Disclaimer: This post explores faith deconstruction, family rejection, and the kind of love that stops being love when it comes with conditions. If you’re feeling convicted, that’s between you and God—not you and my inbox. Read with compassion—or read something else.
Section 1: Performance, Conditional Love, and the Ghosts of Christmas Past
I think deep down, I always knew this could happen. That if I ever stepped too far out of line—if I didn’t believe exactly what they believed, if I didn’t toe the line of their version of “faith”—they might disown me.
As long as I performed as the straight, churchgoing, “godly man” they expected me to be, things were fine. Dinners still happened. Holidays were still celebrated. I was still introduced as their child. But it was always on the condition that I stayed inside the narrow, uncomfortable box they had built for me.
The moment I stopped performing, the love stopped, too.
The final nail in the coffin came just before my wife and I moved to Colorado. We asked if they wanted to get together for Christmas dinner—one last chance to see each other before we moved so far away. They said no. And while they did offer an explanation, it wasn’t rooted in love or even honest struggle—it was rooted in judgment, in bigotry. There was no effort to bridge the gap, no attempt at understanding. Just a line drawn in the sand and a quiet message: you’re not welcome.
It felt like a death.
Not mine. Theirs.
They’re still alive, but that moment buried something I thought was sacred. And in its place, I started unearthing something much more real.
Section 2: When the Veil Started to Tear
I don’t know exactly when I realized it wasn’t about God—but about their interpretation of Him. It wasn’t a lightning bolt moment. It was slow and painful, like removing a splinter you didn’t know was embedded deep beneath your skin.
The pandemic started to expose the cracks. People from the church I grew up in screamed about their “right to go to church” while vulnerable people were dying. And I remember thinking: This is not the Jesus I know. Jesus would’ve been the one wearing a mask and washing feet, not throwing tantrums over worship bands and pews.
But one of the biggest shifts came when I learned just how much of what I’d been taught was wrong—factually, historically, spiritually.
For example, the word “homosexual” didn’t appear in the Bible until 1946. Watching the documentary 1946 was like putting on spiritual glasses for the first time. It became clear that evangelicals created an issue where there was none, twisting scripture to serve their fear-based agenda.
A friend of mine, someone who actually studies scripture with depth and context, once told me:
“You can’t use scripture alone. You have to understand the culture, the language, and the audience it was written for.”
And that hit me hard. Because imagine people 2,000 years from now digging through our memes, group texts, or bumper stickers and trying to build doctrine out of them. (“And lo, it was written: Live, Laugh, Love.”)
The clobber verses—those used for decades against LGBTQIA+ people—weren’t about love. They were about power, violence, and cultural context. And yet, people like my parents still wield them like divine permission slips for exclusion.
So no, I didn’t walk away from God.
I walked away from a version of God that never actually existed.
Section 3: The God I Know Now
The God I know now?
God is love. Full stop.
Not “God is love… if.”
Not “God is love… but only if you stay closeted, obedient, and quiet.”
Just… love.
I don’t serve a God who keeps score. I don’t serve a God whose love has fine print. The God I know sits with me in the silence, loves me when I’m messy, and never once asked me to disappear to be accepted.
And if I could go back to that younger version of me—sitting in a pew during an altar call, clutching shame and hoping for belonging—I know exactly what I’d say:
“The God they speak of? He’s real. But their version of Him isn’t.
You don’t have to earn love. You already are.”
Section 4: To the Ones Who Weaponized the Word
To the people who used scripture like a sword against me:
I’m sorry you felt you had to use hate, fear, and bad theology to protect your fragile version of faith.
I’m sorry you confused control with conviction.
I’m sorry you thought exclusion was somehow righteous.
But mostly? I’m not sorry for surviving it. I’m not sorry for walking away from it. And I’m definitely not sorry for telling the truth.
Things You’ll Never See on a Church T-Shirt (But Should)
- “God is love—even to the uneducated, misinformed, and mean.”
- “God loves you, but I’m still in therapy because of you.”
- “If God’s love has fine print, it’s not God’s love.”
- “Y’all made religion a personality trait. God said, ‘That’s not me.’”
- “Jesus hung out with the marginalized. You unfriended them.”
Section 5: Real Peace, Chosen Family, and Holy Ground
These days, peace doesn’t come from being accepted by the people who raised me. It comes from realizing that family isn’t just blood—it’s chosen. It’s the people who show up, who see you, who hold space for your truth and love you anyway. Especially anyway.
My relationship with God?
Honestly, it’s murky.
But it’s also more real than it’s ever been.
And if you’ve read this far and something resonated—if you’ve ever felt disowned, unseen, or unlovable—then this post is already doing its job.
You are not broken.
You are not disqualified.
You are not alone.
God is love. And love has always included you.
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