You’re Not Alone

My fear was disappointing everyone I knew and potentially losing family and friends over it. All because I could no longer believe, or rather, no longer pretend to believe.

Admitting to myself that I was an atheist gave me mixed feelings, at first. I was both excited and afraid. I wanted to tell everyone about the problems with religion and why they should abandon it, but at the same time I didn’t. Looking back, I think the fear is what took me so long to finally admit it. Although there was a period of time that I was a deeply devoted believer, if I’m completely honest, I was probably an atheist for much longer than I could admit.

While I had long stopped believing in hell prior to deconversion, I did still have a minuscule amount of fear that maybe I was wrong—or maybe that I missed some important information that might have prevented me from losing my faith and I could potentially be going to hell when I die—that wasn’t where the majority of my fear came from. It definitely played a part, but it certainly wasn’t the biggest contributor.

My fear wasn’t so much that I was wrong, because the way I saw it, if a God wanted required me to believe in him so that I could avoid eternal punishment, he would give me better reasons than the ones that I had seen up to that point (even just A reason). And if he didn’t, well, that’s not a god that I would worship anyway. On top of that, not only did I need to worry about the particular brand of Christianity I was following, there were also hundreds, if not thousands, of other gods and religions, and I might be going to hell in more religion than just one! No, my fear wasn’t being wrong, my fear was telling my wife that I no longer believed. My fear was explaining to our children why I no longer believed what they believed. My fear was disappointing everyone I knew and potentially losing family and friends over it. All because I could no longer believe, or rather, no longer pretend to believe.

Luckily, I lost very few people in my life, as I’ll talk about in a bit.

As I said in my previous post (that you can read here), when I was deconstructing my faith, I had an online community of people that I was able to talk to about my experience. In fact, I was so comfortable sharing my new views with that particular group of people, when I came out them as an atheist I would talk about it all the time. So much that I felt like I had worn out my welcome—as most of them were still very much believers—and I eventually left. Thankfully, there were a few that were in a similar place in their journey as me, and we continued to support each other through private groups and messages.

Eventually, I found other online communities that were specifically made for people that had left their faith. There, I met many awesome people that relate to what I was going through, and what I’m still going through. Some that may even be reading this right now.

If that’s you, just know that you are appreciated!

I’ve read enough about human behavior and psychology to know that community very is important to human beings. Even for someone like me that doesn’t require a lot of social interaction.

Before I get too far into the importance of community, I need to rewind a bit as I don’t think I mentioned the fact that when my theology began to shift toward a more progressive perspective, in April of 2016, I stopped attending church. It got harder and harder to go to church, to sing songs and listen to sermons with theological concepts that I no longer agreed with. Which led to a lot of bitterness and irritation. So much that after church I would begin to complain to my wife about every little thing that I disagreed with, which brought up disagreements between us. It wasn’t good for our relationship, it wasn’t good for our family. . .It wasn’t good for anyone. So, I stayed home and “worshipped” in my own way.

I bring that up to say, in the spring of 2017, when I finally got up enough courage to drop this emotional bomb on my wife and tell her I no longer believed in God, she already knew that something had changed in me. I hadn’t gone to church in about a year, and she knew I was having serious doubts. When I began to tell her my beliefs had changed, she told me that she knew I was an atheist. I don’t think she used the word atheist, I can’t remember specifically, but either way, she knew. And for the most part, I felt like she took it better than I had thought she would.

At least, initially.

On top of all that, nobody I knew was happy for me like they were when I became a Christian—which was more like a party. Becoming an atheist felt more like a funeral.

Over the course of the next several months, both after admitting my lack of faith to my wife, and to myself, I fell into a deep depression. I had already dealt with a good bit of depression for the last couple years due to questioning my faith and going through the turmoil of my deconstruction process. But this was different.

While my wife seemed to take the news really well, I felt like I had let her down. I felt like I needed to explain to her why I could no longer be a Christian. In doing so, I came off as though I was trying to change her beliefs as well.

Which led to more arguments.

Now, I’d be lying if I said part of me didn’t want her to see what I had seen—I wanted everyone to see what I had seen—but my focus was to be very clear to everyone that this wasn’t anything that I could control. I needed everyone to know that this wasn’t a decision that I had made, that the only choice that I had made was to be honest with myself about my questions and doubts and not to ignore them anymore. I needed everyone to know that I was tired of doing mental gymnastics and trying to make sense of something that simply no longer made sense. I needed everyone to know that this wasn’t me credulously falling off the deep end again, like I had done so many times before. I needed everyone to know that, this time, I was thinking logically and reasonably.

As I talked about in part one of my two part blog series, A Hint of Skepticism, the day I was baptized and became an official “born again Christian”, June 17th 2012, was a very special day for me. Everyone was happy for me; my family and everyone in the church that day were excited and cheering, and I was excited, too. It was the first time in my life that I really felt as though I had some direction in my life. I thought I had found purpose and meaning.

Becoming an atheist was a much different dynamic. I don’t even remember the day I admitted to myself that I no longer believed in God because it’s not something that just happened over night. Becoming a Christian was a decision I made, it was overnight. Becoming an atheist was more of a realization. It happened to me. Over the course of months. I would even go so far as the say, as soon as I became a Christian, I was already on the road to losing my faith, as I began reading the Bible and having doubts almost immediately. On top of all that, nobody I knew was happy for me like they were when I became a Christian—which was more like a party. Becoming an atheist felt more like a funeral.

In the case of ideas, the threat of their ideas being challenged by, potentially, ideas that will cause them to doubt their own ideas.

As I was saying before, I’ve read enough about human behavior and psychology to know community is important. I might even dare to say vitally important.

We know that Homo sapiens are a highly social species. We rely on each other for our most basic needs. Our evolution required us to work together for our survival. Because we weren’t the strongest, fastest, evasive creatures, we had to work in groups. Much like other social mammals—such as wolves—we grouped together; we hunted together, we ate together, and we lived together. Like baboons, and even in other vertebrates, such as chickens (which is where the term pecking order originated), we had hierarchies with dominant and submissive counterparts. Specifically when we are talking about Homo sapiens, when someone would challenge the hierarchy, such as attempting to take over the power structure—especially in male dominant groups—that individual would be met with hostility, both from the dominant male and the group as a whole. Sometimes, the challengers were kicked out of the group and forced out on their own. Often ending in death from starvation, freezing to death, or being eaten by a predator, etc. And sometimes they were simply killed by the group.

Our brains evolved to crave community for these reasons, and without community we feel like something is terribly wrong. For some, it may even feel like our life is in a tailspin—sending us into a depressed state. Some more-so than others. But we all experience this at some level. We all need some level of community. . .

We all need to feel accepted.

Much like today, in our evolutionary past the group tended to identify with dominant member of the group. Often times, ideas are lumped in with identity of the group. This is what we refer to as tribalism. When a person’s ideas are challenged, often they feel as if it is a personal attack. Almost as if their very life is in danger. And when the idea challenges the ideas of an entire group of people, the natural response is to push them out of the group and make them feel alone and abandoned. Kind of like when Jehovah’s Witnesses shun ex-members of their cult. The natural response is to push these idea-challengers away and to distance themselves from this threat. In the case of ideas, the threat of their ideas being challenged by, potentially, ideas that will cause them to doubt their own ideas. In turn, causing them, too, to be shunned or kicked out of the group—which explains why so many terrible ideas, traditions, and behaviors continue to be unchallenged for so long.

The reality is, the more people that come out, the easier it will be for those who feel as if they can’t. The way to keep people silent is to threaten them with fear. Which is precisely what the doctrine of hell is all about.

This is what most of us in the atheist community feel when we come out to our friends and family. It has been compared to coming out as LGBTQ. I personally know people that have said it was easier to come out as gay because at least they still confide in the Lord, and still have hope of salvation. Of course, this isn’t meant to lessen the experiences of anyone who experienced the opposite effect. I’m quite sure many have had a far worse experience coming out as gay than atheist. But I digress.

In some extreme cases, such as in the aforementioned ex-JWs, people have been excommunicated and cut completely off from their family and friends for no longer sharing their beliefs. In both LGBTQ and atheists, people have even been beaten, jailed, become homeless, and even murdered for their sexuality and/or their lack of faith.

Thankfully, for me—though I did have to work through some things in my marriage, and I have had a few close friends tell me that they can no longer follow me on social media—for the most part, everyone I know has been kind to me and has at least tried to be respectful. I have experienced very little “shunning”. My wife and I are still together, my friends and family still all talk to me for the most part, I didn’t lose my job, and I have never really experienced anything that I would say is discriminatory because of my atheism—at least not yet. I consider myself pretty lucky in that regard.

However, there are many people that are not so lucky. There are a growing number of people that have lost their faith and are afraid to tell anyone. There are pastors and church leaders that no longer believe but can’t say anything because they’ll lose their livelihood. There are people in the Deep South that are surrounded by religiosity and are afraid of losing everything. There are people in the Middle East, where it’s illegal to say you don’t believe in God, that have lost their faith and if anyone finds out they could be jailed, severely punished, or killed. And the sad reality is, these aren’t just fears, they’re very real consequences that people all over the world have had to deal with.

The reality is, the more people that come out, the easier it will be for those who feel as if they can’t. The way to keep people in line and quiet is to threaten them and make them fear the consequences. Which is precisely what the doctrine of hell is all about. The way to combat that is, if you can, speak out. Be loud and be proud.

Don’t hide it.

Another way to keep people quiet, and in the group, is the make a person feel shameful for thinking the way they do, or having doubts, and make them feel alone.

If that’s you, if you feel like you’re the only one, just know that there’s a growing community of non-believers, and it’s getting bigger by the day.

You’re not alone!

Feeling alone was a major part of my depression. While I did have people online that I could talk to about these things, in my offline world, I was the only non-believer I knew. That’s why I wanted so badly to talk to my wife about my questions and doubts. I wanted someone to talk to about my problems with religion—and credulity in general. But every time I talked to her, I just kept pushing her further and further away. I didn’t even stop to consider the pain she was experiencing.

The man she knew when we got married; the man that stood on stage with her in front of our church community and promised to raise our four children up to know the Lord, was not there anymore. He was a completely different person, in her eyes. And she had no say in the matter.

Over the course of the next several months, through countless hours of therapy, my focus shifted from dealing with my own stuff—my loss of faith and loss of direction and meaning in life—to focusing on my marriage. Which ironically gave me the direction and meaning I was looking for. In turn, it probably saved my life.

And that’s where I’ll leave it until next week.

Next week I plan to write about how I went from depression and a very nihilistic view of the world (as many people that lose their faith experience), to a much more healthy mental state and finding even greater reasons to live and love life than I ever had before.

Stay tuned.

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Below are a list of resources for those of you that may be questioning your beliefs, have left your religion/cult but don’t know what to do next, or just need secular information or advice. There are people that want to help. Don’t go through this alone.

(If you have any resources that I can add to the list please leave them in the comments.)

Recovering from Religion: an international non-profit organisation, that helps people who have left or are in the process of leaving religion to deal with any impacts of leaving their faith by offering support groups, a telephone helpline and an online community for “people in their most urgent time of need”, as well as offering a range of online tools and practical resources.

RFR Resources For Secular Living – Coming Out Resources, Coming Out Stories, Finding Meaning, Find or Start a Local Group, Grief, Holidays, Maintaining Relationships with Believers, Secular Family Resources, Secular Weddings & Celebrants, Secular Funeral Planning, Secular Online Communities

RFR Demographic Groups – African American, Campus/Student, Cancer Support, Christian Scientists, Clergy Resources, Evangelical Christianity, Hispanic/Latino/Spanish, Humanists, Jehovah’s Witness, Jewish, LGBTQ+, Military, Mormon, Muslim/Islam, Seventh-Day Adventist, Women, Youth

RFR General Secular Resources – Audio/Video/Podcasts, Charitable, Events, Secular Organizations, Legal, Political, Think Tanks

RFR Learning topics – Cults, General Secular Education, Hell / Heaven / Satan / Death, Purity Culture, Religions, Science, Sex, Skepticism and Critical Thinking, etc.

The Clergy Project: a nonprofit organization based in the United States that provides peer support to current and former religious leaders who no longer have faith. The group’s focus is to provide private online forums for its participants, and assistance through career transition grants, hardship grants, and free sessions of psychotherapy.

Secular Therapy Project: Find secular, evidence-based mental health clinicians in your area.

Atheist Community of Austin: a 501(c)(3) non-profit organization dedicated to promoting positive atheism and the separation of church and state. The ACA serves the local Austin community through outreach programs, providing informational resources and various volunteer activities. In addition, the ACA serves the community-at-large through free online portals including informational wikis, regular audio/video podcasts and interactive blogs.