They promised heaven but sold me chains.
I didn’t wake up one day and decide to “turn my back on God.”
I just got really fucking tired of pretending the voice in my chest wasn’t real.
Tired of being told to surrender everything to an invisible man in the sky while ignoring the quiet scream inside me that said,
“What if they were all just making this shit up?”
It wasn’t rebellion.
It was remembering.
And once you remember… you can’t go back to sleep.
A Tool for Control — or Comfort?
Religion isn’t new — but how we’ve used it says a lot.
Historically, belief systems were used to govern, to control, and to keep people in line. Think about it:
- Ancient Egypt: Pharaohs said they were gods — convenient, huh?
- Roman Empire: Constantine adopted Christianity not for faith, but for order.
- Every major empire since? Promised heaven for obedience and hell for rebellion.
If people believe they’re always being watched by a divine judge, they’re easier to control.
And it wasn’t all malicious — religion also gave people a way to gather, to grieve, to feel less alone in the chaos of life.
But there’s a fine line between comfort and conditioning.
Some people need to believe their loved ones are in heaven. That there’s a reason bad things happen. That someone bigger will make it all right.
And that’s okay — until it becomes a leash.
Until it replaces your inner compass with fear of disobedience.
Looking Up When I Needed to Look In
I was taught to “give it to God.”
Every doubt, every pain, every rage-fueled breakdown — just pray it away.
So I did.
And nothing changed.
Because all that energy I was told to send up?
I actually needed to send inward.
I needed to sit with my own fear.
Listen to my body.
Speak to the parts of me that had been screaming into a holy void.
But Christianity taught me to doubt myself.
To kneel instead of roar.
To obey instead of explore.
To shrink and call it sacred.
So I did what “good girls” do — I called it faith.
But it was really just self-abandonment in a pretty robe.
When Obedience Becomes Erasure
Obedience sounds holy… until you realize it means stop thinking for yourself.
I wasn’t allowed to:
- Question the church
- Feel anger
- Explore my body
- Speak too loud
- Say “I don’t know”
I learned how to perform goodness. Smile when I was crumbling. Swallow my questions.
Thank God for crumbs and call it a blessing.
But the closer I got to “the perfect Christian woman,” the further I got from myself.
They say God wants you to surrender.
But what if that surrender looks like erasing your soul?
Scriptures That Just Don’t Make Sense
If this is the divine word of God… we need to talk.
🤯 Deuteronomy 22:28-29
If a man rapes a virgin, he must marry her and pay her father.
Excuse me? That’s not divine justice — that’s trauma bondage.
🤐 1 Timothy 2:12
“I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man.”
That one still gets quoted to silence women. In 2025.
🐟 Leviticus 11:10
Shellfish is an abomination.
Guess I’m going to hell for loving shrimp tacos.
🔨 Exodus 21:20-21
Beating your slaves is fine, as long as they don’t die immediately.
The fact that slavery is addressed as normal should’ve been the red flag.
We’re Still Living by a Book from the Stone Age
Let’s be real — the Bible was written in a time when:
- Women were literal property
- Plagues were divine punishment
- Science didn’t exist
- War was holy
- Fear ruled everything
And yet… we’re still quoting it like it’s a self-help manual for modern humans?
We’ve evolved.
We’ve fought for freedom, equality, human rights.
But too many people are still stuck in a system designed to control — not liberate.
You don’t hand someone a 2,000-year-old book that condones slavery and tell them, “This is how you should live.”
The Awakening: When My Voice Got Louder Than Fear
Here’s the real shit:
I didn’t fall away.
I woke the fuck up.
I stopped begging for a savior.
I stopped calling my intuition “sin.”
I stopped confusing spiritual abuse with divine discipline.
And when I finally got quiet — not performative-prayer quiet, but soul stillness — I heard something.
Me.
Not the voice of shame. Not the doctrine. Not the fear.
My own voice.
She said:
“You’re not broken. You’re just buried.”
I didn’t leave God.
I left the idea that I needed to be saved to be whole.
Journal Prompts for the Quietly Questioning
- What part of you did religion teach you to suppress?
- Are your beliefs rooted in truth… or in fear of punishment?
- What if “losing your faith” is actually finding your voice?
- Do you feel more alive in obedience — or in freedom?
- What kind of spiritual practice would you create if you started from scratch?
You don’t have to burn down your entire belief system today.
But if it’s keeping you small, scared, and silent —
you’re allowed to walk the fuck away.
Not because you hate God.
But because you finally trust yourself.
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