Why the Word ‘Religion’ Makes me Feel Panic

For me, when I hear the word ‘religion’, I want to curl up in a ball or run.

Almost immediately it can set off fight or flight in my nervous system. I feel a sense of panic rise up within me. My stomach feels twisted in knots, knots that haunted me for most of my life up until recently. They’re still here, but I’m finding pockets of relief — a story of healing for another time.

You see, I grew up in a very conservative, religious household. We were taught from an early age, both in the home and at church the several times a week we went, that this was “the way”, the only way in fact, to access God. To be sure of eternal life in heaven and avoid the never-ending suffering of hell.

I learned this from a very young age. Which, I recently realized, also means that because of how early I was indoctrinated — I don’t have a memory of freedom, a memory of peace. Any memory of truly thinking for myself without that carefully crafted lens.

What I do have are haunted memories of feeling like I was innately bad. That I was born evil.

I daily feared being “left behind” in my bed at night if I somehow forgot to ask God for forgiveness for something I said, for simply being a sinner, or for going to the movie theater when my mom was on one of her anti-theater-going-kicks. Did I really believe that if the rapture happened that Jesus was going to stop by the theater to pick me up on his way back to heaven? I’m not kidding when I say I was terrified as a child.

Religion held some positives for me, so I won’t pretend that those bright spots didn’t exist. It offered me a sense of community. A place to feel a little more seen. It was where I learned to play chords on the piano and began teaching myself how to play my favorite worship songs at the time.

That little church I grew up in supported me going on my first mission trip to the jungles of Oaxaca Mexico, and while heavily focused on the mission of converting the natives — what I hold dear today are the cultural experiences that continue to teach and challenge me.

It’s hard for me to hold all of the pieces together. The harm of something that also offered some positives. Yet no matter how much good there may have been, harm still happened. And the good does not outweigh the bad.

Which leads me to the new permission I’m giving to myself: to acknowledge the manipulation, the emotional wounds, the gaslighting that was done, without sugar-coating it or topping it off with any “but, at least…” statements.

This idea that God created us and called us ‘good’ only to turn around to deem us evil and unworthy, was really a head scratcher growing up. And this article was a really helpful read for me to connect some dots on why many of my experiences within religion were (and still are) so painful.

Because of how long I was submerged in the culture of this religion, I am still waking up to the harm that’s been done to my self-perception, my innate worthiness, and my ability to love myself.

The more time I give myself away from the beliefs that trigger more harm, away from the repeat verbal, spiritual and emotional abuse, the longer I’m able to lift up and out of the fog. The fog that keeps me thinking I’m wrong, I’m bad, or I’m unlovable.

It is real, it is thick, and it can feel all consuming. And moving through that fog feels like how I’d imagine dredging through deep mud in heels would feel. It’s incredibly tiring, requires tenacity and some kick-ass balance.

And so I’m spending time slowing down. Catching those inner thoughts that tell me I’m innately wrong, those thoughts that tell me I’m undeserving of love. And I’m replacing them with truth.

I believe our bodies know truth. They know love. They know light. I believe we’ve just all been so inundated with voices telling us what we need to believe, telling us what we need to think, and telling us the “only way” to have a spiritual experience (if that’s something we even want!).

But the more I quiet those outside voices, the more I feel my own intuition growing.

And the more that intuition grows, the more I’m seeing relationships and experiences with fresh eyes. I’m seeing them for what they are.

I’m no longer making excuses for the people who continue to hurt me under the guise of the “concern” they have for how far I’ve walked away from their faith. In the situations where it’s safe to do so, I’m speaking up. I’m setting boundaries.

And in situations where it doesn’t feel safe to speak up, I’m starting to remove myself from those settings and those people. It’s part of my belief building that my peace is a priority and I alone am responsible for protecting my energy.

As a mother, I am actively paving a new way for my two-and-a-half year old daughter. My hope is to continue to learn ways to support her freedom to explore what she believes, rather than being indoctrinated to believe one way.

And as I continue to release and heal decades of harm, I am reaching for light and support as I build a new way of being. A new way of mothering, of holding sacred space for who and what my daughter wants to be. Of breaking the cycle of guilt and shame and building, through my own inner work and example: self-love, confidence, and deep loving kindness toward the world.

Which also looks like unlearning the way I was parented. And phew, what a process that is. It takes a lot of vulnerability and strength to face the reality of what you experienced from your own parents and recognize the ways they’re now showing up in yourself.

But just because we never learned another way doesn’t mean we can’t start now. We’re worth the healing and even more important today: our children and the next generations are, too.

It’s in this process of letting go and learning a better way that I’m slowly, ever so slowly, healing that little girl inside of me. The little girl that is longing to be enough right here, right now. To be seen and held and known for all that she is and for it to be affirmed as perfect. Not the kind of perfect I was raised to be, but the kind of perfect that says: You are you. And YOU are wonderful. Just as you are.

Religion can be beautiful for some. Peace-giving, community building, and an accountability holder for others. But for myself, it was harmful and I’m still healing from the damage that’s been done.

Now I prefer a different way of connecting with my spirituality. A way I don’t exactly have a name for or an exclusive club gathering to invite anyone to. Rather, it’s an alignment with that truth that has always been softly flickering from within. A gentle invitation to come home. To leave religion in its place and come home to truth, light and unconditional love. Home to myself.