How Letting Go of Christianity Set Me Free

While I never grew up Christian, it was always around. Growing up in the Bible Belt, Christianity wasn't just a belief—it was everything. It shaped my friends, my community, my school, and even my understanding of right and wrong. It taught kids that God was always watching, that sin was inescapable, and that who I was could damn me to hell.

The realization that I was a lesbian didn't hit me all at once. It crept in slow, in the way I admired girls more than I "should have", in the way I felt an inexplicable sense of wrongness when I tried to imagine myself with a boy. I shoved it down, convinced myself I was confused, that if I just prayed hard enough, tried hard enough, God would fix me. I believed that my attraction was a test. If I didn't want to burn for eternity, then I would have to pass that test.

For years, I forced myself into denial, trying to mold myself into the person I thought God wanted me to be. But no matter how much I prayed, no matter how much I begged, I didn’t change. And slowly, that fear turned to anger. Why would an all-loving God create me this way only to condemn me for it? Why did I have to suffer for something I couldn’t control? The cracks began to spread until there was nothing left to hold onto.

Letting go of Christianity should have been liberating. In so many ways, it was. For the first time, I felt like I could breathe, like I could exist without constantly policing myself, without feeling like every thought, every feeling, every part of me was something to repent for. I embraced who I was. I accepted that I didn’t need God’s approval to justify my existence. And for a while, I thought I had escaped the guilt.

But the thing about religious trauma is that it lingers. And oddly enough, no matter how much I’ve grown, no matter how far I’ve come, the guilt always finds a way back—especially around the time of year I first realized I was different. It sneaks up on me, telling me that I’m wrong, that I’m lost, that I should have tried harder. That fear of damnation, of punishment, of being unworthy still grips me when I least expect it. Even when I know better.

I hate that it still has that hold on me. I hate that after everything, some part of me is still afraid. But what I do know is that I am stronger than the fear. Every time it resurfaces, I remind myself that I have already broken free. That I am not lost. That I am not broken. That I deserve to love and be loved without shame.

Letting go of Christianity didn’t erase the guilt overnight. Maybe it never will. But I refuse to let it define me anymore. I am more than what I was taught to fear. I am free.