Issue #6 Repenting at the Megachurch

Why I went "back" to church & why I left for good

“It’s almost enough to make me miss church,” I said to Matt while sitting in a glass sanctuary tucked in the trees by a lake in Arkansas a few minutes before a friend’s wedding ceremony.  “Almost,” I added with a laugh. 

I was thinking about church services at camp, the all-girls summer camp in Alabama I attended from age 10-16, where a choir of angelic voices filled the wooden gymnasium during Sunday night vespers. 

As the bride walked down the aisle and light danced off the rafters, I felt nostalgic, comforted even in the pew. Basking in the beauty, music, connection, and nature of it all – I savored the feeling that divinity and love were both near and interchangeable. 

The next day while walking to my Uber at LAX, I passed a man who’s phone was audibly playing a Hillsong Worship song. My hypervigilant, cat-like hearing immediately detected the distinct frequency and tone of contemporary Christian music. My chest got tight and my pace quickened – a stark contrast to the sense of stillness and peace I felt the day before in the woods. 

This has been my experience with religious trauma. Missing it one day. Being triggered by it the next. Like a toxic ex who could be both loving and cruel.

While at another wedding, a relatively new friend and reader of this newsletter wanted to know why I had gone back to church in 2019 before leaving altogether two years later. She had read Issue #2 and wanted to understand more about what catalyzed that decision. I attempted to offer an answer in real time but failed to find either a succinct or resonant explanation which left me pondering her question. 

Upon further reflection, I found that I never really stopped going to church. I wasn’t an active member of a church in my college years and early twenties but I remained a semi-regular attendee church hopping between various evangelical congregations – a routine I knew well. 

Until middle school, we were members of Christ Presbyterian Church. We attended church service and Sunday school weekly in addition to “Wednesday Night Church” and had a close-knit community of friends there. After a change in leadership, my parents decided to leave. For years, we church-hopped as a family in search of our new church home. Tired of feeling like a visitor and newly armed with a driver’s license, I resolved that if my parents wouldn’t pick one, I would – even if I had to go alone. I chose Covenant Presbyterian where I joined the high school youth group.  

I was invested. My siblings had left for college, and I needed a third place. I craved community, mentorship, and emotional connection. I loved the campfire-style worship music (it was my only outlet for singing) and felt genuinely cared for by the youth pastor and his wife. I also wanted to hang out with boys (I went to an all-girls high school). I was a deeply sensitive, curious, and self-determined kid who wanted badly to be good. I was a bit lonely and anxious, and I clung to my relationship with God wholeheartedly believing it was the pathway to being loved. 

I felt at home at church seeing as being a Christian was the bedrock of my identity. 

I decided to be a christian when I was five years old. I told my parents that I wanted to “ask Jesus to live in my heart” after a prayer meeting that was being held at our house the night before we flew to the Bahamas for a mission trip. Later I was baptized in the river and confirmed after completing catechism. In our house, we had hour-long family popcorn prayers in the kitchen. At Thanksgiving, my grandfather used to quiz us on our Bible knowledge at the dinner table. My grandmother took us to Vacation Bible School and read us bible stories before bed when we stayed with her. I was homeschooled until fourth grade where I learned that evolution wasn’t real because God created earth, animals, and Adam and Eve in seven days. I also went to a christian camp for four weeks in the summer, where I was later a counselor. In high school, I was on the leadership team for Fellowship of Christian Athletes in addition to being an active member of my youth group and its associated girls’ bible study.

In college, I never quite found the same connectedness or sense of belonging. Though I managed to attend my sorority Bible study and occasionally a Sunday morning service at a local church, I felt caught between two worlds. 

The friends I made weren’t as interested in going to campus ministry events or church, and I started feeling increasingly out of place in those settings when I would go. 

This caused me a great deal of anxiety. I felt I wasn’t measuring up to “my spiritual calling.” I also felt lonely. And as time went on, I felt increasingly guilty whenever I did make it to church or bible study. 

Taught to “save myself for marriage,” I was in routine mental agony trying to reconcile my natural sexual desires and my faith. The idea that sex before marriage would have devastating consequences was strongly reinforced by every christian adult in my life whether overtly or in the subtext – parents, youth leaders, bible study leaders, FCA speakers, camp staff, pastors. An inquiry about my sexual history was part of my application to be a camp counselor at age 19, as I recall. Still “technically” a “virgin,” I got the job. 

By the time the technicality ship had sailed, I started a new guilt dance with church. I started to go on account of the shame. One step ahead of the pastor, I’d go in ready to repent, recommit, and be rid of my sin. I wholeheartedly tried to be “born again” more times than I can count. I’d throw my hands up in the air during worship and cry tears of gratitude for God’s mercy and grace. It became an unconscious transaction between me and God. I would feel anxious, I would blame myself, go to church, seek forgiveness, and ask for God’s peace in return. 

This continued through my post-grad days in New York. 

During this time my relationship with my college boyfriend was becoming increasingly tumultuous. Additionally, I was working as an assistant at a major record label under enormous stress in a toxic environment where I was eventually sexually harassed and physically assaulted prompting me to quit abruptly (an essay for another day). I had also taken on a 17-year-old singer as my first management client – a job I knew little about at the time but was determined to figure out. And, I decided to start my own business. 

Instead of letting myself recognize the toll of these realities and seek the support I needed, I went to church where I was told to repent for my sins. So, I blamed my “sin” (ingrained in me to be synonymous with sex) for the cause of my anxiety and depression – a confirmation bias of what I’d always been taught that “sex before marriage would cause brokenness and pain.” 

By 2019 I found myself at a breaking point. I had effectively been dumped twice – first by my college boyfriend of 4+ years and later by the guy I dated shortly after. I had also been fired by my first management client, who I viewed more like a sister, via her dad’s manager. Reeling from the string of codependent relationships and loss, I was completely heartbroken. To cope, I drowned myself in work. 

That’s when I found myself at my parents’ house having Salmon For Dinner. Visiting from New York, I had been running around like a tornado taking meetings and putting on events – trying to escape my body through entrepreneurial mania. Ridden with anxiety and exhaustion, I tried to nap. I don’t think I slept. I only remember feeling like I might explode. Physical pain percolated throughout my body like needles and knots. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. 

Then my parents called me down for dinner. A few minutes later, I detonated. 

As I recall my mom was also having a hard time. I was, I suspect, unpleasant to be around and my dad insisted I be more grateful for the meal my mom had prepared. I’m not sure if he told me to eat my salmon – for which I had little appetite – or if the instruction had more to do with my attitude towards my mom, but either way, I was triggered. As I recall, I mustered the words to the effect of, “I’m not ok.” I was met with the suggestion that I pray about it. Though I’m sure well intentioned and meaning no harm, I was already on the brink, and let’s just say, it’s not what I needed to hear. I dissociated after that, so it’s hard to trust the accuracy of my memory here, but I’m pretty sure he also referenced Philippians 4:6-7: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

It was instinctual for me to come to my parents and to God for help. That’s what I was taught to do. But in my desperation, I added therapy (and thank God). 

I also went to church. 

I had attended Hillsong New York casually, but this time I went ready to commit. On my knees prostrate in my studio apartment, I begged Jesus to deliver me from my pain and signed up for a three day women’s conference – Hillsong Colour Conference at Kings Theatre – to prove my dedication. 

There I found myself with hands in the air, crying while singing  “Oceans(My Feet May Fail),” praying to Jesus promising I would stop having sex and recommit my life to Christ. In return, maybe he would take away my anxiety and depression and would “bless my life.”

It wasn’t a far fetched idea. It’s the message I’d been fed my entire life: turn away from your sin, follow Him and He will deliver you! 

In addition to being highly sensitive, I am a very literal thinker. In fourth grade – the first year I wasn’t homeschooled – I was routinely frustrated by my classmates inability to line up quickly, quietly, and without disruption. The teacher had explained the rules, and I wanted to follow them as described. Even now as someone who routinely resists anything that feels rigid, I notice how often I process directions or calls to action with extreme literal interpretation when coming from a source I trust. At puppy class, for example, I find myself stiff in complete concentration to ensure I am doing EXACTLY what the trainer says. This is to say that growing up I internalized a very strict interpretation of what authority figures classified as sin, as well as deep shame surrounding it. 

Alongside this newly avowed recommitment to pre-marital celibacy, I also resolved to “get involved in church.” I craved community and purpose – two things I hoped I’d find there. After moving to California a few months later, I joined Hillsong LA where their leadership team spoke weekly about the importance of joining a Connect group and becoming a member of a volunteer team. In addition to tithing, it was another way, they said, that God would pour blessings over your life. It wasn’t long before I was carpooling to the church retreat, serving weekly on the kids team, going to Connect group, and attending services one to two times a week. I was in deep. 

I was in search of many of the same things I went looking for at youth groups in high school. This time, however, I was an independent 27-year-old adult woman who had lived experience and who was actively exploring the world around her, thinking critically about herself, society and politics, and was also in therapy. 

Looking back, the multitudes at play during that season of my life astound me. My healing journey and evolution has most definitely not been linear. And in many ways, my return – or shall we say, renewed dedication – to church was integral in my eventual liberation from it.  

I needed to be all in in order to make peace with my doubts once and for all. And what I found, undoubtedly, showed me that they had all along been warranted. 

Every time before that I had drifted from church I figured something was wrong with me. I  blamed myself. This time, I entertained the idea that the church and the faith itself might be wrong. 

This time, I was healing. And the more empowered I became, the more willing I was to challenge, investigate, and ultimately deconstruct my beliefs.  

This time, I was also able to see how much of my anxiety was directly being caused by my Christian faith – the very thing I was told would cure it. 

While discussing her own decision to leave the Christian church on episode 19 of her podcast The Broski Report, comedian Brittany Broski says, “To constantly feel like you’re living wrong, like your existence is wrongful, walking in sin, living in sin, like you should always have something to repent for, or you need to ask for forgiveness or you’re not doing something right … It’s kind of this widespread blanket of guilt. Historically it makes sense too, the church in Europe used to charge people to be cleansed of their sins. If you tell someone they are living wrong but you have a solution where they can live right, you’re creating a problem and now you're the sole person who can fix it. And I think that is so manipulative and controlling and dangerous. It’s all the things wrong with specifically American Christianity, it's this tool to control people. It’s sad because I've been on both sides of it. I've been on my knees crying in the church, seeking community. At times maybe I did feel a divine intervention. But I look back now and I'm like, ‘Was that just the fever and the adrenaline of being in the room with people who are validating you and who are there for the same purpose, seeking the same thing as you?” 

The modern American evangelical church experience – in my opinion – is manufactured to create emotional dependency. I was conditioned to be completely codependent on a God I was made to never feel good enough for. The tension between me and my faith wasn’t on account of my sin. It was on account of the growing misalignment between my personal expansion, my evolving values, my sexuality, my growing knowledge, my lived experience, my individualization, and what I saw and heard from Christianity.

photo by christina campagnola

“I resent how it made me feel about myself,” Broski goes on. “About being a woman, and my womanhood, and my desires that are very natural, and my prerogatives, and my life choices, and my philosophies, and how I feel about gay rights and trans rights and human rights, and women's rights and bodily autonomy, and the fact that I have such a hard stance on the left side of the issue. I know this is such a universal thing – when you're the black sheep of the family, and you're the leftist and your family's conservative. I'm kind of preaching to the choir here for lack of a better term, but it doesn't make it any less hard.”

As freeing as it's been to leave the church and my Christian identity, it’s also come at a cost. It’s an earth shattering experience to break away from the safety of a familial belief system – especially one that guarantees a blissful eternity together. It felt like going from the baby pool to swimming in the ocean, out into the great unknown.  

“It's so isolating to have left the church and to leave behind that comfort and to leave behind all you've ever known, all your family has taught you,” Broski says. “You lose that connectedness with your family as well.”

In retrospect, part of my resentment is the nature of isolation inherent on both sides. While in it, I was made to feel that to be a good Christian I should separate myself from “the world” – “in the world not of it,” they said. This demonization of “the culture” aka anything that differs from evangelical protestant interpretation of the Bible and conservatism, creates an intrinsic disconnect between anyone of another belief system (even those within Christianity of differing theology). This mentality fueled the raging, depleting inner conflict within me during my adolescence and young adulthood. After I left, I found I was able to build much deeper connections within friendships and romantic partnerships. Unfortunately, this has also been accompanied by a rupture in fundamental connection and sense of belonging within my family of origin in addition to the loss of my church community. 

As I’ve deconstructed, and as a result begun to unmask, I see how often I censor myself – and always have – around Christian family members. I struggle to know what is a healthy boundary vs a people-pleasing attempt to appease, mitigate conflict or avoid causing a scene. I’m constantly measuring when to smile through it and when to be unapologetically myself or push back. When there’s little to no room for a differing opinion, belief, life choice, or expression of self why have the conversation? 

When you’re taught there is a singular truth and that convincing someone else to believe it is a matter of eternal consequence, it’s easy to get caught up in what you’re saying instead of hearing the other person. 

I was made painfully aware of this when a guy I was dating in 2020 asked me a simple question about my faith while we were driving. When I was done talking he informed me that I had just lectured him defensively for an hour. I was stunned. He was absolutely right. It was a stark contrast to the vibrant conversations he and I had about philosophy and politics. Instead of conversing with any level of curiosity, I feverishly processed aloud mental gymnastics in a failed attempt to quiet my cognitive dissonance. 

Unlearning this conditioned tendency to be preachy, vague, or condescending is an ongoing process – one that has helped me greatly in gaining a more grounded sense of relational confidence. It’s constructive to be faced with being wrong and forced to reroute, take accountability, and commit to doing the work despite the discomfort. It’s constructive to practice active listening, enacting curiosity, and openness. I plan to continue to grow in this way for the rest of my life. And as an artist and human, I hope to communicate with increasing clarity and humility as I do so. 

Adopting a more fluid framework around the evolution of consciousness demands humility. I may not believe I am inherently sinful, but I know I am fallible. It’s the difference between the debilitating shame of feeling like a “wretched sinner” and the security of feeling like a whole person who is enough and who won’t always get it right.

I find it quite tragic how often Christians alienate people with the very thing they are hoping will build connection. I know a lot of very loving Christians including my family, whose hearts and character are pure gold. And I think this is why it pains me so much to see their religious beliefs sometimes cloud their judgment or negatively affect their relationships.  

They seem to think that if a decision is made based on their Christian beliefs it negates or justifies its effect – even if hurtful – on others. Being overly tolerant is frowned upon and treated as a gateway to temptation, therefore reinforcing rigidity.   

I try to have empathy. I see how conflicted so many of them are about such things, like my relative who isn’t comfortable attending our wedding ceremony on account it will not be a Christian service. Despite my feelings about it, I genuinely do care about the inner conflict they relayed the decision had caused them. And I’m sad for both our sakes that we won’t get to share that moment.

I try to let it roll off my back when family members attempt to evangelize me, or when the man at LAX is playing Hillsong music audibly for all to hear. I try to remember that they’re truly convinced I’ll go to hell if I don’t repent and choose to believe – and that’s stressful. Or at the very least, I won’t go to heaven where they all plan to be reunited. They truly believe it’s out of love. I try to receive the love – and set the rest aside.  

Unfortunately, on a more macro level, I find myself unable to offer as much grace. 

The church, its leadership, its teachings, and its ideology have irrevocably lost my trust. It all sort of crumbled like sand and fell through my fingers until there was nothing left. And it made me feel bamboozled. 

What devastated me in the end was how I’d been holding on to and protecting something so fiercely for so long out of genuine faith and earnest reverence that in the end became the biggest disappointment and heartbreak of my life. 

Leaving Hillsong LA was only the tip of the iceberg. The problem was hardly contained to Hillsong – though quite disturbing when the truth came to light about that specific church’s history and global leadership. In a way, I’m thankful. I needed a front row seat to face it head on. Seeing under the hood from that vantage point, the funny feeling I’d suppressed most of my life came into focus. 

The hypocrisy, the rampant emotional immaturity, the spiritual bypassing, the promotion of unfounded conspiratorial and harmful ideologies, the upholding of “imperialist white supremacist capitalist patriarchy” (Bell Hooks) and its subsequent cost to women, LGBTQ+ folks, Black and Brown folks, and marginalized groups.  

This is the root of why I left and of my tenacity when protesting the rise of white Christian nationalism and how synonymous it has become with much of the evangelical church in America. Seeing scripture used as weapons throughout our country’s history to justify hate,  intolerance, and harmful policies is something I can’t unsee. Regardless of where I stand on Jesus and his teachings (I do find the Bible very interesting as a historical text) or where I stand on God (I still feel close to the divine and enjoy cultivating a spiritual practice though ever-changing) in a world where Jesus has been co-opted to represent/endorse/facilitate violence, guns, MAGA, homophobia, transphobia, racism, bigotry, rape culture, war, denial of science, and the like I cannot be associated. 

James Baldwin puts it best, “We can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.” 

Putting the weight, nuance, and complexity of religious trauma into words is quite difficult. Broski, in her beautiful, raw attempt to articulate her own experience offers Ethel Cain’s incendiary album Preacher’s Daughter as an intercessor – a work of art that has also provided me much catharsis. 

Inspired by Cain’s upbringing as a homeschooled kid in a southern Baptist family in Florida, trans singer-songwriter-producer Hayden Anhedönia through the persona of Ethel Cain tells a harrowing, fictional Southern Gothic/Americana odyssey exploring themes of abuse, trauma, and the search for freedom. 

NPR encapsulates it poignantly, “Each instance of self-determined euphoria is ultimately countered by fate, the stain of original sin in the shape of generational trauma: "Jesus can always reject his father, but he cannot escape his mother's blood," Cain sings, low and steady, to open the album on "Family Tree (Intro).” 

Haunting, triumphant, and of biblical proportion, the allegorical concept album feels like a second baptism. Washing over me, I throw my hands up in the air and cry – letting its revival take me along this path, even if I can never fully escape it. 

When I walk down the aisle in September on my wedding day, I pray I’ll feel the transcending peace of the divine accompany me. In the sanctuary of nature, I pray we bask in the beauty and connection of our love and the love of our community as we exchange our vows savoring the feeling that divinity and love are in fact both near and interchangeable. I pray that God is love. The rest, I’ll try to leave behind.

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CURRENTLY:

Listening to: Preacher’s Daughter by Ethel Cain, “Dinner with Friends” Kacey Musgraves, “imperfect for you” Ariana Grande, “Free Treasure “ Adrianne Lenker, “Austin” by Dasha

Watching: Dune: Part Two (woah! & v LOUD), Maestro, Oppenheimer, The New Look, Love is Blind season 6 (guilty!)

Doing: Dog training class (Binny graduates tonight!), more Angela Trimbur’s Balletcore, eating Sunday brunch on our front porch with my parents and Matt which was very special <3

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Thank you for reading!!