Still Rebuilding: When Christianity Robs You of Your Very Personhood

There’s this lie.

This lie I was spoon fed from birth. A lie they put in an IV drip, one I carried with me always, until the lie became my very blood. A lie that lives, still, at the very center of me. Of everything. This lie:

At my heart of hearts, I believe that I do not deserve to exist.

But this lie is really made up of many littler lies. Lies in the form of sermons and scripture, bible stories, song lyrics, prayer sayings, Christianese lines. I broke these down in a draft of a letter to my church. They taught me I have no right to exist. I learned that and more.

1. You taught us that we were tiny, insubstantial, miscellaneous compared to God. That we were utterly worthless and wicked and we should be so so soooooo grateful that gosh, wasn’t Jesus just SWELL for deigning to even notice that we existed?

I learned that I was unimportant (unless it was to God) and that having any sort of pride or understanding of my place in the world was foolish and shockingly arrogant. I feel like I am forever part of the background — never part of real life or relating to other human beings. I am always on the sidelines socially, and I keep myself there because I haven’t realized that I deserve and am entitled to more. I feel I do not belong and am only allowed to be there.

I am situationally mute — I have a hard time speaking and interacting with other people — because I feel like I don’t have the right to participate in life. The rest of you are main players, and I am an NPC, a non-playable character you walk up to to get info or some useful trinket from and then continue on your adventure. I am part of the background, and not the action, the real, complex, hands-on act of relating to other human beings.

And that is because I was taught that I am literally part of the background in God’s universe. My church got into Francis Chan’s book Crazy Love when I was in early high school, and I adored it. I read and reread that book word for word so many times I still have it memorized. Looking back now, every word makes me sick and enraged.

“I am still dumb enough to forget that life is all about God and not about me at all …

Suppose you are an extra in an upcoming movie. You will probably scrutinize that one scene where hundreds of people are milling around, just waiting for that two-fifths of a second when you can see the back of your head. Maybe your mom and your closest friend get excited about that two-fifths of a second with you … maybe. But no one else will realize it is you. Even if you tell them, they won’t care.” (pg 42)

Francis Chan went on to say that this movie is life, and to describe anyone who thinks that their life is about them as “delusional.” Today, I still operate like I am an extra who appears for two-fifths of a second in the movie of life, except everyone else is a main character and I am not.

2. You taught us that everything good we did was God through us, since we had died and Christ was living through us. All that we were was our sins and our weaknesses. We gave credit for everything good, admirable, or unique about us to God, saying it was not us.

I learned to mentally separate all of my strengths, uniquenesses, and goodnesses away from my view of myself until my self splintered. I now see myself as multiple selves. When people compliment me, I feel like they are talking about someone else, because I’m so used to thinking that it is literally not me. I am going to have to reconcile these parts of myself now, incorporate myselves back into a healed whole.

3. You taught us that we did not belong to ourselves. That the REASON FOR OUR EXISTENCE was to serve God. Forever. That we were to be his literal slaves. And on top of that, that we should be OVERJOYED for the chance to be, and that this was our entire identity. Nothing else mattered.

I learned that I only existed to serve other people, and that my own desires, ambitions, and joys did not matter — in fact, they were foolish, dangerous, and arrogant. I learned I had no right to prioritize myself or want anything for myself. The thought of telling people when something is painful, uncomfortable, or less than I deserve is utterly terrifying because I was expected to THANK God for all of my suffering. It was there to make me rely on him and realize just how lost I was without him and I was literally supposed to rejoice in it like Job did, like Paul did. Suffering was a natural part of life and what I deserved in the first place.

4. You taught us that we needed to actively deny our desires and ambitions, because only what God wanted mattered. Our career interests, our thought life, the movies we watched, the people we befriended, how we spoke, it was all up to God, not us. We would be what God wanted us to be in life to further his kingdom.

I learned that it was selfish to want things, and that I had no right to do so. I find it extremely hard to communicate what I want. In a world where everything is about God and you are meant to reduce yourself down to nothing, I was encouraged to stifle my own desires. In fact, these things were foolish, selfish, even evil. I find it humiliating to admit I want things with other people now, from friendships to sex — and a little scary, because I can’t help feeling like someone will come punish me for daring to think I’m person enough to want things out loud.

But altogether, these are basic parts of human existence. Having a place in the world, understanding what you’re worth and what you deserve, expressing what you want. This is what being a person IS. My church’s Christianity wanted me to stop being a person. It literally wanted me to become nothing so God could have all the glory. It wanted me to exist as little as possible. To believe I didn’t deserve to exist.

Believe is not even the right word. Know is better. It was taught, the way a woodpecker teaches wood to make way for its beak. Until it was as familiar as skin: I don’t deserve to exist. I don’t exist. I don’t exist like you do. I’m 20 years old, and I am realizing that I believe this for the first time.

I think this lie was pounded into me so hard that it went straight through me.


  • Luke 17:10: “So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.’ ”
  • Galatians 2:20: “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.”
  • Luke 14:26: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.”
  • John 3:30: “He must increase, but I must decrease.”

This is not the first time I’ve written about how horrific Christianity can be to self-esteem. But it is the first time I see just how insidiously and viscerally it has affected me — like corkscrewing the middle out from me. I don’t believe that I deserve to exist. I don’t believe that I am entitled to taking up space, having strengths, wanting things out of life, or being a person in general.

This kind of thinking is insidious. It eats you like acid. It breaks you down little by little, saying not just “you can’t want things” but “how DARE you want things,” not just “don’t think you have a priority in your own life” but “don’t be SO DELUSIONAL as to think you have a priority in your own life,” until your self-esteem dissolves away. 

Growing up, I was taught that these beliefs were ultimate good, ultimate truth. 

Right now, today, I see it for what it is. I think it’s deep evil. I think it’s a sickening, horrifying lie, and it enrages me that people in my church (and around the world) are still being taught this. Little kids are still being raised like this, still having their hearts and minds broken down until they find themselves where I am: 20 years old, and realizing for the first time that they don’t feel like they have the right to be a person.

But there is a person inside me, a self that has been hidden for a long time. A self that some wise and desperate part of me managed to secret away from the all-consuming destruction that my Christianity wrought. The person I would’ve-could’ve been if I hadn’t been indoctrinated, abused. The person I still am at my heart of hearts, and one day will be inside and out. A self I am reconciling with, apologizing to, learning about, and falling in love with.

This self loves me. This self I meet in my inner world, in woods fragrant with moonlight, jasmine, shifting murmurs and movement, in parking lots, in palaces. This self knows who I am and what I deserve. We’re going to work together to learn how to exist with boldness, pride, joy. To really take up space. To take part in life, to be a main character.

I am going to spend the next few weeks thinking about what it means to be a person. This status, this act, this way of living life itself that I’ve been denied for so long. That I am going to reclaim, “little by little every day, little by little in every way.” And I am going to come back and share what I learn with you all.

Then I’m going to do a scathing chapter by chapter review of Crazy Love, because FUCK that book.

(Edit 8/6/17 for grammar/link colors)

10 thoughts on “Still Rebuilding: When Christianity Robs You of Your Very Personhood

  1. I feel like I could have written this on so many levels …

    I tend to work in silence when normal people often chatter away. There are times when I’m in a group, trying to figure out what to say – but never manage to put together a sentence before the conversation shifts.

    I also tend to separate myself into different selves – one well-behaved self who is the outward appearance of perfection, another that’s been accused of being a troll on more than one occasion – another just to try to figure out if I feel anything at all and what that is. I don’t think of myself of having any strengths.

    Growing up, I never had a dream about what to do or to be on career day – and that never changed. I studied about how people who had American Dreams could hustle, work hard, and step-by-step make something of themselves. And me? With no dream, I have nothing and I am nothing and I wasn’t ever really one to want anything either – particularly things I knew I’d never have.

    I was also taught to not feel – I read this and identify with it, but not even a hint of smoldering anger ignites, nor a tear to mourn an identity – a soul that was lost.

    I think – on top of that, I was particularly susceptible because I had no friends and was badly bullied as a kid for years and years and thought that at least God would want me if nobody else did as long as I obeyed what I was told to do. I separated myself from the world and surrounded myself with Christians who were all just like me – and I them. So nobody bothered to stop and question what was going on.

    My mistake was that I transgressed the rules. When the church said: “You are of age. Marry, multiply, be fruitful …” I was like: “Being single isn’t half bad, after all. I just don’t want to give that up right now.” They made it clear that I’d stepped off of the beaten path and weren’t happy. It just seemed like a crack had broken in their control over me.

    Still, compared to more normal people, I still feel like a shadow – a ghost of person that could have been. I find normal people mystifying because I don’t feel like one of them, but I also don’t feel like the Christian that I used to be.

    Liked by 4 people

    1. Jamie,

      This broke my heart. You are so wonderful. Your heart is like a rose blossoming with a new bloom daily.

      I am so sorry this happened to all of you in the “Name of God.”

      I am seeing by reading so many stories, when we take God and Scripture to a very dark place within ourselves, these are the results for others.

      Jamie, I know it is only through a computer but I am here to love you. Love you as you are and as you choose to be.

      Even though you were taught “not to feel” you do feel, Jamie. You feel with love and compassion for others. I know that by the way you are guiding and helping me to understand all of this.

      I am literally in tears for all of you. I am speechless also. I cannot imagine growing up in a Church that teaches this to their kids. I am not saying my Church is perfect by no means.

      I am saying for those of us who truly live it, I have never seen or known anything but love for myself, love for them, and love for all the kids.

      If we did not deserve to exist, then we would have never of been created. We were all created for a purpose. That purpose was not to be a “slave” to anything.

      Again, I am speechless and my heart is broken.

      To all of you I am so sorry. I love you all and God Bless, SR


  2. I wish I could give you more than one like on this post! So much yes! Everything that you were able to do in your life, that they told you was god, that was actually you! Anytime you had strength and courage, they taught you to steal the credit from yourself and give it to their imaginary friend instead.

    Nobody should ever have to feel like an NPC in their own lives, and nobody should be a small character in a book written by somebody else. We are each the main character in our own book, and we are writing our own damn book our own damn selves, and nobody gets to predetermine what the plot is going to be.


  3. Max,

    I wrote a reply to Jamie as some comments have been left on my blog. What I wrote to Jamie the same goes for you. Again I am so sorry. God Bless, SR


  4. I totally identify and resonate with all you’ve written. Recovery from Christianity is very much like deprogramming from a death cult. It takes time. Here’s to all of us who finally woke up to escape.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s