My story with the church isn’t a story of abuse and scandal, but simple, slow burnout. Of a Christian who struggled during the week to live the call, and on Sundays dragged her weary body to a church building only to be reminded of her failures. A place which had once been a sanctuary became a place of dread. Sunday mornings were times of anxiety attacks and mentally checking out after the singing was over.

Then it got worse.

“Church” became a political party with it’s own news network pandering lies about a black president while worshiping a white one. It was hearing good people refer to a Democratic president as an “evil man” with nothing to back up the claim. It was stepping into a new job where it was presumed that I was a Christian, and being Christian meant I also shared co-workers’ racist, homophobic, and political views.

I want out.

I want out of a faith that has caused years of anxiety over the state of my soul. One that tells me that the people who have stood by me in some of my darkest hours do not have any “good” in them because they don’t believe. One that screams slurs at Pride rallies and convinces young girls it’s “gossip” to tell the police what the youth pastor did to her.

And I don’t even know where to start with the theology.

So what I deconstruct, I rebuild.