Guilty.

Required Listening: Where We’re Going by James and the Shame

I keep waiting for the bottom to drop out like we said it would

Still don't know where we're going
But I know I want you to go with me
Care less and less about the destination
As long as you’re there, that's where I want to be

I'd like to go back to the old us
Take your hand and say it's all gonna be okay
We could only do that they told us
Without that, who knows would we be here today

Before we left our last church, I spent months ruminating on why I wanted to leave before I ever brought it up to my husband, Brad.

In our 7 years together, we always attended church. We left our first church to help his uncle launch this one, so I had to think about how my wanting to leave would impact those relationships.

When I brought it up to Brad, he was less than thrilled. He actually told me I could leave and go somewhere by myself, he wasn’t leaving.

A month or 2 after that, we had a sit-down conversation with Uncle Pastor. I had a list of reasons I wanted to leave, my mental health was suffering there and I felt disconnected from everyone.

After I got through my first reason, it was clear that this would not be a conversation, just an hour-long blame session in which I was the target.

I spent the next day crying and it was then that Brad decided it was time to leave this church. When he told Uncle Pastor, the reply was, “I knew Alli’s mind was already made up before we had the meeting.”

This wasn’t the case but I knew better than to argue my side any longer.

I felt so guilty for leaving and for being the reason Brad left, too. I didn’t want to lead him down a path to damnation and I figured we’d find our new home church quickly.

We both decided to take the summer to rest and reclaim our Sundays before we started going anywhere regularly.

Once we went back, nothing felt like home.

Then, 2020 happened.

I stood back and watched how Christians acted toward masks, BLM, and in politics.

I felt guilty but there was no way I could return to church and worship with people who told me they’d run their cars into BLM protests or that they’re going to teach their children to hate China like their grandparents taught them to hate the Japanese.

This was when my faith started unraveling.

I kept it to myself and didn’t dare speak of it to Brad because I felt like a Doubting Thomas, but I couldn’t live with myself if I turned him into one, too.

I deconstructed in silence and it felt like the weight on my shoulders would crush me to dust if I let it.

But, I couldn’t burden Brad with it. After all, it’s my fault his family stopped talking to us or inviting us to holidays after we left the church.

I’ve had family members chastise me for not returning to church and blame me for Brad not attending, either, like he’s not an adult with a driver’s license and a car.

Now that we’re 5 years out from that fateful meeting, things are in a better place.

We haven’t seen his extended family since we left and I still struggle with the guilt of it. I have to remind myself that if they wanted to reach out, they could, too.

There are days when the weight of the world still threatens to take me under, but the guilt I feel is bearable and I can easily carry it with me now.