I remember that I was so excited to share what I had learned with my church ladies Bible study group. I had spent hours studying the book and passages and thinking about how to explain them in a way that would encourage discussion. As I began to speak, I noticed two women exchanging quiet glances. Their laughter was soft at first, barely audible, but it carried a weight that made me tense. Every word I spoke felt like a high-stakes examination where failure was not just an error, but a reflection of my character. They were intent on catching me in a mistake. When one of them finally asked a loaded question, not seeking clarity but looking to prove a point, I answered as best I could, keeping a practiced smile on my face. That night, I lay awake, replaying the interaction over and over, convinced I had failed not just as a person, but as a leader, and as a Christian. In the rigid world of the high-control church, where failure was treated as sin, being wrong was never seen as a chance to learn. Any mistake was seen as evidence of spiritual weakness. This mindset, which equates human error with moral failure is corrosive!
I think back to the years when the fear of failure felt completely normal. I was always trying so hard to get everything perfectly right. Whether it was in church, at work, in my marriage, and even in motherhood, I measured my worth by how successfully I could avoid mistakes. I didn’t realize it then, but this crippling self-assessment had deep roots in the high-control environment where failure was constantly treated as sin. It wasn’t until I recently read the words, “When you treat failure as information, not shame, you turn every loss into a stepping stone,” that I felt something seismically shift inside me. It was such a simple idea, yet one that felt almost revolutionary after a lifetime in an environment that did not allow room for failure. In the high-control IFB world, failure was often equated with sin. Mistakes were not opportunities to learn or grow; they were moral shortcomings that required repentance and often brought judgment or exclusion.
Looking back, I can see how deeply this mindset affected me. I learned to fear missteps, to hide imperfection, and to measure my worth by how well I appeared to uphold every rule and expectation. The problem was that this kind of life left no space for grace. It taught me to equate being human with being wrong, and it made growth nearly impossible. When failure is viewed as sin, curiosity and creativity shrink. People become afraid to try, afraid to question, and afraid to be honest about their struggles.
Now that I am outside that environment, I can see that failure is not a spiritual flaw but part of being alive. In fact, it is one of the most powerful teachers we have. Failure gives us data. It helps us see what does not work, what we might try differently next time, and where our true strengths lie. When we approach failure with curiosity instead of condemnation, we move closer to wisdom and compassion, both for ourselves and for others.
God’s grace is not conditional on perfection. If anything, grace assumes imperfection. The difference between shame and truth and growth is that one crushes the spirit, while the other restores it.
Even now, years later, the memory of that Bible study, with the exchanged glances, shared snickers, and the pointed question, still carries a faint sting. The difference is that I no longer replay the conversation to find the moment I “failed” as a leader or a Christian. Instead, I see that moment not as evidence of my spiritual weakness, but as an illustration of the corrosive power of a system that equated humanity with deficiency. My shame has been replaced by a sense of compassion for those two women, who were and still are trapped in the same rigid mindset. They were merely following the rules of a game we had all been taught to play, desperately measuring their own worth by the errors they could expose in others and the mistakes they could avoid. When we refuse to internalize judgment, we find the grace to extend it outward. Failure no longer defines me; it refines me.
Now, I try to live in a way that honors learning over fear. I still struggle with trying to be perfect, I still make mistakes, but instead of hiding them, I try to ask, “What can I learn from this?” Every time I do, I feel freer. Failure no longer defines me; it refines me. And that, I believe, is where grace truly begins.
Disclaimer: The personal experiences shared in this post are based on my personal perspective. While I chose to leave the IFB to find a more gracious and loving faith, it is important to acknowledge that individuals may have different experiences and find happiness within the IFB or any other religious institution. The decision to leave the IFB does not imply a loss of faith, as faith is a deeply personal and subjective matter. It is essential to respect and recognize the diversity of experiences and perspectives within religious communities. The content shared is for informational purposes only and should not be construed as professional advice, guidance, or a universal representation of the IFB or any religious organization. It is recommended to seek guidance, conduct research, and consider multiple perspectives when making personal decisions or exploring matters of faith.
Looking back, I had what I would describe as an ideal childhood! Two parents who loved me and each other. A home where I felt safe, loved, and free to be myself. I spent hours playing outside, exploring the world around me, and letting my imagination turn ordinary spaces into magical places. I was able to have a childhood that gave me confidence, joy, and the foundation to grow into who I am today.
A large part of my childhood was surrounded by the church we attended. I loved going to church, memorizing verses in Sunday School, singing hymns in the services, and being part of a close-knit community where everyone seemed to care about one another. We had all kinds of fun activities and traditions that I always looked forward to. Whether it was Vacation Bible Time in the summer or Christmas programs in the winter, there was always something exciting going on. I interacted with kind people who loved and cared about me. Our Pastor was a gentle, meek, kind man who exuded the love of Christ. Church was the center of my world, and at the time, it felt safe and familiar.
It wasn’t until I was older and the church leadership changed, that I started to struggle. I began to recognize how deeply the teachings of the high control religion I was born into had shaped my view of myself and the world around me. What once felt like a loving, faith-filled environment had quietly molded my personality around fear, guilt, and the constant need for perfection and approval, both from both God and those who claimed to speak for Him.
For children born into and raised in high control religions like the Independent Fundamental Baptist (IFB) churches, the idea of God is often presented through a lens of high stakes and conditional love. God is portrayed as watching every thought and action, keeping a record of failures, and ready to withdraw His blessing at the first sign of disobedience. This version of faith teaches children that the world is divided into two categories: the righteous and the wicked, the obedient and the rebellious. They are taught that one misstep could place them on the wrong side of God’s favor. The pressure to please an all-seeing, easily angered deity can quietly shape every part of a child’s development, leading to anxiety, perfectionism, and a lifelong struggle trying to feel “good enough.”
Verses like Romans 3:23, “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God,” and Jeremiah 17:9, “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” were often used to remind us of our unworthiness. We were told that our hearts could not be trusted, that our own instincts would lead us astray, and that obedience, no matter how uncomfortable, was the only path to righteousness. Isaiah 64:6 was another commonly cited verse: “But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags.” (read more about what I have to say about this by clicking HERE) This teaching instilled the belief that even our best efforts were worthless in God’s eyes, leaving little room for grace or self-compassion.
This kind of theology makes it nearly impossible for children to develop a healthy sense of self. Instead of learning that God’s love is constant and unconditional, many grow up believing that His affection must be earned through fear, submission, and perfection. Being taught that we’re saved by grace through faith, not works, but then told our “fruit” must prove it, leaving many of us feeling like grace is never quite enough. It’s a worldview that can warp how the children relate to others as well: teaching them to equate authority with truth, to suppress doubt, and to see failure as moral weakness rather than part of being human.
The emotional consequences of this run deep. Many adults who grew up in high control religions now struggle with chronic guilt, spiritual anxiety, and difficulty trusting their own intuition. When you are taught that questioning is rebellion and that your own thoughts cannot be trusted, you learn to silence your inner voice, the very voice that helps you discern right from wrong, safety from danger, and love from manipulation! It also creates a warped image of God. An image that is more like a harsh taskmaster than a loving creator.
Children raised under this high-stakes faith often become adults who either live in constant fear of disappointing God or walk away from faith altogether, unsure if the God they were taught about is worth knowing. A theology built on fear can produce temporary obedience, but it rarely nurtures true love. When the foundation of faith is fear rather than trust, it leaves lasting scars on the soul.
True faith, the kind that brings peace and healing, does not thrive in an atmosphere of control or shame. It grows in the freedom to question, to wrestle, and to learn that being loved by God does not depend on perfection. Breaking free from the high-stakes view of God isn’t rebellion, it’s recovery! It’s rediscovering that a relationship with God was never meant to be about fear, but about love, compassion, and grace.
Disclaimer: The personal experiences shared in this post are based on my personal perspective. While I chose to leave the IFB to find a more gracious and loving faith, it is important to acknowledge that individuals may have different experiences and find happiness within the IFB or any other religious institution. The decision to leave the IFB does not imply a loss of faith, as faith is a deeply personal and subjective matter. It is essential to respect and recognize the diversity of experiences and perspectives within religious communities. The content shared is for informational purposes only and should not be construed as professional advice, guidance, or a universal representation of the IFB or any religious organization. It is recommended to seek guidance, conduct research, and consider multiple perspectives when making personal decisions or exploring matters of faith.
Yesterday, social media was flooded with memes about yet another prediction for the rapture. Years ago, this would have sent me spiraling into fear. I grew up with rapture anxiety, a constant dread that at any moment Jesus might return and I would be left behind. Movies like A Thief in the Nightetched terrifying images into my mind, convincing me that the only way to be safe was to be as perfect as I could without question and never fall short of what was expected of me. That kind of fear doesn’t fade easily; it lingers in the body and the mind, causing anxiety long after belief has shifted.
The yearly prophecy conferences at my church were especially difficult. While others around me seemed enthralled, scribbling notes, nodding along, and eagerly discussing timelines of Christ’s return, I sat in silent dread. I knew I was saved and firmly believed I couldn’t lose my salvation, yet the images painted from the pulpit, wars, destruction, demonic forces, and the terror of being left behind, left me petrified.
The fear wasn’t just about the end times themselves; it was about the way I had been taught to absorb everything preached without question. In that environment, blind belief was equated with faithfulness, and doubt was seen as rebellion. So even when the messages triggered panic, I told myself the problem was with me, not with the teaching. Everyone else seemed captivated, excited even, about what was coming, while I carried the unbearable weight of anxiety and dread.
Looking back, I see how those prophecy conferences weren’t really about preparing people spiritually, they were about control. By keeping us terrified of what might come, leaders ensured our compliance in the present. The constant reminder that “Jesus could come back at any moment” kept members in line. It wasn’t about living with hope or peace but about living with fear. A stray doubt, a rebellious choice, or even just a moment of questioning authority could be framed as evidence that you weren’t “ready.” And the threat of “maybe you aren’t really saved” menat being “left behind” was the ultimate punishment.
This obsession with the rapture also gave leaders and members alike a convenient way to shirk responsibility for the world around them. Why worry about climate change if Christ is returning soon? Why address poverty, systemic injustice, or even church abuse if the world is just a temporary holding place about to be destroyed? The doctrine was twisted into a shield against accountability, both spiritual and social. It excused inaction and gave cover for negligence.
But here’s the irony: the Bible never presents the return of Christ as a reason to withdraw from responsibility. Instead, it calls believers to watchfulness expressed through justice, compassion, and care for creation. Yet in fundamentalist spaces, rapture teaching was less about preparing hearts for love and service, and more about controlling behavior through fear.
Looking back, I see that my rapture anxiety wasn’t really about God at all! It was about the human systems that benefited from keeping me afraid. Fearful people are easier to control. Fearful people don’t ask hard questions. Fearful people keep obeying, hoping they won’t be the ones left behind.
Now, when I see rapture predictions making the rounds online, I don’t feel the same panic. Instead, I feel sadness for those still trapped in that cycle of fear. I feel frustration at the way leaders continue to wield this doctrine as a weapon rather than a source of hope. Breaking free from that fear is breaking free from control. And once the fear is gone, the manipulation no longer works.
PS: What I have learned from studying and reading the Bible for myself:
The Bible describes the gathering of believers to Christ, but it doesn’t clearly support the popular evangelical notion of a pre-tribulation rapture where Christians vanish before catastrophic events. (Matthew 24:29-31, 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17, 1 Corinthians 15:51-52)
Historically, the idea of a sudden “secret rapture” is relatively modern and not rooted in early Christian teaching. The modern, popular version of the rapture is not an ancient belief. It was systematically developed in the early 19th century, spread widely in the early 20th century through a single influential Bible, and then became a dominant cultural narrative through books and films in the late 20th century. Most of these verses are taken out of historical and literary context, combined across books, or interpreted through a modern dispensationalist lens. The pre-tribulation rapture is not explicitly taught in Scripture, yet it has been presented as a controlling fear tactic in some fundamentalist settings.
Verses often cited for the rapture are sometimes taken out of context or combined in ways the original texts did not intend. Check out these rapture verses for yourself:
Disclaimer: The personal experiences shared in this post are based on my personal perspective. While I chose to leave the IFB to find a more gracious and loving faith, it is important to acknowledge that individuals may have different experiences and find happiness within the IFB or any other religious institution. The decision to leave the IFB does not imply a loss of faith, as faith is a deeply personal and subjective matter. It is essential to respect and recognize the diversity of experiences and perspectives within religious communities. The content shared is for informational purposes only and should not be construed as professional advice, guidance, or a universal representation of the IFB or any religious organization. It is recommended to seek guidance, conduct research, and consider multiple perspectives when making personal decisions or exploring matters of faith.
“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” — Jeremiah 17:9 (KJV)
This verse is commonly quoted in high-control religious environments to discourage trust in one’s own feelings, thoughts, or intuition. It’s often used to justify external control or authority, implying that people must not trust themselves and must instead rely entirely on religious leaders or teachings.
For much of my life, I wanted to trust myself. I longed to believe that my instincts, my thoughts, and my judgment were worthy of trust. But growing up in a high-demand religious environment, I was constantly told otherwise. I was taught that my heart was “desperately wicked,” that my desires and feelings were unreliable, and that the only path to righteousness was through unquestioning submission to external authority. I was taught to doubt myself, to suppress my own intuition in favor of what others dictated, and to believe that my worth was defined not by my own choices but by how well I adhered to a prescribed set of rules. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t trust myself; I was made to believe that to do so was wrong.
Slowly, quietly, and often painfully, I began to unlearn that lie. And in its place, a simple but radical truth emerged: I can trust myself.
Learning to trust myself didn’t happen overnight. It came with listening to the gut feelings I chose to honor, boundaries I dared to set, emotions I allowed myself to feel without shame. At first, it felt like betrayal. I had been conditioned to believe that to trust myself was to rebel against God, authority, or tradition. But I began to see that trusting myself was not an act of defiance, it was an act of integrity.
To trust myself is to believe that I am capable of making good decisions, even if they don’t look like what others expect. It’s believing that I know when something isn’t right, even if I can’t explain it in a way that satisfies everyone. It’s allowing myself to change, to grow, to evolve, even when others prefer the version of me that was easier to control.
Trusting myself means recognizing that my intuition is not a liability, it’s a compass. That my needs are not inconveniences, they’re signals. That my story matters, not just the polished version, but the messy, honest, human one.
I no longer outsource my truth to people who think they know me better than I know myself. I am not perfect, and I will make mistakes, but that doesn’t mean I’m untrustworthy. It means I’m human. And the more I’ve learned to listen to my own voice, the more I’ve discovered that it was never trying to lead me astray, it was trying to lead me home.
When a pastor or spiritual leader consistently uses your “heart is deceitful and desperately wicked” as a tool to discourage self-trust, question your instincts, or dismiss your emotions, that’s spiritual manipulation, not biblical teaching in good faith.
If every thought, emotion, or gut feeling is immediately suspect, then there’s no room for spiritual maturity or emotional intelligence to develop. Healthy spiritual leaders encourage you to grow in discernment and critical thinking, not silence your voice in the name of obedience. Even Scripture affirms the need to “test the spirits” (1 John 4:1) and that wisdom is available to those who ask (James 1:5). If a pastor discourages testing his spirit, if questioning him is equated with rebellion, that’s a red flag.
A spiritual leader who uses this verse repeatedly to shut down questions or enforce conformity is saying, “You can’t trust yourself, only me.” That’s not biblical authority, that’s authoritarianism.
Believing that your inner voice is inherently wicked can severely damage your relationship with both yourself and God. You may begin to mistrust your own experiences, dismiss legitimate concerns, and remain in harmful situations because you’ve been taught to confuse control with care. Over time, this mindset erodes your ability to distinguish between the voice of God and the voice of whoever claims to speak on His behalf, leaving you spiritually disoriented and emotionally disconnected.
When we are taught to distrust our own hearts, we are not being protected, we are being controlled. True spiritual growth does not come from silencing ourselves in fear, but from learning to discern wisely and walk in truth. A healthy relationship with God invites self-awareness, honesty, and the courage to listen inwardly with grace, not suspicion. Reclaiming trust in ourselves is not rebellion, it’s restoration. It’s the beginning of a faith that is lived, not imposed.
“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” — Jeremiah 17:9 (KJV)
This verse is frequently quoted in isolation. But when we look at the historical and literary context, we gain a clearer understanding of what it’s actually addressing. A healthier interpretation might say, “You can learn to trust yourself while also practicing discernment.” If you are interested in learning more about what I have discovered about the historical and literary context you can check out this post from September 2023 by clicking HERE or below
Disclaimer: The personal experiences shared in this post are based on my personal perspective. While I chose to leave the IFB to find a more gracious and loving community, it is important to acknowledge that individuals may have different experiences and find happiness within the IFB or any other religious institution. The decision to leave the IFB does not imply a loss of faith, as faith is a deeply personal and subjective matter. It is essential to respect and recognize the diversity of experiences and perspectives within religious communities. The content shared is for informational purposes only and should not be construed as professional advice, guidance, or a universal representation of the IFB or any religious organization. It is recommended to seek guidance, conduct research, and consider multiple perspectives when making personal decisions or exploring matters of faith.
There is a quiet kind of violence in the words people speak about us. Sometimes it’s loud and obvious, labels hurled in anger or judgment. Other times, it’s subtle, passive-aggressive, cloaked in concern or advice, spoken from pulpits, whispered in passing, or passed down like family heirlooms. “You’re rebellious.” “You’re too sensitive.” “You’re not enough.” or sometimes it is that “You’re too much.” Over time, their words echo in the back of our minds, growing louder than our own thoughts, making it hard to determine what is true. But here’s the truth: just because it’s said about me doesn’t mean it’s true.
For those of us who grew up in high-control environments, whether religious, cultural, or familial, this lesson is hard-won. When your worth has been measured by how well you fit someone else’s mold, it’s easy to believe that their version of you is the only one that counts. It takes time, distance, and often a great deal of pain to realize that the stories others tell about you are not always rooted in truth, they’re rooted in their expectations, their fears, and quite often their need for control.
They may say I’m difficult because I ask questions. That doesn’t make it true. They may say I’m ungodly because I left their version of faith. That doesn’t make it true. They may say I’m demanding because I no longer let them manipulate me. That doesn’t make it true. They may say I’m broken because I no longer perform the role they assigned me. That doesn’t make it true.
We do not owe our identity to those who benefit from our silence or compliance. And we are not required to carry the weight of someone else’s narrative simply because they say it with confidence or authority. Freedom comes when we stop handing people the pen and start writing our own story.
This is not about defiance for the sake of defiance. It’s about discernment, learning to recognize which voices are worth listening to and which ones were never speaking in love to begin with. It’s about drawing a sacred boundary around our worth and saying, “You don’t get to define me just because you’re louder.”
The more I shed the labels others gave me, the more clearly I see who I actually am. I am curious, compassionate, resilient, thoughtful, brave, and yes, still growing. But most importantly, I am who I say I am. I get to decide what is true about me.
For as long as I can remember, the message was clear, be more, do more, give more. And yet, no matter how much I did, it was never quite right, never enough. This phrase “never enough” echoed quietly beneath the surface of my life, a constant hum in the background of my thoughts, my choices, my identity. It took years before I realized that I had internalized a system that thrived on my inadequacy.
Growing up in an environment that prized perfection cloaked in piety, I learned early that love and acceptance were conditional. In church, the sermons urged us to be holy, to be separate, to be pure. Any failure to meet these expectations was met with disappointment or worse, silence. I didn’t question it. It was just the way things were. I just kept trying to be better, to be good enough.
I tried to be the best, the best Christian, the best example. I led Bible studies, dressed modestly, try to avoid anything deemed “worldly,” and offered apologies before anyone had a chance to be upset. Whenever I engaged in “worldly” activities like watching movies or listening to secular music, I was overwhelmed with guilt, not just because I was letting down my parents or church leaders, but because I believed I was disappointing Jesus Himself. No matter how holy I tried to be the target always moved. If I met one expectation, another would arise. It was as though the rules were designed for the goal to be just out of reach. If I were thinner, quieter, more agreeable, more submissive, then maybe I would be enough. But I never was.
The heartbreaking thing about being stuck in this cycle is that it doesn’t ask you to improve for your own growth or joy, it asks you to shrink. The more I conformed, the less of myself I became. I began to doubt my own instincts. I didn’t voice my opinions and when I did I saw the disapproving looks on the faces of those around me. I knew what I liked and wanted, only to feel I should avoid or suppress them. I lived in fear of disappointing people whose approval I was taught to need in order to be loved, not just loved by them, but loved and accepted by God.
It took years of unlearning to realize that “never enough” wasn’t the truth. It was a tool, one used to control, to manipulate, to keep people (especially women) small and dependent. It kept me chasing validation from systems and people who had no intention of ever giving it. Because if I ever did feel like I was enough, I might stop complying. I might stop serving. I might stop performing. I might realize that I didn’t need them.
Healing means reclaiming the parts of myself I was told to cut away. It means understanding that my worth isn’t rooted in how well I follow someone else’s script. It means saying no without guilt and resting without shame. Most importantly, it means rejecting the lie that I am only as valuable as my church attendance and performance.
“Never enough” was never the truth. I am enough, not because of what I do or how I appear, but because I exist. And that is finally enough for me.
For much of my life, I found peace and comfort in my Christian faith and the community my church provided. The people I worshipped with, those I prayed beside and shared fellowship with, were not just friends; they were my spiritual family. Together, we espoused values that were at the core of Christianity—compassion, love, humility, and integrity. These teachings gave me a sense of purpose and direction, and I believed that the people I shared my faith with were living examples of these principles.
However, something began to shift. As Donald Trump rose to political power, I watched with growing confusion as the very same people who preached Christ’s message of love and humility embraced someone who so starkly embodied the opposite. The teachings of kindness and decency that I had been raised on seemed to dissolve as the community around me—people I once trusted—bent over backward to excuse behavior that was undeniably cruel, divisive, and dishonest. It was through this stark contrast that I began to see things in a new light. Ironically, Trump and the fervent MAGA movement served as a catalyst for my personal awakening.
The Values I Once Held Dear
Growing up, I was taught that following Christ meant living a life grounded in love, service to others, and personal integrity. We were called to love our neighbors, show kindness to the stranger, and be humble in all things. These values were repeated from the pulpit, ingrained in Bible studies, and echoed in countless conversations. I held tightly to the belief that my Christian community shared these core principles, that we were all striving to embody the teachings of Jesus.
We weren’t perfect, but for a long time, I believed we were trying our best to be like Christ. In the church, we spoke passionately about loving the poor, protecting the vulnerable, and upholding truth. I trusted the people around me because they shared these values, and I never imagined a day would come when I would question them. But then came the 2016 election, and suddenly everything felt different.
The Conflict with Trump’s Behavior
Donald Trump’s candidacy and subsequent presidency presented a deep moral challenge for me. His rhetoric, behavior, and policies were not aligned with the values I had been taught in church. Whether it was his dismissiveness toward marginalized groups, his bullying of those who disagreed with him, or his flagrant disregard for honesty, Trump’s behavior stood in stark contrast to the teachings of Christ. I was shocked to see someone so openly boastful, selfish, and hostile be embraced by people who had once taught me that humility and kindness were non-negotiable Christian values.
Yet, instead of condemning these traits, many of the Christians I knew defended and excused them. They rationalized his actions in the name of political expediency, often stating that they didn’t “like the man,” but supported his policies. It was as though all the values I had been taught were suddenly negotiable—if the political stakes were high enough. I couldn’t reconcile how the same people who once preached about truth and love could so easily dismiss Trump’s lies, cruelty, and arrogance. I was confused by the double standard.
The Hypocrisy of Blind Support
The more I listened to the people around me defend Trump, the more I realized that something was deeply wrong. It wasn’t just about Trump’s behavior; it was the way my Christian community blindly followed him that shook me to my core. They made excuses for him, citing his stance on abortion or religious freedom, as if these issues justified everything else. When confronted with his blatant disregard for truth or his demeaning treatment of others, they shifted the conversation, pointing to political gains as if those alone absolved any wrongdoing.
I started to see the hypocrisy clearly. The people I had trusted to uphold the teachings of Jesus were no longer prioritizing compassion or truth. Instead, they were prioritizing political power and influence. It was disillusioning, but more than that, it was heartbreaking. Everything I had once believed about my community’s commitment to Christian values crumbled before my eyes.
The Turning Point
The breaking point came when I could no longer listen to the justifications. I had begun to question what these people really stood for. Were they more concerned with maintaining control than with living out the values they preached? Was their loyalty to Christ or to a political figure and party? These questions nagged at me, until I realized that staying in this community meant compromising my own integrity. I couldn’t pretend anymore.
Leaving wasn’t easy. It meant walking away from the only spiritual home I had ever known. It meant feeling lost for a while, unsure of where to turn. I was let down by people I once looked up to and respected. But leaving also gave me the space to think critically, to reflect on what I truly believed, and to break free from the limitations that had been placed on my thinking.
Finding Freedom in Critical Thinking
Stepping away from that environment was liberating. For the first time, I felt free to ask questions, to challenge assumptions, and to form my own beliefs. I no longer had to accept the contradictions and hypocrisy that had suffocated me. In leaving, I found the freedom to align myself with the values I truly held dear—compassion, integrity, and authenticity. I realized that true faith, for me, meant questioning, doubting, and seeking out truth, rather than blindly following the status quo.
In a strange twist, I owe this personal freedom, in part, to Trump and the MAGA movement. Their rise to power exposed the cracks in my community, the hypocrisies that had always been there but were now glaringly obvious. By forcing me to confront those contradictions, they gave me the courage to walk away.
So yes, I am thankful to Trump and the MAGA movement, but certainly not for the reasons they might expect. I’m not grateful for their policies or their political vision. I’m grateful because they exposed the hypocrisy within my Christian community, and in doing so, they pushed me to leave. That departure was the beginning of my journey toward critical thinking, toward embracing a faith that is truly my own, and toward living out the values I believe in—without compromise.
You don’t have to compromise your values in the voting booth. Voting for a Democrat is not a sin, despite what some might claim. What is wrong, however, is compromising your values to support someone as morally corrupt and divisive as Trump. Choosing to align yourself with someone who consistently acts in ways that contradict core Christian teachings—who lies, demeans, and fosters division—cannot be justified by any political gain. It’s important to remember that standing up for truth and integrity is what matters most. Voting in a way that aligns with your true values, even if it goes against the grain of your community, is the right thing to do. In the end, it’s better to be on the right side of history, standing for compassion and justice, rather than blindly following someone who undermines those very principles.
While working on a different post, my mind kept coming back to the thought that the shape of my body is not a moral failing. Let me explain… For years, I internalized the belief that my worth was tied to my appearance, influenced by societal standards and the rigid expectations of the religious community I was once part of. This led to constant self-criticism, punishing myself with excessive exercise for my perceived flaws, and a relentless pursuit of an unattainable ideal.
I fully believe that had I remained in the Independent Fundamental Baptist (IFB) community I was a part of, I never would have made these positive changes in my way of thinking. The rigid expectations and constant scrutiny would have continued to shape my self-perception, trapping me in a cycle of self-criticism and shame.
Being part of a high-demand fundamentalist religion, such as the IFB, profoundly shaped my perspective on beauty standards and my body. In these types of religious circles, strict and often unrealistic ideals about physical appearance are enforced, rooted in rigid interpretations of modesty and morality. This environment can create a deeply ingrained sense of body shame, judgment, and self-criticism.
Within these high-demand communities, the shape and appearance of one’s body can be scrutinized as a reflection of moral and spiritual standing. Adherence to specific dress codes and behaviors is seen as evidence of one’s piety and commitment to religious principles. This can create an oppressive atmosphere where any deviation from the norm is judged harshly, leading to a persistent internalization of body shame.
Stepping away from the high-demand religion has allowed me to see that the shape of my body is not a moral failing. Our bodies are diverse, influenced by genetics, health, and a host of other factors that have nothing to do with our character or spiritual worth. Equating body shape with moral value is a flawed perspective that only perpetuates harmful judgment and exclusion.
Rejecting these restrictive beauty standards and embracing body positivity has been crucial for my healing and self-acceptance. It involved challenging deeply ingrained beliefs, celebrating the diversity of human bodies, and learning to love myself as I am. By shifting the focus from rigid conformity to appreciating the uniqueness of each individual, I have learned I can combat the damaging effects of body shaming and promote a more inclusive and compassionate way of thinking.
This mental change hasn’t been easy. It involved unlearning deeply ingrained beliefs and confronting the internalized shame that stemmed from years of conforming to external expectations. But with each step, I’ve grown stronger and more compassionate toward myself. I’ve come to realize that my value isn’t determined by my appearance but by who I am as a person. Our bodies, in all their diversity, deserve respect and kindness.
Learning to accept my own body’s perceived flaws has made it easier for me to be kind to myself and, in turn, others. By embracing my imperfections, I’ve cultivated an internal empathy, allowing me to appreciate the uniqueness of myself and others without judgment. This shift in perspective has made me a more compassionate and supportive person, which everyone around me benefits from.
True beauty comes from authenticity and self-acceptance, not from adhering to an unrealistic and narrow set of standards. Everyone deserves to feel confident and valued, regardless of their physical appearance. The shape of my body is not a moral failing; it is a natural and unique expression of who I am. By recognizing this, I have been able to let go of the guilt and shame imposed by unrealistic beauty standards. Embracing my body as it is has allowed me to focus on what truly matters: my health, my happiness, and my overall well-being.
Disclaimer: The personal experiences shared in this post are based on my personal perspective. While I chose to leave the IFB to find a more gracious and loving community, it is important to acknowledge that individuals may have different experiences and find happiness within the IFB or any other religious institution. The decision to leave the IFB does not imply a loss of faith, as faith is a deeply personal and subjective matter. It is essential to respect and recognize the diversity of experiences and perspectives within religious communities. The content shared is for informational purposes only and should not be construed as professional advice, guidance, or a universal representation of the IFB or any religious organization. It is recommended to seek guidance, conduct research, and consider multiple perspectives when making personal decisions or exploring matters of faith.
As my time talking about my experience being part of a high-control religious group is winding down, I feel as if I have discussed many topics that have been important to my personal growth. The remaining few are the most challenging and time-consuming to articulate.
The Spirit of Fear within the the Independent Fundamental Baptist (IFB) church is a topic that has taken significant introspection and courage to work through. Exploring the complexities of fear, its origins, and its impact within this religious context requires a delicate examination of personal experiences and communal dynamics. Nevertheless, shedding light on these aspects is important for encouraging understanding, empathy, and initiating conversations that contribute to healing and growth within and beyond the IFB community.
While I am not inherently a fearful person, delving into the intricate layers of fear within the context of the IFB church has compelled me to confront my own vulnerabilities and uncertainties. Unraveling the influence of fear on both individual beliefs and the dynamics of a religious community necessitates a candid exploration of personal experiences and the broader cultural context. This endeavor has not only deepened my understanding of the diverse dimensions of fear but has also reinforced my commitment to navigating the intricate paths of faith and personal growth.
Growing up I remember being taught 2 Timothy 1:7 from the King James Version (KJV), “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” This verse emphasizes that fear is not a gift from God but rather something contrary to the attributes bestowed by a divine spirit, which includes power, love, and self-discipline. Despite the comforting message of this verse, my experience within the group was characterized more by fear than the promised assurance it suggests.
In my years within the church, there was a constant dichotomy between the soothing promises of peace and comfort and the underlying current of fear and dread. The teachings centered on the idea that following the prescribed path would lead to tranquility, but in reality, it often felt like navigating a minefield. The fear of misstepping, of inadvertently deviating from the established norms, cast a long shadow over the promised peace.
Instead of finding peace, I found myself in a perpetual state of vigilance. Every decision, every action, carried the weight of potential consequences. The fear wasn’t just a theoretical concept; it was a palpable force that shaped daily life. The teachings spoke of a loving and forgiving God, but the atmosphere was often one of judgment and condemnation. From the time I was a child I was indoctrinated with the belief that my every action, or inaction, might determine whether those around me find themselves in Hell or not.Let that sink in, even as a young child the literal weight of another persons eternal damnation was on my shoulders.I found myself dwelling on it constantly whenever I met new people.
In this environment, the promised comfort seemed elusive, drowned out by the drumbeat of anxiety. It left me questioning the authenticity of the teachings and whether the prescribed path truly led to the promised serenity. The dissonance between the spoken assurances and the felt experience became a defining aspect of my spiritual journey.
High-control/demand religious groups often employ fear as a powerful tool to maintain control over their members. The fear instilled is not just a random emotion; it’s carefully crafted to manipulate individuals into compliance. Whether through the threat of eternal damnation, ostracization from the community, or other dire consequences, fear becomes a pervasive force. The teachings might emphasize love and salvation, but the underlying message is one of constant vigilance and potential punishment. This fear creates a psychological and emotional dependency, making it difficult for individuals to question or leave the group, as the consequences are portrayed as too severe. It’s a tactic that goes beyond spiritual guidance, extending into the realms of spiritual and psychological manipulation and control.
Fear can be a powerful motivator, but if one claims to embody the love of God, relying on fear seems contradictory. The contrast between the professed message of love and the use of fear tactics raises questions about the sincerity of the teachings and the motives behind such approaches. It prompts reflection on whether a message of love should be more inspiring than fear-inducing. Shouldn’t a message of love inspire rather than instill fear? The tension between these concepts speaks to the complex nature of religious dynamics and the impact they can have on individuals seeking guidance and connection.
According to 2 Timothy 1:7, fear is not of God, yet it seems the church consistently relies on fear as a means of control. This contradiction is something I grapple with regularly. I still find myself wrestling with more questions than answers most days. Despite this, I recognize that I can’t live in a constant state of fear. While I may not have all the answers, I’m determined not to let fear dictate my path forward. It’s an ongoing process of sorting through teachings and understanding faith beyond the confines of fear.
In no particular orderhere are some things that I was taught to be afraid of during my time in the IFB:(Keep in mind I am painting with a broad brush)
Worldly Influences: Fear of secular ideas, entertainment, and cultures outside the IFB circle is instilled to maintain a distinct separation.
Backsliding: There’s a fear of spiritual regression, where members are taught to be constantly at church and church activities to be vigilant against falling away from the faith. You can read more about this topic in my post called Three To Thrive: Controlling Time (In more ways than one)
Divergence from Doctrine: There’s a fear of questioning or deviating from the established doctrines, creating an atmosphere of conformity. (You can read more about this topic in my post called Can We Just Agree to Disagree? Or Not?)
Non- King James Version Modern Bible Translations: Some IFB churches prefer only the KJV translations and express concerns about the accuracy or perceived liberal bias in other modern translations. In my personal opinion, it seems that IFB pastors may prefer the KJV of the Bible because of its archaic language, making it potentially more challenging for congregants to understand without guidance. This deliberate choice could create a dynamic where congregants rely heavily on the pastor’s interpretation and explanation of the scripture, creating a dependence on the pastor for understanding God’s word. In my personal experience when I began reading a translation that was more accessible and easier to comprehend, it became evident that the teachings from the pulpit did not always align with the straightforward message of the Bible. This shift allowed me to form a more direct and personal connection with the scriptures, highlighting the importance of personal understanding and interpretation in one’s relationship with God.
While the majority of the verses I have “hidden in my heart” are from the KJV, my approach to studying and understanding the word of God takes me beyond the KJV. When delving into the scriptures for deeper comprehension, I prefer translations that offer linguistic clarity and a contemporary context. This choice allows me to grasp the intended meanings without the linguistic barriers often associated with the archaic language of the KJV. Exploring various translations has enriched my understanding of the Bible, enabling a deeper connection with the timeless truths it conveys. In embracing diverse translations, I find a broader perspective that contributes to a more well-rounded interpretation and understanding of God’s word.
False Salvation: An instilled fear that any misstep or failure to adhere to their standards could mean that one didn’t experience true salvation. (You can read more about this topic in my post called The Pressure of Perfection Growing Up Fundamentalist)
Hellfire and Damnation: IFB often emphasizes the fear of eternal punishment for those who don’t adhere to their specific doctrines.
Cultural and Social Changes: IFB adherents may be taught to fear societal changes and evolving cultural norms, portraying them as threats to faith.
Interfaith Dialogue: Fear of engaging in open discussions with individuals from different faiths or belief systems.
Rock Music: those rebellious beats and non-traditional lyrics are just too much for their refined taste. After all, who needs a bit of rhythm and beats when you can stick to hymns? Don’t get me wrong, I love some of the classic hymns, but if Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen is wrong, then I just don’t know if I want to be right.
Personal Autonomy: Members may be discouraged from thinking for themselves and encouraged to rely heavily on the pastor and church for guidance and decision-making in all areas of their lives. (You can read more about this topic in my post called Abuse of Power Dynamics and Spiritual Manipulation at Places of Worship)
Democrats: Specifically democratic women like Kamala Harris: Vice President of the United States Nancy Pelosi: Former Speaker of the House of Representatives Hillary Clinton: Former Secretary of State and presidential candidate Elizabeth Warren: U.S. Senator from Massachusetts Stacey Abrams: Former Georgia gubernatorial candidate and founder of Fair Fight Action Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez: U.S. Representative from New York
Some fundamentalists may be concerned about policies that they perceive as conflicting with their religious beliefs, such as abortion rights or same-sex marriage. However, it’s important to remember many Democrats also have strong religious beliefs.
Feminism: Especially those women who dare to speak up and speak out and challenge traditional gender roles within the family and church. (See “Democrats” for specific examples)
Abortion: The IFB typically oppose abortion, viewing it as morally wrong and against their pro-life stance.
LGBTQ+ Rights: The IFB community traditionally holds conservative views on issues related to the LGBTQ+ community. They often oppose movements advocating for LGBTQ+ rights and same-sex marriage.
Secularism and Atheism: IFB followers are concerned about the rise of secularism and atheism, viewing these as threats to their religious values.
Globalism: Seen as a threat to national identity and traditional values. IFB adherents may express discomfort with cultural shifts that they perceive as moving away from conservative principles.
Non IFB Churches/Other IFB churches: The IFB community, being deeply rooted in its own interpretation of Christianity, views religious pluralism as a challenge to their exclusive theological beliefs. They love to view themselves as up against the world. (You can read more about this topic in my post called The Pressure of Perfection Growing Up Fundamentalist)
Environmentalism: Some within the IFB community might be skeptical of environmental movements, viewing them as distracting from what they consider more pressing spiritual matters. IFB churches that heavily focus on “End Times” teachings tend to feel that there is no need to take care of the earth and environment due to Christ’s return being imminent. (You can read more about this topic in my post called Happy Halloween: The Scariest Movies I Have Ever Seen)
Secular Education: Some within the IFB community may be wary of secular education systems, expressing concerns about the influence of non-religious ideologies on children. Many in the IFB choose to homeschool their children.
Higher education institutions, specifically, are often viewed as potential avenues for exposure to secular influences. The process of education encourages independent thinking, encouraging an ability to critically evaluate information. Within high-demand and controlling religious contexts, there can be apprehension towards individuals thinking independently, as it poses a potential risk of uncovering shortcomings in both leadership and theological doctrines.
Drug and Alcohol: Growing up I believed that if I ever had even one sip of alcohol that I would immediately become and alcoholic and my life would be in ruins!
Healthcare Practices: Views on certain healthcare practices, especially those related to reproductive health, and more recently vaccinations, might be shaped by religious beliefs. As a health care professional, I have sooooo many opinions about this topic. I will be sharing my viewpoint in future non-IFB related posts. Long story short: I am a huge advocate for personal liberty and choice, but letting your pastor and church think for you is neither. Vaccinations are a life saving privilege! Prevention is priceless!
Immigration: Views on immigration can vary, but some IFB churches and members overly express concerns about the impact of immigration on cultural and national identity. Typically, IFB churches that strongly align with Trump’s views often exhibit opposition to immigration.
This could/should be it’s own post, but I will briefly share my thoughts on this here…The Bible offers a multifaceted perspective on immigrants and foreigners. It emphasizes the importance of welcoming the stranger, practicing justice and fairness, and recognizing the challenges involved in integrating newcomers into society. Here are some Bible passages to back up this statement (all shared verse are KJV):
Leviticus 19:34: “The stranger that dwelleth with thee within your gates, shall be unto you as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself; for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God.” This verse emphasizes the importance of treating foreigners with respect and compassion, remembering their own experience of being strangers.
Deuteronomy 10:19: “And thou shalt shew love unto the stranger, as he that was a stranger thyself in the land of Egypt.” This verse reiterates the call for hospitality and kindness towards immigrants, reminding readers of their own history as refugees.
Exodus 23:22:”Thou shalt not afflict a stranger, nor deal hardly with him: for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt.” This verse specifically prohibits oppressing or mistreating foreigners, emphasizing the need for justice and fairness.
Deuteronomy 24:14-15: “Thou shalt not defraud the hired labourer, that is poor and needy, whether he be of thy brethren, or of thy strangers that are in thy land within thy gates: At his day shalt thou give him his hire, neither shalt thou let it remain with thee until the morning. For thou wast a bondservant in the land of Egypt, and the LORD thy God redeemed thee thence.” This verse highlights the importance of fair treatment for all workers, including immigrants, and reminds readers of their own history as slaves.
Matthew 25:31-46: This parable of the sheep and the goats presents a challenge to distinguish between those who welcomed and cared for strangers and those who did not. It emphasizes the importance of compassion and action in response to the needs of immigrants.
Romans 13:1-7: This passage encourages obedience to authorities, which could be interpreted as applying to immigration laws and regulations. However, it’s important to note that this passage also emphasizes the importance of justice and fairness within the legal system.
Matthew 25:35-40: “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me. Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’”
Based on Matthew 25:35-40, which emphasizes compassion and care for those in need, Jesus would express a concern about the potential lack of empathy or hospitality in the views of Christian nationalists regarding immigration. Jesus, in these verses, identifies himself with the hungry, thirsty, strangers, and those in need, emphasizing that acts of kindness towards the marginalized are akin to showing kindness to Him.
In the context of immigration, Jesus would encourage a perspective that reflects compassion, understanding, and a willingness to welcome strangers. He would emphasize the importance of seeing the humanity in all individuals, including immigrants, and extending a helping hand to those in vulnerable situations. The passage suggests a call to treat others with love and kindness, especially those who may be considered strangers or outsiders.
Breaking free from these ingrained fears instilled by past beliefs and community teachings is liberating! By challenging and questioning these fears, I empower myself to embrace a broader understanding of the world, diverse perspectives, and my own ever growing and evolving beliefs. Releasing the grip of fear allows me to engage in open-minded connections with a diverse range of people and ideas. As I break free from the constraints of preconceived notions, I become unencumbered by the limitations of fear. This transformative process enables me to navigate the complexities and fears and anxieties of life with a newfound sense of confidence to embrace each experience I come upon.
Disclaimer:It’s important to acknowledge that this is my opinion based on my own life experiences. It’s essential to recognize that not all people within IFB churches function in a state of constant fear. Some may be more openminded and respectful of differing viewpoints, acknowledging that genuine faith can coexist alongside diverse beliefs.People have diverse experiences and perceptions, and some may genuinely enjoy and benefit from their involvement in the IFB. I may disagree, but unlike what I experienced while in the IFB I do not intend to diminish or invalidate those positive experiences but rather seeks to highlight the complexities of personal perspectives and their role in shaping our understanding of the world.
Looking Joli Good 