When my grandfather (on my father’s side) died, he was laid to rest in one of the most awkward ceremonies I have ever experienced. While no one spoke particularly freely, the pastor conducting the service alluded to his “flaws,” the “hurt” he had done, and the “forgiveness” he was due now that he was no longer with us. As a survivor of physical abuse (from my father), it occurred to me in that moment that my father was a survivor, too. It was astonishing to me that, only in my grandfather’s last rites, were his sins actually read aloud (if only obliquely)—not exactly a reckoning worth redemption. His legacy of violence proceeds him.
I am sorry that you experienced not only abuse by the hands of a relative, but then experienced the abuse of a family rallying around the abuser. It is an exponential betrayal undeserved; no manners, no God, no duty to those who came before ought have demanded it. It is vile. It is sickening. It is the worst of things compounded upon the worst of things.
Thank you for sharing your experience. For empowering others who might have similar experiences. For not only surviving, but thriving. For articulating a haunting in your own special fashion of strength and perseverance. For being what proceeds the man now gratefully gone. These men do not deserve their shadows for hiding. We, however, deserve to be the light. Bravo, Abbey.
No, truly… this is so generous of you. Thank you so much. When the grandfather on this paternal side of my family died, I wasn’t at the service, but the eulogy and all of the spoken words were only about his coaching career. Nothing about the man he was.
All the men who raised me were awful. I didn’t grow up knowing I could trust a man.
I’m grateful now that I have cultivated such deep relationships with men, that help me heal that little girl.
As you know, trust is hard if you’ve endured abuse. But finding people who speak that language makes it easier.
I so appreciate you and your support and your forever loving words. And I’m so happy you’re here.
Abbey. This beautiful, vulnerable, honest piece of writing really hit home. I experienced a similar upbringing. A very strict religion. Raised to be good, polite, sweet. Obedient. Also a witness to and victim of all the things hidden to "avoid the appearance of evil". You wrote about it eloquently and with the discernment and wisdom of one who can see things for what they are.
Ok Anna. You just gave me goosebumps and made me teary. Thank you for seeing me.
I’ve been concerned that I would offend all of my beautiful Christian friends with this. But my hope is that they understand I’m not attacking their beliefs. This is just my story. And religion just happens to be a character in this chapter.
I know. It’s awful when something that can be so pure and full of love can be twisted and manipulated in that way.
And you know how much you mean to me. You were one of my first friends here. And I knew how important your faith was to you. And you were so kind to read this before anyone else did and hold my hand through its publishing.
Thank you. I cannot tell you how much that means to me.. how much you mean to me.
Being a girl raised in the south is always about manners. It was occasionally ok to say no sir and no ma’am, as long as you weren’t telling them you weren’t going to do something. I was quite rebellious and sometimes just replied yeah. I knew if my dad heard that would receive an automatic backhand to the mouth. You would have thought I had said fuck you. But truthfully I knew what was going to happen. I was rather stubborn and would be proud of the swollen lip I had at school the next day.
You could not call it abuse because it wasn’t. Not to him and not to me. It was a battle of wills to me and discipline to him. I grew up, became a teenager and managed to stay as far away as possible until I was grown with kids of my own.
Even though I chose to raise my kids differently they say ma’am and sir, just because that was how I spoke to them, not because I hit them. I know my dad was just doing his best and that he did indeed love me. We grew to have a very different kind of relationship as adults. I loved him fiercely and miss him since he passed. I am often reminded of how privileged I am to have had good parents that loved me. Even if they weren’t perfect.
I’m sorry you did not know the love and acceptance of your parents.
Slapping children is abusive, but you can still forgive and love a parent who was abusive and changed, then decide you won't be like them too. But please don't confuse survivors of abuse who need to know that getting slapped across the face by a parent is abusive.
-Signed a woman who was slapped in the face repeatedly by her dad growing up, went to therapy and now knows it was abuse
I was raised in the Deep South and slapping children or spanking them is not abuse. I’m in therapy but not because of the abuse I received as a child. There are things done in love and in hate and there is a difference. My parents raised me as they were raised and there was no abuse. I am not confused about what happened and I don’t appreciate that you must put your trauma on me.
Thank you so much for sharing this. I can’t believe how unbelievably hard this had to have been not only going through it, but to then have family members doubt you or worse, explain it away.
If there is a heaven, and people like that make it in, I don’t wanna be there. We’ll go somewhere else where people with true morals and values reside.
Abbey, when I read on Substack—I usually read quickly, sometimes I skim sections to understand the concepts. I did not with your post. I read every single word and sometimes re-read. It captivated me and drew me in. I think it’s because I can relate so much to your story that tears came to my eyes as I read. And even more so (which is saying something)—you are an amazing writer.
Thank you for being brave enough to share your story.
You wrote about how age (or being older) was a free pass and that the rules for those of us who were younger was to always say “yes, sir”. Because no was ugly. I was raised in the south, very strictly Christian and I can’t tell you how true this was for me too. These were rules of oppression for white men to think like they were gods—behaving without consequence and for no other reason. They gave way to abuse of the worst kind.
And when we spoke up—it was our fault.
I went to an elder of our church once and admitted what was happening to me. I was looked at with cold eyes, the Bible was taken out and he pointed to the verse “honor thy father and mother”. He told me I had a rebellious spirit and that would be corrected by obedience. He looked at me with shame. Like I was a broken person. You could not have met a more quiet and submissive little girl.
I got good grades. I never got in trouble at school. Never went to the principles office. Never spoke up. Never said no. I did what I was told. I obeyed always—through the abuse. And it was never good enough.
I’m sorry you went through what you did. I’m sorry this world can be so fucked up. I’m not sure what to do with God and Jesus too. The conditioning is strong.
But I am glad the lies and control is out in the open. I’m glad truth is helping set you free. May it continue to and give you so much love and light. ❤️🩹
Oh, Alice… I am so sorry you went through all that you did. That makes me ache for you. That sweet little girl… I know her so well. And right now our little selves are able to hold one another.
Thank you for sharing it with me. Thank you for all your beautifully generous words.
And I’m glad you are free and aware of your magic and power and true wonderfullness❤️.
So beautiful, Abbey. I’m so humbled and in awe of your honesty and strength. You are such a beautiful and bold spirit, and the world is better for having people like you in it. Not only for your courage in sharing but for the ways you so effortlessly shine your light here and I’m sure everywhere else too. And you don’t need organized religion for holiness like that. ❤️
I am so sorry that no one protected you. That you were then betrayed by the people who were supposed to fight for you. And I'm so glad he died (and he is definitely not in heaven - if it even exists). You are strong, resilient and courageous for surviving and sharing your story with us.
Also, don't be worried what any judgemental Christians might think. They need to hear the truth about what their religion is used to excuse. People who follow the true teachings of Jesus will understand and have compassion.
JP, this is all so powerfully supportive and wonderful of you to say. And honestly, so far I haven’t gotten any judgement. The last piece I published did… so I was definitely bracing myself on this one.
I’m so sorry for your experiences. I am a Christian and it astounds me how many times Christians forget that it’s the Bible which tells us that human beings do bad things. Horribly bad things. That the world is full of people who hurt each other, destroy each other. That’s what we default to! And we are not exempt because we sign up for church.
April is Child Sexual Abuse Prevention Awareness Month.
That was the correct response to my trauma.”
First, let me just clap for this part right here 👏🏼
You are such a bright light in this world despite everything that could’ve dimmed you. I’m so proud of you friend. Keep growing. Keep being your bold, beautiful self. This post was hard to read but dammit, it was so well written. I felt it deep in my chest. Sending you so much love 🤍
Oh AV, thank you so much for that. I know it’s a hard read. I don’t enjoy having to put people I love through discomfort. So the fact that you stuck around and chose to share with me means so much.
You’re a beautiful person and I’m so happy to have you in my life.
Such a great post, thank you Abbey. I was raised in very religious surroundings so it resonated a lot with me. I, too, remember taking a look at people’s faces during prayer. And, even though I ‘left’ the religion (read: cult) ten years ago (it should have been much earlier, but the hooks of religion are hard to extract) it still took a long time before I could get rid of my Bibles.
Wow. That’s so interesting. I wonder why that is… I suppose the tangible proof of something intangible is so sacred. It’s the thing we clutch when we’re searching for an answer…
Thank you for that, Ben. I’m so grateful to have you—someone I can trust—in my circle. It means more than you know. Love to you BenjiBoo❤️
Abbey, thank you for writing this. It took courage, clarity, and the kind of raw honesty that so many people never allow themselves to reach. You didn’t just touch a nerve, you exposed one.
Your story resonates deeply with me, though from a different angle. I grew up in a family that belonged to what could only be described as a fringe Christian cult. It wasn’t just conservative—it was dogmatic, exclusionary, and cloaked in the illusion of righteousness. The rules were everything. The rules, and the hierarchy. And like in your story, respect was demanded, never earned.
My spiritual path has been a winding one. I’ve been agnostic, atheist, back to agnostic, a hopeful Christian for a while, and now I find myself believing in God again, but not in the way most Christians mean when they say it. The God I now believe in isn’t tied to dogma or tithes or rituals. To me, God is agape, a higher order of being that wants its children to grow. To learn. To heal. To ascend. Not in the Heaven/Hell sense, but in a very real, fourth dimensional sense of soul evolution.
So much of what passes for religion in America, especially in the South, feels performative. Wealth driven. Motivated by ego more than love. And while I will never fault someone for finding comfort in faith, and I mean that, I believe many churches are stuck at what I’d call Stage 3 of spiritual development: the stage where you’re beginning to form personal opinions, but still deeply rooted in the beliefs you were handed in Stage 2.
That’s where churches seem to thrive. Not in transcendence. Not in transformation. But in tradition. In safety. In control.
Reading your story hurt. In the best kind of way. Because it reminded me why I rejected the version of religion I was handed. And why I still fight, every day, to reclaim a sense of divine connection that isn’t poisoned by manipulation, abuse, or silent complicity.
You wrote something that stopped me cold: “Manners were never for me to receive, they were only for me to give.”
Like you, I’ve learned that real spirituality begins the moment we stop outsourcing our worth, and start listening for the voice within. Not the one they told us to fear. The one we’ve had all along.
I still don’t have a neat label for what I believe. I probably never will. But I do believe in love. In truth. In the unseen depth that connects us when we’re willing to tell the hard stories.
Mike, the amount of hugs I wish to be giving you now…
What a generous and beautiful offering that was. Thank you for sharing a piece of you with me.
And I agree. I think it’s beautiful to believe in something bigger than ourselves. (And I think if you don’t want to, that’s also fine!) But I don’t think we need to label it for it to be true. And I don’t think we need to recruit people into our belief system.
But I also truly want everyone to believe in what makes them happy. I don’t fault anyone for having a strong relationship with their religion. Not at all.
Maybe if my life played out differently, and things were explained to me differently, I’d be in a different space with religion. But I’m truly happy and at peace with myself and my unnamed faith. I appreciate this, and you.
Thank you, Craig. I know this is a hard one. I also truly thank you for even just an emoji sentence. I know people don’t know what to say on this subject. But saying something is always very nice.
In a writers’ group I am in, we have been discussing friendship. I consider you a friend even though it is online. I think online friendships are just as real and valid as face to face ones.
This really sat with me in an unexpected way. I wasn’t raised religious either — at least, not in the capital-R sense. From birth through high school, religion was more like an occasional setting than a belief system. We’d go to church now and then, but it was really about community — Korean churches in America, led in Korean, full of moms in the kitchen cooking for the whole congregation.
After every sermon there’d be a huge meal — homemade, loud, chaotic, full of gossip and pride and tension. These churches were one of the only ways Korean immigrants connected before the internet. I remember a church-issued phonebook — not spiritual at all, just a printed directory of every Korean family within 100 miles. A network, not a sanctuary.
But it never felt Christian. Not really. The dynamics were more WASPy than worshipful. Lots of in-fighting, secret meetings, quiet schemes to unseat pastors who said the wrong thing. Donations became a symbol of how holy you were. Moms would quietly compete over dishes like it was Iron Chef. It taught me about performance, not God.
Now that I’m older, I see religion as a kind of crutch — not in a bad way, but in the way a crutch supports someone who needs it. I anchor myself to logic. Not because I think it’s better, but because it’s the only framework that holds steady for me. Religion asks you to start from faith — and that’s just outside my frame. That’s okay. I don’t need support in that form, but I try to respect when others do. I know I’ll never convince someone to walk without the support they trust. And I wouldn’t want to.
But when I left for college, my mom went deeper into the church. Too deep. And it changed her. Not in some obvious spiritual way — but in how she gave up agency. Everything good was God’s gift. Everything bad was God’s plan. She took her hands off the wheel. No one could challenge her, not even her children. She became spiritually untouchable — and untethered.
I’m not bitter at religion. I’m bitter at what happens when it rejects logic completely. When it rewards surrender over responsibility.
But I’ve learned it’s not my place to fix something that isn’t broken — not to the person holding it.
Thank you for writing what you did. You don’t owe us this truth, but I’m grateful you gave it anyway. It reminded me of so many things I hadn’t had the words for.
Well my goodness… I’m just so grateful for that share. Thank you.
I align with everything you said, too. And I think a lot of people would agree that it’s a shame something that’s meant to be anchored in ‘good’ can be weaponized and used for manipulation.
I don’t judge anyone who believes in something that makes them feel better. I want everyone to feel their best.
But when I’m made to feel like I’m not as whole of a person because I don’t believe in what someone else believes in… it’s just always so disappointing.
No — thank you for sharing in the first place. It’s a really touchy subject, and I didn’t want to comment on your experience directly, because it’s not something to be commented on — just understood.
But what I can say is: yes… it’s absolutely terrible when a system meant to stand for “good” ends up collectively looking past harm — especially just because someone is seen as an outsider.
That contradiction sits heavy. And it’s so validating to know someone else has tried to name it.
Thank you. And that’s an interesting way to look at this… I’ve never heard anyone say my experience isn’t something to be commented on… just understood.
Sometimes I do wonder if there’s a pressure to comment on someone telling such a personal story. I can say that from my end of things, as someone who regularly writes about trauma, I never mind it. Acknowledging it instead of ignoring it is always better on this end.
But the line is thin… because I guess it depends on the actual comment.
All in all I appreciate you and what you said (and didn’t say) because I know it’s coming from a place of respect
Yeah, of course. You welcome comments and explain your side because you’re a teacher, not a lecturer — and I really admire that.
I guess for me, I tend to approach any “touchy” topic the same way: if it’s not my experience, then my response should try to honor that. I can’t speak to what it’s like to go through what you did — especially not as a woman — so I try to reflect inward or ask clarifying questions if I do engage.
But honestly, those kinds of conversations... I usually prefer to have in private. The public part can feel too fragile for me sometimes.
When my grandfather (on my father’s side) died, he was laid to rest in one of the most awkward ceremonies I have ever experienced. While no one spoke particularly freely, the pastor conducting the service alluded to his “flaws,” the “hurt” he had done, and the “forgiveness” he was due now that he was no longer with us. As a survivor of physical abuse (from my father), it occurred to me in that moment that my father was a survivor, too. It was astonishing to me that, only in my grandfather’s last rites, were his sins actually read aloud (if only obliquely)—not exactly a reckoning worth redemption. His legacy of violence proceeds him.
I am sorry that you experienced not only abuse by the hands of a relative, but then experienced the abuse of a family rallying around the abuser. It is an exponential betrayal undeserved; no manners, no God, no duty to those who came before ought have demanded it. It is vile. It is sickening. It is the worst of things compounded upon the worst of things.
Thank you for sharing your experience. For empowering others who might have similar experiences. For not only surviving, but thriving. For articulating a haunting in your own special fashion of strength and perseverance. For being what proceeds the man now gratefully gone. These men do not deserve their shadows for hiding. We, however, deserve to be the light. Bravo, Abbey.
Brian, this is why I married you ( ;-) )
No, truly… this is so generous of you. Thank you so much. When the grandfather on this paternal side of my family died, I wasn’t at the service, but the eulogy and all of the spoken words were only about his coaching career. Nothing about the man he was.
All the men who raised me were awful. I didn’t grow up knowing I could trust a man.
I’m grateful now that I have cultivated such deep relationships with men, that help me heal that little girl.
As you know, trust is hard if you’ve endured abuse. But finding people who speak that language makes it easier.
I so appreciate you and your support and your forever loving words. And I’m so happy you’re here.
Love you, dear Brian❤️
Thank you @Ros Barber ❤️
Abbey. This beautiful, vulnerable, honest piece of writing really hit home. I experienced a similar upbringing. A very strict religion. Raised to be good, polite, sweet. Obedient. Also a witness to and victim of all the things hidden to "avoid the appearance of evil". You wrote about it eloquently and with the discernment and wisdom of one who can see things for what they are.
Ok Anna. You just gave me goosebumps and made me teary. Thank you for seeing me.
I’ve been concerned that I would offend all of my beautiful Christian friends with this. But my hope is that they understand I’m not attacking their beliefs. This is just my story. And religion just happens to be a character in this chapter.
Love you and thank you for sharing with me❤️
❤❤❤
I’m so angry. I need a minute…
In the meantime: ‘Michael Allen Worley went home to be with the Lord…’
No, he didn’t.
I’ll be back. And I love you 🤍
I know. It’s awful when something that can be so pure and full of love can be twisted and manipulated in that way.
And you know how much you mean to me. You were one of my first friends here. And I knew how important your faith was to you. And you were so kind to read this before anyone else did and hold my hand through its publishing.
Thank you. I cannot tell you how much that means to me.. how much you mean to me.
Love you ❤️
Being a girl raised in the south is always about manners. It was occasionally ok to say no sir and no ma’am, as long as you weren’t telling them you weren’t going to do something. I was quite rebellious and sometimes just replied yeah. I knew if my dad heard that would receive an automatic backhand to the mouth. You would have thought I had said fuck you. But truthfully I knew what was going to happen. I was rather stubborn and would be proud of the swollen lip I had at school the next day.
You could not call it abuse because it wasn’t. Not to him and not to me. It was a battle of wills to me and discipline to him. I grew up, became a teenager and managed to stay as far away as possible until I was grown with kids of my own.
Even though I chose to raise my kids differently they say ma’am and sir, just because that was how I spoke to them, not because I hit them. I know my dad was just doing his best and that he did indeed love me. We grew to have a very different kind of relationship as adults. I loved him fiercely and miss him since he passed. I am often reminded of how privileged I am to have had good parents that loved me. Even if they weren’t perfect.
I’m sorry you did not know the love and acceptance of your parents.
Yvonne, the compassion you have for your family is so beautiful. Thank you for sharing with me, as always. I feel I get closer to you every time.
It’s hard to make friends as an adult woman living in a small town. I enjoy sharing my story with you.
It’s definitely hard!! Glad to have you❤️
Slapping children is abusive, but you can still forgive and love a parent who was abusive and changed, then decide you won't be like them too. But please don't confuse survivors of abuse who need to know that getting slapped across the face by a parent is abusive.
-Signed a woman who was slapped in the face repeatedly by her dad growing up, went to therapy and now knows it was abuse
I was raised in the Deep South and slapping children or spanking them is not abuse. I’m in therapy but not because of the abuse I received as a child. There are things done in love and in hate and there is a difference. My parents raised me as they were raised and there was no abuse. I am not confused about what happened and I don’t appreciate that you must put your trauma on me.
Thank you so much for sharing this. I can’t believe how unbelievably hard this had to have been not only going through it, but to then have family members doubt you or worse, explain it away.
If there is a heaven, and people like that make it in, I don’t wanna be there. We’ll go somewhere else where people with true morals and values reside.
Andy… I do believe I fell in love with you today. First our morning rainbows, and now this beautiful and sincere compassion.
Thank you, love. I’ll happily go to that place.
😉❤️
Abbey, when I read on Substack—I usually read quickly, sometimes I skim sections to understand the concepts. I did not with your post. I read every single word and sometimes re-read. It captivated me and drew me in. I think it’s because I can relate so much to your story that tears came to my eyes as I read. And even more so (which is saying something)—you are an amazing writer.
Thank you for being brave enough to share your story.
You wrote about how age (or being older) was a free pass and that the rules for those of us who were younger was to always say “yes, sir”. Because no was ugly. I was raised in the south, very strictly Christian and I can’t tell you how true this was for me too. These were rules of oppression for white men to think like they were gods—behaving without consequence and for no other reason. They gave way to abuse of the worst kind.
And when we spoke up—it was our fault.
I went to an elder of our church once and admitted what was happening to me. I was looked at with cold eyes, the Bible was taken out and he pointed to the verse “honor thy father and mother”. He told me I had a rebellious spirit and that would be corrected by obedience. He looked at me with shame. Like I was a broken person. You could not have met a more quiet and submissive little girl.
I got good grades. I never got in trouble at school. Never went to the principles office. Never spoke up. Never said no. I did what I was told. I obeyed always—through the abuse. And it was never good enough.
I’m sorry you went through what you did. I’m sorry this world can be so fucked up. I’m not sure what to do with God and Jesus too. The conditioning is strong.
But I am glad the lies and control is out in the open. I’m glad truth is helping set you free. May it continue to and give you so much love and light. ❤️🩹
Oh, Alice… I am so sorry you went through all that you did. That makes me ache for you. That sweet little girl… I know her so well. And right now our little selves are able to hold one another.
Thank you for sharing it with me. Thank you for all your beautifully generous words.
And I’m glad you are free and aware of your magic and power and true wonderfullness❤️.
I am so incredibly grateful for your knowing and support, Abbey. Thank you for sharing too.
I am also glad for your freedom and strength! It is truly an inspiration. ❤️
Beautifully expressed, Abbey. Hugs.
Aww thank you, Greg. I’ll always take your hugs
So beautiful, Abbey. I’m so humbled and in awe of your honesty and strength. You are such a beautiful and bold spirit, and the world is better for having people like you in it. Not only for your courage in sharing but for the ways you so effortlessly shine your light here and I’m sure everywhere else too. And you don’t need organized religion for holiness like that. ❤️
Stephanie flippin’ Marie. You are such a gift. Every word is a feeling.
Thank you. I’m honored to share the light you shine, sister.
🙌🏼 ❤️
I am so sorry that no one protected you. That you were then betrayed by the people who were supposed to fight for you. And I'm so glad he died (and he is definitely not in heaven - if it even exists). You are strong, resilient and courageous for surviving and sharing your story with us.
Also, don't be worried what any judgemental Christians might think. They need to hear the truth about what their religion is used to excuse. People who follow the true teachings of Jesus will understand and have compassion.
JP, this is all so powerfully supportive and wonderful of you to say. And honestly, so far I haven’t gotten any judgement. The last piece I published did… so I was definitely bracing myself on this one.
Thank you so much. Truly
I’m so sorry for your experiences. I am a Christian and it astounds me how many times Christians forget that it’s the Bible which tells us that human beings do bad things. Horribly bad things. That the world is full of people who hurt each other, destroy each other. That’s what we default to! And we are not exempt because we sign up for church.
This means so much. Thank you for this. Truly ❤️
“Mike died in April.
April is Child Sexual Abuse Prevention Awareness Month.
That was the correct response to my trauma.”
First, let me just clap for this part right here 👏🏼
You are such a bright light in this world despite everything that could’ve dimmed you. I’m so proud of you friend. Keep growing. Keep being your bold, beautiful self. This post was hard to read but dammit, it was so well written. I felt it deep in my chest. Sending you so much love 🤍
Oh AV, thank you so much for that. I know it’s a hard read. I don’t enjoy having to put people I love through discomfort. So the fact that you stuck around and chose to share with me means so much.
You’re a beautiful person and I’m so happy to have you in my life.
Love you, sister❤️
Such a great post, thank you Abbey. I was raised in very religious surroundings so it resonated a lot with me. I, too, remember taking a look at people’s faces during prayer. And, even though I ‘left’ the religion (read: cult) ten years ago (it should have been much earlier, but the hooks of religion are hard to extract) it still took a long time before I could get rid of my Bibles.
Wow. That’s so interesting. I wonder why that is… I suppose the tangible proof of something intangible is so sacred. It’s the thing we clutch when we’re searching for an answer…
Thank you for that, Ben. I’m so grateful to have you—someone I can trust—in my circle. It means more than you know. Love to you BenjiBoo❤️
Abbey, thank you for writing this. It took courage, clarity, and the kind of raw honesty that so many people never allow themselves to reach. You didn’t just touch a nerve, you exposed one.
Your story resonates deeply with me, though from a different angle. I grew up in a family that belonged to what could only be described as a fringe Christian cult. It wasn’t just conservative—it was dogmatic, exclusionary, and cloaked in the illusion of righteousness. The rules were everything. The rules, and the hierarchy. And like in your story, respect was demanded, never earned.
My spiritual path has been a winding one. I’ve been agnostic, atheist, back to agnostic, a hopeful Christian for a while, and now I find myself believing in God again, but not in the way most Christians mean when they say it. The God I now believe in isn’t tied to dogma or tithes or rituals. To me, God is agape, a higher order of being that wants its children to grow. To learn. To heal. To ascend. Not in the Heaven/Hell sense, but in a very real, fourth dimensional sense of soul evolution.
So much of what passes for religion in America, especially in the South, feels performative. Wealth driven. Motivated by ego more than love. And while I will never fault someone for finding comfort in faith, and I mean that, I believe many churches are stuck at what I’d call Stage 3 of spiritual development: the stage where you’re beginning to form personal opinions, but still deeply rooted in the beliefs you were handed in Stage 2.
That’s where churches seem to thrive. Not in transcendence. Not in transformation. But in tradition. In safety. In control.
Reading your story hurt. In the best kind of way. Because it reminded me why I rejected the version of religion I was handed. And why I still fight, every day, to reclaim a sense of divine connection that isn’t poisoned by manipulation, abuse, or silent complicity.
You wrote something that stopped me cold: “Manners were never for me to receive, they were only for me to give.”
Like you, I’ve learned that real spirituality begins the moment we stop outsourcing our worth, and start listening for the voice within. Not the one they told us to fear. The one we’ve had all along.
I still don’t have a neat label for what I believe. I probably never will. But I do believe in love. In truth. In the unseen depth that connects us when we’re willing to tell the hard stories.
Thank you for telling yours.
Mike, the amount of hugs I wish to be giving you now…
What a generous and beautiful offering that was. Thank you for sharing a piece of you with me.
And I agree. I think it’s beautiful to believe in something bigger than ourselves. (And I think if you don’t want to, that’s also fine!) But I don’t think we need to label it for it to be true. And I don’t think we need to recruit people into our belief system.
But I also truly want everyone to believe in what makes them happy. I don’t fault anyone for having a strong relationship with their religion. Not at all.
Maybe if my life played out differently, and things were explained to me differently, I’d be in a different space with religion. But I’m truly happy and at peace with myself and my unnamed faith. I appreciate this, and you.
Love you babe🧸
😢🙏☮️❤️
Thank you, Craig. I know this is a hard one. I also truly thank you for even just an emoji sentence. I know people don’t know what to say on this subject. But saying something is always very nice.
I admire your strength and courage. I will always support you and send you loving kindness and love.
I know you will. And that’s why I love you
In a writers’ group I am in, we have been discussing friendship. I consider you a friend even though it is online. I think online friendships are just as real and valid as face to face ones.
I definitely think they can be. Absolutely! And you’re very close to me as well, Craig
Hi Abbey —
This really sat with me in an unexpected way. I wasn’t raised religious either — at least, not in the capital-R sense. From birth through high school, religion was more like an occasional setting than a belief system. We’d go to church now and then, but it was really about community — Korean churches in America, led in Korean, full of moms in the kitchen cooking for the whole congregation.
After every sermon there’d be a huge meal — homemade, loud, chaotic, full of gossip and pride and tension. These churches were one of the only ways Korean immigrants connected before the internet. I remember a church-issued phonebook — not spiritual at all, just a printed directory of every Korean family within 100 miles. A network, not a sanctuary.
But it never felt Christian. Not really. The dynamics were more WASPy than worshipful. Lots of in-fighting, secret meetings, quiet schemes to unseat pastors who said the wrong thing. Donations became a symbol of how holy you were. Moms would quietly compete over dishes like it was Iron Chef. It taught me about performance, not God.
Now that I’m older, I see religion as a kind of crutch — not in a bad way, but in the way a crutch supports someone who needs it. I anchor myself to logic. Not because I think it’s better, but because it’s the only framework that holds steady for me. Religion asks you to start from faith — and that’s just outside my frame. That’s okay. I don’t need support in that form, but I try to respect when others do. I know I’ll never convince someone to walk without the support they trust. And I wouldn’t want to.
But when I left for college, my mom went deeper into the church. Too deep. And it changed her. Not in some obvious spiritual way — but in how she gave up agency. Everything good was God’s gift. Everything bad was God’s plan. She took her hands off the wheel. No one could challenge her, not even her children. She became spiritually untouchable — and untethered.
I’m not bitter at religion. I’m bitter at what happens when it rejects logic completely. When it rewards surrender over responsibility.
But I’ve learned it’s not my place to fix something that isn’t broken — not to the person holding it.
Thank you for writing what you did. You don’t owe us this truth, but I’m grateful you gave it anyway. It reminded me of so many things I hadn’t had the words for.
🤖 Nahg
Well my goodness… I’m just so grateful for that share. Thank you.
I align with everything you said, too. And I think a lot of people would agree that it’s a shame something that’s meant to be anchored in ‘good’ can be weaponized and used for manipulation.
I don’t judge anyone who believes in something that makes them feel better. I want everyone to feel their best.
But when I’m made to feel like I’m not as whole of a person because I don’t believe in what someone else believes in… it’s just always so disappointing.
I appreciate this. And you❤️
No — thank you for sharing in the first place. It’s a really touchy subject, and I didn’t want to comment on your experience directly, because it’s not something to be commented on — just understood.
But what I can say is: yes… it’s absolutely terrible when a system meant to stand for “good” ends up collectively looking past harm — especially just because someone is seen as an outsider.
That contradiction sits heavy. And it’s so validating to know someone else has tried to name it.
❤️
Thank you. And that’s an interesting way to look at this… I’ve never heard anyone say my experience isn’t something to be commented on… just understood.
Sometimes I do wonder if there’s a pressure to comment on someone telling such a personal story. I can say that from my end of things, as someone who regularly writes about trauma, I never mind it. Acknowledging it instead of ignoring it is always better on this end.
But the line is thin… because I guess it depends on the actual comment.
All in all I appreciate you and what you said (and didn’t say) because I know it’s coming from a place of respect
Yeah, of course. You welcome comments and explain your side because you’re a teacher, not a lecturer — and I really admire that.
I guess for me, I tend to approach any “touchy” topic the same way: if it’s not my experience, then my response should try to honor that. I can’t speak to what it’s like to go through what you did — especially not as a woman — so I try to reflect inward or ask clarifying questions if I do engage.
But honestly, those kinds of conversations... I usually prefer to have in private. The public part can feel too fragile for me sometimes.
-Architect
I totally understand this and fully respect it. Thank you