors, immigrants, atheists, Catholics, Democrats, churches across the street, churches across town, churches across the world.

You found another enemy every week because your little gods demanded fresh offerings.

Every fear invented another one.

Every rule carved another idol.

They were all so remarkably small that none of them deserved worship.

We do not worship the same gods.

You taught me that faith should drive out fear.

Yet fear drove every decision.

Fear chose your books.

Fear chose your friends.

Fear chose your songs.

Fear chose your questions before I could even ask them.

A kingdom defended by panic is already falling.

You spoke endlessly about morality.

About protecting families.

About holiness.

About righteousness.

About character.

Then your orange god stood before the world and testified against every sermon you preached.

Suddenly adultery became negotiable.

Cruelty became strength.

Pride became courage.

Mockery became wisdom.

Lies became strategy.

Power became holiness.

You called this discernment, you called this conviction.

You called this biblical, I called it different scales.

Different measures, different gods.

We do not worship the same gods.

One demanded certainty.

Another demanded outrage.

Another demanded appearances.

Another demanded debatable victories.

Another demanded unquestioning loyalty.

You made a god of being right.

A god of having answers.

A god of never changing your mind.

A god of gender roles.

A god of masculinity.

A god of femininity.

A god of revival meetings.

A god of denominational boundaries.

A god of persecution that arrived mostly as disagreement.

A god of certainty dressed in verses.

The smallest gods demanded the greatest sacrifices.

They asked for children, for curiosity, for laughter.

For friendships, for honesty, for compassion.

For silence whenever silence protected the system.

For words whenever words protected the system.

They consumed everything except themselves.

You called them convictions, I watched them become chains.

You called them discernment, I watched them become suspicion.

You called them holiness, I watched them become isolation.

You called them freedom, I watched them become prisons.

Each one claimed absolute authority.

Each one contradicted another.

Each one demanded worship while shrinking smaller every year.

We do not worship the same gods.

Mom and Dad.

I know you are hurting.

I know your tears are real.

I know your grief feels unbearable.

But it is your own gods that are breaking your hearts.

Your idols demand sorrow whenever someone refuses to kneel beside you.

They convince you that love requires uniformity.

They convince you that disagreement is abandonment.

They convince you that control is faithfulness.

I cannot help you carry those gods.

I cannot lift the idols that are crushing you.

I cannot worship them simply because they are heavy.

Their weight is the proof that they were never meant to be carried.

You ask why I walked away, I ask why you stay.

You remain inside a hell built one fearful altar at a time.

You remain where every enemy must be hunted forever.

Where every election is Armageddon.

Where every question is rebellion.

Where every child who leaves becomes another funeral.

You are the ones weeping and gnashing your teeth.

You are dwelling inside the hell your own gods taught you to build.

I love you.

But I will not worship your gods.