Woman Asunder

I left the Christian faith in late 2019. At the time I was still open to the possibility of rebuilding a version of my faith that felt more authentic. In fact, leaving didn’t really feel like a choice until much later. The 2020 pandemic came shortly thereafter, making it very easy to deconstruct without suspicion or concern from friends or family. No one was going to church during lockdown after all. This environment created a much needed space to process things.

Relief

I was quite surprised to find that my predominant emotion after leaving the Church was relief.

Shame did not loom as large in my childhood as it seems to have loomed for many of my friends (and ex-spouse) who were also raised in similar religious households. The values and morals of my home were technically the same, but my parents were (as I’ve since discovered) unique and somewhat progressive when it came to parenting. Don’t get me wrong, it was quite ‘traditional’ in many ways – spankings, unqualified respect for adults, no sex before marriage (et cetera), and my brother’s experiences were stricter than mine as the only girl and youngest child. However, I am often thankful to not be carrying the guilt and insecurity that many of my peers seem to still be working through.

There is, however, an area in which I did feel guilty. I may not have felt the shame that came alongside fear of eternal punishment or belief in my sinful nature, but I definitely felt the guilt of not doing enough in my pursuit of a relationship with God. I was always trying to be more consistent with daily devotions, reading the Bible, prayer, and even the more intense spiritual disciplines like fasting. I didn’t feel too guilty about disliking fasting or missing a day of devotions, but I constantly felt guilty for the fact that I really didn’t get anything out of prayer.

Prayer is supposed to be a persons direct line to God in Christianity. It’s supposed to make you feel closer to God, help you hear from God and therefore get answers to questions (and direction in life). I prayed a lot, but my mind would wander. If I was in a group, I rehearsed in my head waiting for my turn rather than listening to everyone else. In private, I only really prayed when I was afraid or needed comfort. I hated prayer meetings (which were abundant in my Pentecostal period), and I never “felt” the presence or communication back from God that was promised.

I used to comfort myself with verses about God honoring our effort to find him, and I lied about how often I prayed and read the Bible to avoid seeming less spiritual. There was a hierarchy that made it clear – if you weren’t in the Word and in prayer, your opinions weren’t valid. The ones closest to God were the ones who spoke on his behalf.

There’s a lot to unpack there. Spiritual abuse thrives in some of these ideas. But part of the relief I felt was in the letting go of performative behavior, and the guilt of not being “good at” or needing to force myself to do things like pray.

In many ways, deconstructing is painful and lonely. But, for me anyway, it’s also been a huge relief. I didn’t realize how much stress, anxiety, and guilt I was actually carrying until I left the Church. I was so shocked to feel relief as the primary emotion when I decided I was done. Especially considering how much it had grieved me to see others leaving the faith before me.

Discouragement

What does this have to do with my divorce? Well, my divorce, while not the cause, is inextricably linked to my deconstruction journey. And now that I am approaching the “other side” of it, I am finding that one of the side effects of deconstruction is I am more easily discouraged about my future – especially when it comes to dating again. Lack of belief is making my post-divorce life feel a lot more complicated.

Something that my faith gave me was a belief in something greater. Believing in something bigger than yourself – whether it’s God or the universe – it is one of the most helpful aspects of religion. It gets you out of your own way. It offers a peace that gives you space to be truly present or to endure a hardship.

I haven’t really had an existential crisis or become a nihilist. I do believe that we can create meaning that has value even without there being a divine plan. I do believe it is possible to be intentional and optimistic about life without believing in God. What I have lost is the belief that there is something bigger than me guiding the way. And when it comes to divorce, and dating, that is a new and difficult concept for me.

When I believed in a God, it was easy to relax into the idea that things are not in my control. When I believed that there was a plan for my life, I could take comfort in knowing that God would bring the right person to me in the right time. There are similar concepts in non Christian belief. Whether it’s the idea of energy, attracting good things into your life with intent, or that the universe works to balance things out with karma – peace is found in the idea that good things will come back around after hard times. It’s easier to cope with the loss and loneliness of divorce when you believe at your core that there’s another (maybe even better) person out there for you.

I don’t believe that. Or rather, I don’t believe it’s guaranteed. If there’s no divine power influencing things, then there is no guarantee of finding love again at all, much less a “better” love with a person far more suited for me. It is easy to get discouraged. Dating apps, the state of dating in general, the pool of men in my area and in my age range – I’ve already seen enough to feel fairly discouraged. I have friends my age who have never been married or found the right fit (despite wanting to and being awesome people).

It’s not that I am so pessimistic that I believe it’s impossible. It may even be more likely than not. It’s more that I can’t really relax into the belief that it will come if and when it’s “meant to” – because what does that even mean if there’s no one in control of the outcome. What if finding love again is just a game of chance or lucky timing?

So I have been trying to focus on building a life I enjoy and find value in without the need for a romantic partnership. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to find a partner again, and I believe that will require intention on my part. However, if it’s not guaranteed, it makes sense to work towards believing in the value of my life with or without a romantic partner.

I could even take comfort in the knowledge that I already was gifted one great love in my lifetime, and focus my energy on living life to the fullest within the freedom of singleness.

I think I have the right mindset, but this has been a layer of grief and moving on that was somewhat unexpected. Sometimes I miss the peace that came with belief and being certain that good things were ahead.