I’m Never Going to Church Again

Tuesday night, I went to church for mid-week service. I caught Lyft there and back. I was kind of excited as I hopped in my driver’s car and we had a conversation about God, Florida, and coffee and insomnia. I anticipated seeing church friends and acquaintances and learning about God. All of those things happened…

The Traumatic Nature of Deconversion

Memory is unreliable when recounting old wounds, but I do know that the beginning of the end started with an email to an old professor in which I expressed: “I don’t think I believe in the God of Christianity anymore,” and ended with a Facebook post about deconversion, and an awkward, hard conversation at the…

A Letter to Panic Attacks and Anxiety

Dear Anxiety and PTSD-induced Panic Attacks, I hate you. No, I loathe you. You are the bane of my existence and the reason I can’t enjoy the things that once brought me peace and happiness like God or writing or reading. Yes, even reading (don’t ask, just know that it is horrendous). You make me…

Viewing God Through the Lens of Trauma

Earlier today, I read through my friend Michael Patton’s post “On Leaving My First Love” and found similarities between where he was years ago and where I find myself now. In it, he speaks of his life’s difficulties, arguing with God, and finally coming to a place of surrender. I am somewhere between pulling myself…

The Siren Song of Self-Harm

These past few weeks have been hard, especially Tuesday. Tuesday was a hellish day because it marked 4 years of dealing with the Beast that is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. You would think that after some time, especially with the introduction and implementation of coping mechanisms and breathing techniques, the Beast would get bored and go…

When the White Girl Says “Amen!” in a Black Church (My Beef with Black Christians in America)

What happens when the White girl says “Amen!” in the midst of a Holy Spirit-filled, pastor preaching hell down, congregates speaking in tongues kind of service? Will her voice be silenced with even louder shouts from voices that secretly wish she was absent? Will looks of “Gurl, who she think she is coming up in here like that?” be thrown her way just because of the lack of melanin in her pigmentation?

An Honest Conversation about Suicide

I did not want to write this, but it needed to be said. This is hard for me. Please give me grace. An Honest and Vulnerable Prayer God, please, if You are, at all, merciful like they say You are, like I know You to be, please kill me. Please. I will never ask for…