🕊️ Making Peace With the Past (Without Denying the Harm)

There was a time when I thought healing meant forgetting. Or forgiving too fast. Or rising above the pain like it didn’t really touch me.

Especially when it came to religion.

I was taught that “bitterness” was a sin, that questioning was rebellion, and that any pain I felt must be because I wasn’t surrendered enough. For a long time, I tried to make my story neater—less jagged, more palatable. Easier for others to digest, especially those who still believed.

But here’s what I’ve learned:Peace that demands silence isn’t peace. Forgiveness that demands amnesia isn’t healing. And love that gaslights you isn’t love—it’s control.

🌒 Deconstruction is holy work. It’s not a phase or a crisis—it’s an initiation. A sacred undoing. A return to self.

I didn’t leave my faith because I wanted to sin.I left because the version of God I was handed could not hold the weight of my grief, my questions, or my truth.

And maybe you’ve been there too. Maybe you’re still unraveling. Untangling scripture from shame. Pulling threads of identity out from under layers of spiritual performance. Wondering what’s left when the rules and the fear and the pressure to be “holy” fall away.

Let me say this to your spirit gently but clearly:

✨ You do not have to sanitize your story to make others comfortable.

✨ You can honor the beauty and name the betrayal.

✨ You are allowed to outgrow the beliefs that once kept you safe but now keep you small.

I carry both love and grief for the version of me who stayed too long in spaces that silenced her. And yet—I hold her close. She was doing the best she could with what she was given. She got me here.

And I know she wasn’t wrong for wanting something real. She just didn’t know yet that what she was looking for wasn’t out there—it was within.

There was a time I thought I had to burn the whole thing down to be free. And in some ways, I did. I needed the fire. The rage. The clarity. I needed to say “No more” with the same conviction I used to say “Amen.”

🔥 Deconstruction often begins with anger. And that’s okay.

Anger is not the enemy—it’s the alarm. It tells you where you’ve been violated. Where boundaries were crossed. Where your soul was silenced in the name of holiness.

And then, after the anger… comes the ache.

The ache for what was good. The songs that carried you. The sense of belonging you once had—even if it came at the cost of your authenticity.

🌀 That ache is sacred too.

Because grief is what happens when you’ve loved something, even if it wasn’t always good for you. And love—real love—lets you tell the truth. About all of it.

I used to think I had to choose:

• Be angry, or be gracious.

• Be healed, or be honest.

• Be “loving,” or tell the truth.

But that’s the false binary of spiritual control. In reality, I can be both grateful and grieving. I can reclaim peace without pretending it didn’t cost me something. I can love people and still walk away from the spaces they occupy.

🌿 Making peace doesn’t mean forgetting. It means integrating. It means you stop needing to explain your worth or justify your wounds.

For me, peace looks like:

• No longer defending my right to question.

• Choosing pleasure without shame.

• Speaking from my belly instead of my conditioning.

• Creating family and love on my terms.

• Holding the past with open hands instead of white knuckles.

And when the old voices rise—those internalized critics that sound suspiciously like pastors, parents, or prophets—I breathe. I remind myself:

I am not theirs to manage. I am mine to cherish.

I no longer confuse submission for devotion. I no longer mistake fear for faith. And I no longer translate emotional neglect as “spiritual maturity.”

💔 There was a cost to staying. And there’s a cost to leaving. But the cost of staying silent… was my soul.

There are still days when grief finds me in unexpected places—a worship song I used to love, a scripture quoted out of context, a memory of how earnest I once was.

And sometimes, I cry for her. That younger version of me. The one who prayed her heart out. Who served. Who trusted. Who tried so hard to be “right.” She didn’t know she was worthy without the performance. She didn’t know love could exist without fear.

But now I do. And I will keep choosing truth—even when it’s messy. I will keep choosing embodiment over obedience. I will keep choosing freedom, even when it costs me the approval of those who still live inside the walls I left behind.

🔍 Reflection Prompts:

• What parts of your story have you tried to erase in the name of peace?

• Where were you asked to minimize your pain so others could stay comfortable?

• What does peace look like now, on your own terms?

• Can you bless your former self for surviving—even if she no longer fits your life?

🧡 Truth Statement:

My healing is not a betrayal of my past—it’s a reclaiming of my power. I am not here to keep quiet. I am here to live fully, love wildly, and speak my sacred truth—even if my voice shakes. I honor the ache, the anger, and the awakening as sacred chapters of my becoming.