“I don't know what I think until I write it down.”

― Joan Didion

Over the last few months, I’ve been reevaluating what I want for Inherited Salt. Obviously, everything begins and ends with food - but just sharing (albeit delicious) recipes, is too vacant for who I am. Food is everything. It’s nourishment. It’s political. It’s justice. It’s healing. It’s comforting. It’s life. So I’m going to practice breathing more life into my space here. 

This year has brought everyone to their edge. And this is what I saw from my edge: time is fleeting, life is incredibly short, and I will not live it to please people, safely hiding under the decks so I don’t rock the boat. I will have an opinion. I will be political. I will fight for change. 

Living in comfortable neutrality creates ZERO change. Claiming good intentions, but staying quiet creates ZERO change. I will not waste my one fleeting life on that kind of cowardice. 

So here we go, let’s the rock the damn boat.

*DISCLAIMER* These are my personal opinions and my personal beliefs. I’m sure many friends and family might read this and think I am judging or condemning how they live their lives, but I assure you, I am not. Everyone is entitled to choose how they want to live, what they want to believe, and what opinions they choose to have.

And now, without further ado, may I present my religious unraveling:

It took me 8 years to find the courage to ask hard questions and shed old skin. 8. Whole. Years. I have talked with a handful of friends that experienced similar identity crises, or are currently in the midst of them, and here’s what I know from our shared experiences: when you come from a conservative Christian background, it can be very lonely and isolating to face unknowns and doubts because you’re scared to even admit them to yourself. 

Fear is an infamously cruel dictator, and I gave the bastard free rein. But then good ole Glennon Doyle came along. My relief and permission to breathe, arrived in a blue and white Amazon envelope when a friend sent me Glennon Doyle’s latest memoir, Untamed. I’ve always loved Glennon, and had that book sitting in my Amazon wishlist since it was published earlier this year, but had no idea that it was a roadmap to my liberation. Let me be very clear: Untamed didn’t change me because it taught me a new structure of beliefs, it changed me because Glennon gave voice and clarity to a pre-existing structure I was wrestling with: myself. 

Just myself. My raw, unconditioned, unrefined, jagged as hell, core that I kept trying to cover in old clothes I had outgrown. Glennon’s words softly and fiercely offered me courage to open the door and move forward. So I stopped trying to zip myself into old garments crafted by other people, and just came naked as I am. I’m writing this to follow Glennon’s example because she assured me that I’m not alone, and maybe someone else needs permission to face the unique brand of fear attached to doubting Christianity.

I remember sitting in my youth group one Sunday - I was probably 17 years old - and the youth pastor said 8 out of 10 of us would no longer be Christians before we finished college. You could see the fear sweep collectively over our aghast faces. We sat silently, stunned. Our arms erupted in nervous goosebumps, wondering how we could protect ourselves against such horrific statistics. Surely, not us! We’re such good strong young Christians. We raise our hands in worship. We go on mission trips. I even forced myself to pray out loud in prayer circles, and I hated it, but I still did it. I think we all silently assumed we had proven our sincerity and that we’d definitely beat the odds.

To be honest, in college I became a more involved and devout Christian (another essay for another time). It was after college when things began to come undone.

I thought this whole exposé would just be about why I don’t go to church, but the more I wrote, the more I knew it was really about my divorce from Christianity. Because, even though I kept trying to force myself to believe I was still a Christian, that’s really why I stopped going to church 8 years ago. No matter how many churches I tried, no matter how seemingly open-minded the pastor seemed to be, I didn’t believe them. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something very small and undeniably false in every church I visited. So I stopped going. I just kept thinking I couldn’t find a church I liked, but it was because once I stopped going, my world got bigger. And bigger. And bigger. And then that big big world became more real than anything the church tried to steer me towards. Every time I’ve visited a church in the last 8 years, my gut has flinched. Something was wrong. My whole being sensed something artificial, but my Fear dug it’s nails in, clinging to Christianity. 

That was what triggered my internal alarm: this whole belief system was synonymous with fear. No matter how I look at it, Christianity is fear based. You either believe it, or you go to hell. It took me the better part of a decade to finally look in the mirror I had been actively avoiding, because I knew doubt would be reflected there. It took me that long because of the fear that had been drilled into me since I can remember: the threat of hell. 

But now, I can calmly and assuredly say: I am no longer a Christian. Or, as my friend likes to say: “no longer in the Christian closet.” I’ve heard some open minded ideas that would argue I still am a Christian, and it’s simply a language barrier (this episode of The Liturgists) but in light of what modern Christianity is today: I am not a Christian (ie: I don’t believe in the Bible and I don’t believe heaven and hell is where you go when you die). And to just be clear: no, it’s not because I moved to Portland. My disenchantment with Christianity all started when I was still strapped into the bible belt of the south.

I never chose Christianity, it was handed to me as a uniform I was expected to wear for the rest of my life. I was conditioned to be a Christian - which is why I do not think children should go to church or be converted to religion in their youth. It’s essentially brainwashing. And maybe that sounds extreme, but it’s true. I grew up in a conservative Christian home, went to church every Sunday, and when I was maybe 6 or 7 years old, said the sinner’s prayer, and poof, I was a Christian. 

I was never offered a real and educated choice, I was groomed to believe Christianity. A child, who is still developing critical thinking, who just learned how to read “the cat sat on the mat” and has no idea of the world outside of their sheltered home, cannot truly choose a religion. If you teach Christianity to your children, what do you think they’ll choose when the options are: A) eternal life on golden streets, blah blah blah, or B) ETERNAL DAMNATION. That’s like saying, “hey honey, would you rather have chocolate ice cream with sprinkles or eat the rotting scraps of food on the compost pile?” I know my parents had good intentions, but that is some serious cult-esque “drink the kool aid” kinda brainwashing.

Side note for any Christian parents reading this and thinking “but what do I do with my kids if I can’t take them to church?”: I think churches should offer babysitting, but I don’t think Sunday school is appropriate. That’s a breeding ground for Christian Conditioning. When there is only one option, there isn’t a choice. Christianity loves to preach about free will, but, in my opinion, Sunday School and youth groups are actively stripping children of free will. 

I’m not a parent, and I won’t tell parents how to parent, but this is what my parents did to me.

Continuing on: I do not believe the Bible is the ultimate truth. I think it’s a book full of beautiful stories and poems, and the example of Jesus is something I will always live by, but it was written by men and is, therefore, vastly flawed. The further I dive into feminism, and the more I understand the severe misogyny of biblical times, all I can see is endless evidence that the Bible was written by men, not God. Any person can say that their words are from God, so why should I believe these men? Didn’t they come from and uphold a culture that actively oppressed women? And who has been teaching me that these men were chosen by God to create the Bible? Pastors. Pastors have been teaching me scripture my whole life, but all of my pastors have also been, you guessed it, MEN.

Something I can’t get past - and Glennon touches on this - is Eve. The Bible says Eve was born of a man. Ehhhhhhhh, noooo, no no no, I just can’t get behind that idea. I think men have been scared of women since the dawn of time because of women’s inherent power (WOMEN give birth to men, ALL HUMAN LIVES come from WOMEN), and decided to create a myth that puts the ball back in their court. Eve wanted knowledge, and because of that, she doomed all of mankind. Cue the patriarchy. 

I also cannot abide the depth of hate and shame that has terrorized the LGBTQ+ community under the guise of “God”. Guess what - the New Testament also upholds slavery and says it’s a sin for women to talk in church. Soooo who is picking and choosing which of these “sins'' should be condemned or shouldn’t be? Humans (most likely men). Not God.

Buckle up for a lot of sentences that start with “I think”.

I think the conventional Christian idea of “heaven” and “hell” is another manufactured product of fear. What if heaven is a metaphor? What if it isn’t this magical land we imagine floating up to after we die, what if “heaven” means true peace and joy and prosperity? And that big verse pastors like to toss around to save souls - “whoever believes in me will have everlasting life” - is part of the poem. God is love, right? So when she (and by “she” I mean “God” - to me “God” is she/her) says “whoever believes in me” she’s saying “whoever believes in Love”. And “everlasting life” doesn’t refer to the ever looming afterlife, aka: the huge string attached to Christianity, but instead implying that if you believe in Love, if you live in Love - then you will have a substantial and fulfilled life. That’s something that isn’t erased after you die. Love leaves legacies. And that’s “everlasting life”. 

I think modern evangelical Christianity is supremely hypocritical. There’s certainly exceptions to the rule, BUT the religion as a whole acts more like the antagonistic religious leaders in the bible and not like Jesus. Christians love to describe themselves as “Jesus followers” or “modeling their lives after Jesus” - but I have rarely ever seen the proof in the pudding. Christians prefer to judge others and live with bizarre self righteous and self “anointed” authority to condemn those they believe disobey their interpretation of the Bible. Christians should call themselves “Bible police” not “Jesus followers”. 

Let’s examine some recent events, shall we? If Christians lived like Jesus, and I mean REALLY lived like Jesus, they’d be the loudest activists out there. Jesus was not neutral. Jesus stood up for justice. Jesus wouldn’t show up at a protest and put on a worship show, he’d flip tables. Jesus knew that peace demands justice. Jesus didn’t filter or stay quiet to please the masses. Jesus fought for and sought out marginalized people. He was a feminist, he hung out with sex workers, he prioritized the poor, and I bet ya dollars to donuts he would NOT condone capitalism - he was an example of fierce unconditional love. He loved boldly, he loved loudly, and he loved actively. Maybe the WWJD bracelets should make a comeback, so the next time a Christian is hesitant to publicly say “Black Lives Matter” they can glance down and remember what Jesus would do. He’d shout it from every rooftop. 

My doubts in Christianity had already started to spark, but they really took fire in 2015 when the Black Lives Matter movement started making headlines. Black people were pleading, for the gazillionth time, for their lives to matter. Simply asking for their lives to be given equal weight in American society. They were making a national outcry, but where were the white evangelical Christians? Black people offered undeniable proof of how they’re oppressed, beaten, locked up, murdered - but where were the “Jesus followers”? I suspect they were probably in church dissecting another bible verse and whispering about how the whole movement is a political statement put on by the liberals (and don’t get me started on the whole marriage of Christianity and nationalism, oy with the poodles already). 

I have seen more churches actively say something since George Floyd, but many still avoid the words “Black Lives Matter” and instead skirt around it by leading with vague innuendos like “these are hard times” or “racism is bad” - you know, to stay neutral. Seems like uttering the three simple words, “Black Lives Matter”, is too risky to release from the pulpit. But let’s be real, if you won’t risk everything for what’s right, if you won’t support and fight for ALL marginalized and oppressed people, then please don’t describe yourself as a “Jesus follower”. Jesus risked everything for love and justice, and was murdered by the state. That was his example. That was his legacy. 

Each year following 2015 fanned my flames of doubt. The 2016 election. Christian’s unfathomable support of Trump (I mean, even Billy Graham’s granddaughter knows that Trump is abhorrent). Becoming a true feminist. Dipping a toe into activism. Meeting more and more people - outside of the church and Christianity - that live and love in the true Jesus spirit.  It’s like I said before, my world got bigger. Christianity stayed small.

There is still a lot more to say, but I’m going to start and wrap this up. When I first decided to write this essay, I thought it would be simply stringing together random paragraphs I had been documenting on my notes app for who knows how long. But expanding on all of these random paragraphs is like playing with Russian nesting dolls, there’s one inside another inside another inside another - sexual repression, the modesty/purity culture, dismissing mental/emotional traumas with “healing” prayer, the whole nationalism and Christianity mutation, etc. In other words, there's a lottttttt of shit to unpack. In writing all this down, several more essays have branched off, so I’ll continue to share my experiences with religious trauma. 

(this paragraph is basically “disclaimer: pt. 2”) Just because I’ve left Christianity, that does not mean I have decided to embrace some depraved hedonistic lifestyle. I’m still me. I’m still Caroline. I still believe in love. I believe in living a life that creates and upholds goodness and kindness. I believe in pursuing justice and change for any person or people in need. And while I might not believe in the Holy Trinity, I believe God shows up uniquely for every person because I think our souls and intuition make up the fabric of what we’ve come to associate with the word “God”. Some people might not call that God, and that’s totally fine! Do I call it God because it’s a fragment from a faith I followed most of my life? Probably. But just rest assured, I still have morals, I still have beliefs, they’ve simply outgrown the label of “Christian”. 

Some friends and family already know all this about me. Others are, I’m sure, shocked or concerned or bolding my name on their prayer request docket. But please believe me when I say that I am genuinely happy and confident in leaving Christianity. I did not make this decision lightly - remember, EIGHT YEARS. My life was deteriorating because I was stuck in an anxiety swamp haunted by that one all-consuming and terrifying thought: “am I no longer a Christian?” But then, wasn’t that the whole problem? If this belief no longer brings me joy, no longer offers peace, no longer offers truth I can stand behind - it just doesn’t serve me anymore. It was reduced to a toxic scrap I was afraid to let go. It used to be this great big beautiful thing that gave my life purpose, but now, it just isn’t anymore. I want to bite into Eve’s apple.

(**reminder to reread the disclaimer at the start of this essay if what I had to say ruffled your feathers - this is not to attack or shame anyone, these are merely my personal thoughts)

If you haven’t read Untamed, I highly recommend it - and no, you don’t have to abandon Christianity to get something valuable from it (especially if you’re a woman, or married to a woman, or raising a daughter). Remember, Glennon didn’t “lead me astray”, she merely held space for me to come to terms with issues I’ve been wrestling with for years. I’ll end with this excerpt:

“I don’t know if I call myself a Christian anymore. That label suggests certainty, and I have none. It suggests the desire to convert others, and that’s the last thing I want to do. It suggests exclusive belonging, and I’m not sure I belong anywhere anymore. Part of me wants to peel that label off, set it down, and try to meet each person soul to soul, without any layers between us.

But I find myself unable to let go fully, because to wash my hands of the Jesus story is to abandon something beautiful to the money-hungry hijackers. It would be like surrendering the concept of beauty to the fashion industry or the magic of sexuality to internet porn dealers. I want beauty, I want sex, I want faith. I just don’t want the hijackers’ commodified, poisonous versions. Nor do I want to identify myself with hijackers.

So I will say this: I remain compelled by the Jesus story. Not as history meant to reveal what happened long ago, but as poetry meant to illuminate a revolutionary idea powerful enough to heal and free humanity now.”

- Glennon Doyle

P.S. If you’re experiencing similar doubts, or faced religious trauma of your own and need a safe space to share about it, feel free to email me! Just drop hello@inheritedsalt.com a lil note, and I’ll respond as soon as I can :)

P.P.S. I have no issue with people disagreeing with me, but if you want to comment I do have expectations: I expect you understand and respect that this is MY space. And I expect you to practice kindness and have a sense of basic decency (somehow social media has stomped manners out of most people). I have made myself clear that I am not attacking anyone, so I will not tolerate being attacked.

Ohhh and the recipe I’m sharing (along with this personal bomb) is my new Ginger Fig Spiced Rum Compote! And I promise it’s a crowd pleaser, all beliefs and religions aside ;)