I was raised in a religious environment where Sundays were sacred, prayers were routine, and sin was a concept always hanging in the air. From a young age, I was taught that God loved us unconditionally—but also that certain people, certain acts, and certain identities were somehow “lesser” in His eyes. As I grew into myself and began understanding who I was—particularly as a gay man—that unconditional love began to look a lot more like conditional tolerance. It’s been twenty years since I walked away from religion, and I’ve never felt freer. What I left behind wasn’t faith—it was fear, judgment, and a culture of quiet cruelty masked as righteousness.
Religion or Rulebook?
Religion, for many, is a source of strength, community, and tradition. I get that. I genuinely believe that at its best, faith can be a powerful vehicle for hope and healing. But for too many of us, religion becomes a rulebook—rigid, punitive, and policed by people who are often more interested in control than compassion. The God I heard about in Sunday school was supposed to be omnipotent and loving, but the god many people worshipped in practice seemed obsessed with power, punishment, and purity.
For years, I tried to reconcile the two. I tried to find a place in religious spaces, hoping that if I just believed hard enough, if I just prayed the right way, I would be accepted. I sat in pews and listened to sermons that thinly veiled anti-gay rhetoric as “moral concern.” I witnessed families torn apart because someone dared to be themselves. I saw firsthand how religion was used not as a tool for unity, but as a weapon of exclusion.
It was a slow burn—this realization. There wasn’t a singular moment that made me walk away, but rather a collection of small heartbreaks and silent rejections. And when I finally did let go, it wasn’t a fall from grace—it was a return to it.
Love Shouldn’t Come with Conditions
One of the most painful aspects of organized religion, particularly in the context I grew up in, was the way love was dangled like a carrot. You were told you were loved—until you stepped out of line. Until you asked too many questions. Until you didn’t hide who you really were.
The message I received, overtly and subtly, was that God loved me—but not if I was gay. That He loved me—but only if I repented for something that wasn’t a crime. That He loved me—but only in theory, not in practice. And unfortunately, that message wasn’t just spiritual. It was social. It came from people I trusted, from communities I was part of, from voices I had once turned to for guidance.
It took me years to realize that love, real love, doesn’t come with conditions. It doesn’t require you to apologize for who you are. It doesn’t ask you to shrink, or lie, or live in fear. And once I realized that, I knew I couldn’t stay in a belief system that asked me to do exactly those things.
Religion as a Veil
What troubles me most today is not just my personal experience, but the broader pattern I see—how religion is often used as a veil for bigotry. I’ve watched too many people justify hatred with scripture. I’ve seen churches rally against rights and call it “defending tradition.” I’ve heard people spew cruelty in the name of “truth.”
And let’s be honest: many of these people aren’t acting out of deep theological conviction. They’re using religion as a shield—a socially acceptable way to be homophobic, transphobic, sexist, or racist. It’s hatred dressed up in a Sunday suit.
Of course, not all religious people are like this. I’ve met many who are truly loving, open-minded, and kind. But I’ve also seen how easy it is for dogma to become doctrine, for fear to masquerade as faith. And I’ve seen how, far too often, religion provides a platform for people to say things they would never dare say otherwise.
The Freedom of Letting Go
Walking away from religion wasn’t easy. It meant losing a sense of belonging, of tradition, of identity. But it also meant gaining clarity, peace, and self-acceptance. For the first time, I could stop performing. I could stop pretending. I could live my truth without guilt or shame.
I remember the first time I spent a Sunday morning doing nothing religious—just sitting quietly with a coffee, reading, being present. It felt revolutionary. Not because I had turned my back on God, but because I had stopped turning my back on myself.
Over the years, I’ve built a different kind of spirituality—not rooted in institutions, but in intention. I’ve found connection in nature, kindness in community, and reverence in simple moments. I still believe in goodness. I still believe in something greater than myself. But I no longer believe that I have to go through a gatekeeper to access it.
Pride, Not Shame
Today, when I look back on that younger version of myself—the one who sat quietly in church, afraid to be seen—I feel compassion. He wanted so badly to be accepted. He tried so hard to be “good,” not realizing that he already was.
I’m proud of him for walking away. I’m proud of the man he became. I’m proud that I didn’t let fear define my faith or my future. And I’m proud to say that I am happier now—without religion—than I ever was inside it.
Leaving religion didn’t leave me empty. It left me open. Open to new ways of thinking, of loving, of living. It allowed me to unlearn shame and embrace joy. It allowed me to stop seeking approval from people who would never truly see me. And most importantly, it allowed me to come home to myself.
For Anyone Still Struggling
If you’re reading this and wrestling with your own faith, your own identity, your own sense of belonging—I see you. It’s okay to ask questions. It’s okay to walk away. It’s okay to protect your peace, even if it means letting go of something that once meant everything to you.
Leaving religion doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t make you lost or broken. Sometimes, it’s the bravest, kindest thing you can do for yourself. And if your heart is telling you something doesn’t feel right—listen to it. That quiet knowing is sacred too.
Faith isn’t just what you believe. It’s how you live. It’s how you treat people. It’s how you treat yourself. And if a belief system asks you to hate others—or hate yourself—it’s not holy. It’s harmful.
Twenty years ago, I walked away from religion not because I lost faith, but because I found it elsewhere—in truth, in love, in freedom. And I’ve never looked back.
markmunroe
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