What happens when the place you once turned to for comfort becomes a source of pain? I was raised in a world where faith was supposed to be the answer to everything.
God was my refuge. The church was home. Scripture was law.
I was taught that God would never give me more than I could handle — that every trial was a test, and every tear would one day make sense.
But at 11 years old, I felt like I had already been handed too much.
Too much loss.
Too much confusion.
Too much silence from a God who was supposed to be speaking.
I didn’t have the words for it back then, but now I know — I was already grieving. Not just the circumstances of my life, but my faith itself.
When God Didn’t Show Up the Way They Promised
They said God was always near.
But I remember crying on the floor, begging for the pain to stop, and hearing nothing in return.
They said God was a father to the fatherless.
But what happens when the father’s wounds run deep and the church says pray harder
instead of let’s listen?
It’s not that I stopped believing in God — I stopped believing in the version of God they handed me.
I was told to stay strong, that my suffering was part of His divine plan. But I was eleven, breaking under the weight of secrets I couldn’t name and pain no child should carry.
The Church That Wounded Me
What hurt most wasn’t just what happened — it was the people who claimed to speak for God while causing more harm.
The preacher who looked through me when I cried.
The elder who said my trauma was a result of my disobedience. The women’s group that shamed my emotions as “ungodly.”
It felt like betrayal in the deepest way.
Not only had I been wounded by life — I was now being spiritually gaslit by those I was told would guide me.
How do you move forward when the people who said “God loves you” are the same ones who crushed your spirit?
How do you trust again when the place that promised healing becomes the very source of your deepest spiritual wounds?
The Grief No One Talks About
There’s a kind of grief we don’t name enough: spiritual grief. It’s not just losing faith in a doctrine or institution.
It’s mourning the version of God you once believed in.
It’s questioning everything that once gave your life structure, meaning, identity.
It’s grieving the you who trusted blindly.
The you who sang the hymns with full belief.
The you who really thought God would never let you break.
There’s guilt in that. Shame, too.
Because what kind of believer starts questioning the very foundation? I asked myself that for years.
But spiritual grief isn’t a lack of faith — it’s a sign of a wounded faith. A faith that’s been tested.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s a sign of a deeper faith — one that isn’t afraid to wrestle.
Still Believing, But Not Like Before
Don’t get me wrong:
I still believe in God.
But I no longer trust the way many churches run.
I no longer trust the idea that God is confined to pulpits, titles, or manmade systems.
I believe in a God who weeps with me.
A God who isn’t afraid of my anger, my doubt, or my aching questions. A God who doesn’t need performance, but presence.
And I’m still healing.
There are days I long to feel safe in a spiritual community again.
And there are days I feel closest to God in the quiet — in a journaled prayer, in a sunset, in a moment of honesty with someone who sees me.
To Those Who’ve Been Spiritually Wounded
If you’ve ever walked away from a church, not because you stopped believing in God but because you started believing in yourself — I see you.
If your grief includes a version of faith that no longer fits,
If you’re rebuilding your relationship with the Divine after it was distorted by others, If you’re grieving the loss of spiritual innocence…
This is for you. Your grief is sacred.
Your healing matters.
And you don’t have to walk it alone.
Because even when the theology crumbles and the sermons no longer speak to your soul
—There’s still something holy in the journey. Something divine in the rebuilding.
God is not afraid of your questions. God is not ashamed of your grief. And neither should you be.
With love for every wounded believer still reaching for truth, – Epiphany
