My biggest fear when I finally decided I was no longer going to be a part of any church was that my children would suffer. I was afraid that by admitting a religious framework wasn't working for me anymore, I was relinquishing my role as my children's main spiritual influence, and this would result in them turning into heathens. What are heathens? In my mind, they were people who lived for themselves over God and others, choosing their own beliefs and levels of morality. In many ways, that's exactly what happened. Now, seven years later, most days, I can tell myself that's not a bad thing. I'm so proud of all three of my kids. I raised them aware of their uniqueness and nurtured their individuality. I told them I wanted to teach them not what to think but how to think. All three of them work hard in their own way and are committed to being true to themselves. I admire this. I wish I had been more like them at their age. But don't get me wrong. It would feel much safer if all of us were still in the church culture. Ignorance is bliss. And maybe I wouldn't miss them so much. 

I believed that if I were Growing Kids God's Way and committed to Focus on the Family, my family would never leave. But that's not what happened.

Today I watched a long-time friend's daughter get married. I tuned into the LiveStream and celebrated my friend getting to be the bride's mother. I know she gave great attention to all the details of the wedding that took place in her backyard. I was so happy for her and wanted to be a part of it, even remotely.

But I also felt the emotions start to shake me as I took just a moment to contemplate my own family. Her daughter's wedding was a Christian wedding. They took communion together and were prayed over by a male pastor. I don't expect this to be what any of my children's weddings look like. At this point, none of them are committed to traditional Christianity. There are no guarantees for me as a mom of what our future family will look like now that the safety of being part of the Christian church is gone. And I know some people believe I have no one to blame but myself for this.

Two people have broken up with me since I started writing again. Actually, these are the only two that have let me know; maybe there are others. I was so careful about how I might offend one of them, but I offended her anyway. The other texted me numerous times, calling my writing toxic and an indulgence in negativity. She doesn't know me anymore, but what I represented to her has shattered. She doesn't want to know this Jenny because it is so outside the norms of what Christians are supposed to do and think. I guess I'm touching nerves, even though I am not writing to incite, tear down, or antagonize. Leaving the safety of group think and culture has consequences. This has just been one of them.

It took me five years between when I began to realize the church was not working for me anymore and when I finally stopped trying. I stayed most of that time for the kids. I thought they still needed some kind of religious observance around Christian holidays. They still wanted to go to youth group events to be with their friends, and sometimes there were things parents were a part of, so of course, I attended. But most of all, I knew that when I stopped steering our Religious Ship, we would have a vacuum, and I was scared of what that would mean. 

And here's the thing. It did mean some of the things the people inside the church warned me about. I struggled as a mom of a teenage daughter. I couldn't hold on to her, and I was scared. My marriage felt shaky, and there was no weekend retreat to attend. I was not secure. The external measurements of acceptance and belonging were gone. Friendships fell away, and I felt more and more alone. As a mother, I was blamed a lot. It was messy and scary and even a little bit dangerous. To write what actually happened between when I finally threw in the towel, and my youngest moved out for good still feels too hard. I think it's because I still don't have the happy ending I keep waiting for. That's another problem with religion. It can be formulaic. There's no formula now for what my family is supposed to look like. All I can do is stay committed to my healthiness and love them well, which for now means giving them lots and lots of space.

All three of my adult children live their lives without checking in very often. I have to choose again and again to not communicate something that says, "I need you to take care of my emotional needs." I have to sit with missing them and the fear that sweeps over me when I realize their identity is far removed from being my son or daughter. Sometimes I still think, "If only we still went to church, this wouldn't have happened." But then I ask myself, "Wait, Jenny. Is that really true?" The answer is no. There are no guarantees inside or outside the church. I don't think if I had stayed and still attended church regularly, I would be closer to them. At least this way, I am facing my fears instead of trying to ignore them.

When my first son was born, I had my girlfriend call my mother-in-law to tell her he was here. I deeply regret that now. If my daughter-in-law's friend, who I didn't know, called me to tell me my first grandchild was here instead of hearing it from my son or his partner, I would be crushed. But even though I was in the church, I wasn't healthy enough to know how to sit in the intimacy and vulnerability that happens when a child is born. My mother-in-law was kept at an arm's distance from being a part of the miracle that had just happened. I see now that even though I was in the church, I didn't know how to do certain things because I was emotionally unhealthy. This is only one of the countless examples. 

I now think that families inside or outside the church are only healthy when they know how to do the hard work of internal healing. I believe this can't happen if we're ignoring our complicated humanity in favor of religious allegiance, and unfortunately, a lot of church culture encourages the latter. Internal healing takes a long time. It doesn't happen at a weekend seminar or in a soaking service. Some of those I love are doing the hard work of self-awareness, letting go of ego, and facing their shadow side. Some of them are doing it within the church culture, but many more of us can't. I am one of them. 

I was in church for a lot of years to find healing. But it was elusive. I think it's because I couldn't do both. I was too busy trying to put on a spirituality that would protect me from fear and sadness instead of spending a LOT of time learning what that fear and sadness was all about. One of those fears I have to face is not knowing what our future as a family will look like. I can never take for granted that we are one big happy Christian family, a family, my therapist reminds me, doesn't exist. I believe that church attendance can’t fix that.