I left the church decades ago. I didn’t walk away — I ran. I never looked back because what I saw wasn’t God — it was control. A god made in the image of fear, judgment, and human ego.
They told us God was always watching, always loving. But that “watching” wasn’t love. It was surveillance. A mechanism to keep us small, scared, and obedient. Like a shadow lurking in the corner of every room, reminding you you’re never free.
You’re “made in His image,” they said. Perfect, whole, exactly like the white Midwestern reverend with the family who never questions, who fits neatly into a sanitized, unchallenging mold. If you don’t fit, you’re broken. If you don’t look like that, you’re a problem to fix or a sinner to condemn.
Aunt Shirley was my safe place once. The fun one. The kind one. The one who promised unconditional love. But when she “found God” again, she buried that love somewhere behind the sofa. Suddenly, I was a sinner. Dirty. Worth less… worthless. She never said it aloud, but her actions screamed betrayal louder than words ever could.
Love twisted by fear is cruelty in disguise.
Here’s the unvarnished truth: if your Jesus looks more like a polished Republican senator than a homeless activist, you are worshipping a fraud. Jesus came for the broken, the outcasts, the forgotten. He dined with the poor, the rejected, the ones who made polite society uncomfortable. If your god cheers policies that harm the vulnerable, that silence the marginalized, then your god isn’t divine — it’s a political tool wielded to uphold power.
Saying “I love you” while voting against my rights is not love. It’s gaslighting. It’s saying one thing with your mouth while stabbing me in the back with your ballot. If your morality condemns me and your politics threaten my safety, then your love is a lie. It’s a self-serving ego trip masquerading as faith.
Rejecting that manufactured god freed me. Freed me from shame, from the need for approval, from the suffocating chains of judgment. I am still here — whole, unbroken, unapologetically myself.
Real love protects fiercely. Real faith uplifts. It doesn’t exclude or silence. It doesn’t look the other way when people suffer. Real humility means seeing beyond your own ego and comfort.
If you can’t look past your pride, you’re worshipping a god made in your own image — nothing but a mirror reflecting your fears and biases.
I’m done shrinking for a god who doesn’t see me. I’m done molding myself to fit a faith that demands my erasure.
I am unapologetic.
And to hell with anyone who demands otherwise.
This article first appeared on Medium.com on 5/24/2025