The Day the Church Told Me I Didn't Belong

This may feel like an unusual first blog post, but in the spirit of my retreats and the women I get to help, host, and love (who by the way, also teach me something new everyday),

I’m starting here!

During a recent retreat, our fearless leader and sister from another mother asked the group to:

“Think of a story from your childhood where something impacted your heart and hurt deeply.”

The room was bright, eager, and brave. Now, I’ve had a lot of therapy. I’ve done the processing. I’ve written a book. So my stories are familiar and top of mind.

But when it came time to post the very first official share of this new journey, I had a little EEEEK moment too.

These women inspired me with their willingness to dive in. So how could I not follow their lead?

I made a conscious decision to go deep fast and rip off the proverbial band-aid. The story I chose is one that led me to write my book about becoming (Fu**kery Free) a story that’s also in its pages. Vulnerability and ugly cries? I’ve had some practice.

But this particular memory is both beautiful and strangely still challenging for me, because I can’t quite place myself in either camp.

So thank you, lovely ladies, for joining us in a day of depth and for always boomeranging so much wisdom back.

So, lets go...

I was pulled out of class during Catholic confirmation prep when I was just twelve. The priest, the big kahuna, the guy behind the literal confessional curtain. Intimidating "man of God" in my little world. Might as well have been the Wizard of Oz. Sat me down (more like stared me down) and essentially told me I had no business taking confirmation and that I didn't belong.

Why? Because.…

My family didn't attend church and were not part of the congregation. Needless to say, I panicked and didn't have the correct answers.

I lost my voice as I picked up exactly what he was throwing down.

Translation: you're not wanted, nor worthy here, at this celebration of accepting Christ. 

That I understood!! Got it.

To an awkward kid already growing up in a lot of dysfunction, addiction, anger, shame, & survival, that moment left a serious mark, defining one that rippled throughout my years!

If the church didn't want me, then surely God didn't or wouldn't either.

So sadly, that became one of many stories, and I carried that wound (like hauling a bag of cement up three flights of stairs). 

And worse, instead of turning to Him and saying God, this can't be true. I ran, bolted like a chicken with its head cut off, flailing in every alternate direction. I was unsteady in a brutal emotional storm, and I had no anchors to keep me feeling safe.

Self-help became my mission: no rock was left unturned. (Christians skip this part.) I was lost and very isolated. Let's face it: there are many people ready to give you answers!

Psychics, astrologers, coaches, Reiki healers, energy work gurus, I travelled to India, you name it, and I tried it. Looking for answers to fix my version of broken. I was the opposite of the typical addictions rampant in my family. I didn't numb with alcohol or drugs. But I did distract myself from feeling pain, always trying to find the next fix to feel better. Creativity was my drug, and my work in interior design saved me until it didn't.

When all I was doing was like stuffing my pockets with every map in the world, hoping one would lead home..

I'm super aware, especially now that I've paused and taken time to learn and read the Bible. That I'm not your typical Christian. I cuss (not like a sailor), but I do like the full repertoire of the English language. I question, I wrestle. I wonder how on earth the little me, quiet and quite precious, accepted such profound rejection. That's where I now know about the power dynamic and levels of manipulation that keep us small. No, I don't speak fluent "Christianese." I don't comply with all the rules, and I have sinned. I'm imperfect as we all are. Contrary to popular opinion, and the few who have schooled me throughout the years. I am good enough not only for god, but for the gift of faith and believing in something far greater than I could ever comprehend or explain.

Here's the thing: every road I took, no matter how shiny or woo woo, or even new age, eventually curved right back to the same place: God!

Turns out he was the one thing I couldn't outrun; he helped me save myself in some very dark and painful moments.

For years (well, let's be honest, my entire life), I didn't get verses like "The Lord is my portion." What does that even mean? Portion of what? Snacks? Fries? How do I get to choose my size?

Here's the real meaning: not to preach. I promise I'll never be that girl. I want to share and offer a different lens on all the speeches that used to make me feel less than by not knowing. I was excluded from the Christian club.

God is enough.

Start to pray, apologize to yourself for not asking sooner, and you will find out for yourself.

I admittedly didn't even know how to do that. When I started, you know what I did? I found pretty prayers on Pinterest and read them aloud. I had zero guidance; my experience was as black and white a dichotomy as it comes. Most of what I knew, I didn't necessarily agree with. I had questions, fundamental questions for once in my life. I had the space and the mental capacity to lean into that childlike curiosity.

I would even write prayers out in my journal to feel less needy or ridiculous for even considering it may work. Trust me, sister, no self-doubt story could top the number of stories I came up with to not follow through on this. Yet over time, my heart softened, therapy was working, the noise dimmed, and the dots of unbiased thought started to connect again and began telling a few different stories.

I promise you. I'm not here to convert you. Have a debate about truth. I'm just writing this to offer an alternate option. I was too messed up to be even considered.

Returning to Faith is simply opening your heart to god, love, and birth rights. For many of us, that was all stripped away depending on our early years and circumstances.

What we need is an open heart that loves ourselves—not the people, not the validation, not the paycheck, not the purse or shoes, not the numbing, not even the "healing" or the modalities themselves.

Him. Just Him. Accepting my faith became a piece of my story I rejected because I was denied. So when the church turned on me, I turned that hurt within and chewed on that lie for decades.

"THE" truth, my truth, has become my anchor. When nothing else is enough, He is. I am. I am guided, loved and protected.

Here's the unpopular opinion part:

You don't have to be polished, holy, religious or even fluent in church culture or the language to belong to God. Hell, you don't even need to go into a building. Whilewoods literally became my church. Please don't come for me, zealots; it's my truth.

The fact that God is everywhere means, much to the dismay of many, that you can be everywhere with God. I say this with cheek and genuinely don't want to offend, only to bridge the gap between offering something you may not have considered (like me ). I am not that person who befriends only the ones in the know. I befriend those who step up and desire to be more.

Who has a desire to elevate others by example and leadership?

You don't have to hide your mess or change your personality to be loved. He can handle your stubbornness. Your to muchness. Your doubts. Even a potty mouth. I assure you, he's heard A LOT worse.

I know because I tested it. And he didn't flinch.

I didn't realize back then that God wasn't asking me to prove myself worthy. He was waiting for me to discover and figure out I already was. His love was mine all along. I had a father from the onset. I guess I had to learn the hard way that everything I sought was already mine.

So now, when I talk about life renovations and the work I do with women, it's not just about fixing habits, building new routines, or converting you. It's about who you want to be? It's about complete renovations, tearing out the shaky foundations of "not enough" and the belief systems of lies, rebuilding on truth. On worth. On values. On love that doesn't disappear when you fail or fall apart.

That's the ripple I want to leave: in the world, women who know they are deeply loved, fiercely capable, and strong enough to rebuild from anything that's the ashes, and they can be transformed.

Until I realized……………

God never actually told me I didn't belong. People did, systems did, and religion did.

Now I know if God could take a rejected, abandoned, angry, wandering little girl like me and turn her into a generational cycle-breaker, a life renovator, and a woman on fire for truth—then you can bet your boots. He can do it for anyone. I promise you. I'm not that special.

Maybe that's what God said: you've always belonged to Me.

And that's now part of my mission: to help other women feel like they have a place to belong even before they have it all figured out. Because if you're open, ready, and willing, there's nothing left to ask you. You already have what you need to start rebuilding, healing, and stepping into your power.

And here's the last truth bomb: I wasn't a big fan of "coming out of the closet" with this information. Even a few months ago, TMI felt like oversharing, as the kids say. I was pretty content whispering my 100 quiet thank you, Jesus's a day in secret.

As for yes, to keep it even simpler, thank you. It's a prayer of gratitude that they don't teach at Sunday school. (Well, mine anyway.)

So what moved the needle?

I can't author, consult or host without being true to myself. I can't help women renovate their lives if I keep living in witness protection, hiding mine. I've spent too many years alone, afraid, and pretending.

I won't do that anymore.

If I need to lead, I'll do it by example—messy, uncomfortable, but real. In the same way, I ask the women who walk with me to lean in.

I know I am far from perfect, but I promise you this: There is always a way, and you'll find it by faith. I did. And as my mentor said, if you don't have faith, you can borrow some of mine.

I'll likely never attract a Christian audience. Honestly, that's ok. I may actually owe a thank you, god there? So I've coined myself Christian "ish."

Never Christian enough for the hard cores. Too Christian for lost. Just me, as usual, in the messy middle of midlife, figuring out the gray area, no longer resisting the black or the white of life.

I can't compete, retest, or speak the language of years in that system. They're already "in the know." By church standards, I'll probably never be enough.

But by mine? I finally am. And with me, you will be too.

I'm not dissing church, I get it now more than ever, it's a community of learning, growing and caring together. I'm just a little gun-shy and a whole lot less rule follower and rebel to navigate that right now. So I offer the alternate:

A relationship with God. In your house. On your terms. He will love you anyway. I promise.