💌 What I’d Say If You Actually Asked—And Stayed to Listen

—A Letter to the Ones Who Don’t Understand

⚖️ The Room Inside My Chest

I used to imagine a tiny courtroom behind my ribs.

God sat at the bench.

Elders in the jury box.

And every time I made a decision—any decision—the gavel slammed. 🔨

I learned to accuse myself before anyone else could:

Guilty.

Broken.

Wrong.

I thought maybe if I judged myself first, God would go easier on me.

And when Cole got sick, I begged harder.

Fast.

Pray.

Repent.

Do everything “right.”

I thought if I could just be good enough, I could save him.

And when I couldn’t—I shattered.

But the shattering didn’t come all at once.

It cracked slowly.

Grief pulled at the walls of everything I’d believed.

And even then, I still tried to hold it together—tried to stay faithful.

But eventually… I couldn’t.

Not just to God.

To the whole belief system.

To the version of love that required me to disappear.

So I walked out of the courtroom.

Terrified.

Numb.

Free.

🫂 To Those Who Are Afraid Because We Look Different

I know our lives look unrecognizable.

You’ve probably heard rumors, watched headlines, maybe even prayed for our souls.

What hurts most isn’t disagreement—it’s the silence.

No one sat across from us, palms up, and said,“Tell us what’s true for you now.”

So let me tell you anyway:

• We didn’t leave because we stopped caring.We left because we couldn’t breathe under the weight of being “good enough” to deserve love.

• Every choice we’ve made has been about love.Love that’s wide enough to hold grief, pleasure, nuance, and a throuple that feels like family.

• We are still us—just more honest.The mask is gone, the heart is tender, and the table is set for anyone who’s willing to truly see.

  
  

👗 When Fear Wore a Sunday Dress

I was the girl who color-coded memory verses,who feared hell more than heartbreak.

I fasted, prayed, worshipped.

I didn’t drink.

I didn’t cuss.

I married young, served the church, and raised six children in starched faith—all while my nervous system pulsed with a single command:Be good or be thrown in hell.

That fear looked holy in a Sunday dress, but it strangled the life right out of me.

So when I say “I’m free,” I don’t mean reckless.

I mean finally able to inhabit my own body without asking permission.

❓ The Questions That Tormented Me

• Why would a God create a tree in a garden, tell Adam and Eve not to eat it when they didn’t know right from wrong—and then punish them for it?

• Why put a serpent there, knowing full well what choice they’d make?

• Why would a God create humanity, then destroy creation with a flood?

• Why would a God harden someone's heart, then punish them for it?

• Why condone children being mauled by bears for calling a man "bald"?

• Why create emotions, then declare the heart wicked and the body sinful?

• Why would God create the devil knowing that he would deceive many?

• What "Father" would make himself so hard to know, but then punish his children for not "knowing?"

• Why does love feel so scary?

• Why does it seem like humans are more loving than the God we were taught?

• Why is Jesus called the savior of the world if only a few are actually “saved?"

• Why create hell at all? Is that punishment equal to the crime?

• Why would a loving God remain silent while my son was dying?

• Why is someone’s sexuality so threatening?

These weren’t seeds of rebellion.

They were survival instincts.

And every time I voiced one, another door slammed shut.

Eventually, there were no doors left—only open sky.

🛑 What We Were Never Allowed to Say

• I’m angry that fear was branded as faith.

• I'm angry that control was disguised as love.

• I'm angry that love was conditional.

• I'm angry that the world was villianized - because that is where I eventually found healing.

• I’m grieving the years I tithed my body and my voice to earn belonging.

• I'm grieving the principles that I passed on to my children that are harmful.

• I'm grieving the ones who have abandoned us.

• I’m terrified—yet thrilled—to build a life now that feels like oxygen instead of obligation.

Holy rage.

Unfiltered grief.

Radical joy.

These are the emotions religion told us to bury.

I’m done hiding the bones of my humanity just to make the pews comfortable.

🔄 If You Ever Come Asking…

We won’t meet you with a courtroom defense.

We’ll meet you with a smile and a warm hug,

a story—late-night sobs,

children who deserved gentler theology,

love that is bigger than fear.

We’ll invite you to trade certainty for curiosity.

But we won’t trade our hard-won freedom for proximity ever again.

🌱 Reflection Prompts

🖊️ Whose understanding are you still secretly chasing?

Write their name.

Bless them.

And release the expectation that they must agree for you to thrive.

🖊️

Where have you silenced your truth to keep the peace?

Breathe into the tension.

What does your body need to feel safe enough to speak?

🖊️ Write a love letter to your younger self.

Let it include the words you longed to hear when fear wore holiness like armor.

🖊️ Name one “forbidden” emotion that is asking for airtime today.

Set a timer for five minutes and let it speak—uncensored, unpunished.

✨ Empowering Truth Statements

• Your voice belongs—even if it trembles.

• Love that requires you to disappear isn’t love—it’s control.

• You are not too much, not too broken, and not too far gone.

• The ones meant to understand will find you in the light of your honesty.

  
  

Keep shining—your light is already doing the work. 🌟

—Kami, Trent, & Nita

Yours, Mine & Ours