Losing My Religion and Leaving the Church Behind

I’ve been in therapy for a month now, trying to find a way to extricate myself from a life lived (and somewhat lost) in servitude to a religious body rather than a God. So far, the journey has been the cause of immense inner torment, coalesced with a paralysing loneliness and an inability to share with others how difficult the transition from existential certainty to uncertainty can be.

The cause for my formal exit from Christianity, specifically the Sydney Anglican sect, was triggered by rape. While travelling in late 2015, I “lost my virginity”, my little golden ticket that I was predestined to cash in on my wedding night, promising ultimate sexual fulfillment. I was drugged, taken advantage of and left with my head in a toilet and blood on my sheets.

I was not mad with God. I was always taught that being a Christian did not mean you were exempt from sin and pain. It was all God’s ‘plan’ after all. Instead of being fueled by anger, my rape illuminated a world with purpose beyond the biblical messages I had come to understand.

I grew up in an apologetics-driven Anglican church. I would watch my mother lead the congregation in song with her arms raised while my Dad strummed an acoustic beside her, all smiles. If I wasn’t watching them, I was running around the back of the church barefoot, hoarding stolen…