Sparing not the rod they left marks wholly unwholesome. Praising your silence while citing humility, they demanded obedience calling it faith. Conditioned to trust authority over conscience, they handed out fear in lieu of reverence. You were taught to confuse surrender with virtue, and second-guess instinct as whispering darkness. Denial of self, as though your beating, bleeding heart were sworn enemy of God. 

Disowning yourself in the name of righteousness, you bowed before those who claimed certainty, even when conviction fractured the spirit. Discouraged from truths you were taught to suppress, you might have been celebrated for submission, modesty, or how easily adjusted to servanthood – rarely affirmed unless rulers found gain. 

Now, here you are. Aching deep with awakening. A babe slapped into life, upset, confused, even numb. Terrified to admit how deep cuts the scythe at umbilical, feeling helpless and so very much alone. Tears. Broken waters discovering the womb deflated, Mother Church, a belief system you’ve outgrown. The underbelly through which you viewed your world, fading as the cries becoming whimpers of emptiness. Who am I… where do I belong…. what am I doing here….. where do I come from? A script written over your identity lasts only so long. Branded with a name of another’s choosing. And as that banner begins to fade, its edges blown to tatters…… it can feel hopeless as once given breath, come gasping for oxygen. 

But hear this clearly: the pain you carry is not evidence of failure – they’d like that – it’s proof of life and glory of survival. Religious indoctrination is not merely instruction, it’s the methodical breaking of your inner compass. A slow, spiritual suffocation, convincing the body it was shameful, your mind a danger, and emotions liabilities to overcome, rather than signals to honour. 

It lives whenever you flinch upon speaking up, or guilt which arises when simply saying “No.” Indoctrination lurks in every nightmare scream-crying yourself awake – in muscle memory and quiet panic when reclaiming your own mind. It lingers in apologies ever forming on the lips, ashamed for taking up space, asking too much, daring exist outside the lines drawn to hem you in… 

Being brainwashed is no longer your identity. A grievous wound, granted, but a wound nonetheless. Though slow to heal, they do not get the final word. Healing begins not when adopting new beliefs, but remembering who you were before fear took the wheel. Healing begins upon trembling honesty: “I release my mind from bondage and grant myself permission to think – even if it terrifies me.” That is not rebellion. It’s resurrection.

You may grieve, even rage – only do not let the sun set upon righteous anger. Indeed, mourn the years, even decades lost to perverse teachings and spiritual contortion. This is the real work – and it is most Holy. Do not blame, rush, nor shame yourself. Heartache is not regression – it’s reemergence. It’s your soul pushing up through years of suppression to finally exhale. And in that morning dew, if you listen close, you’ll hear it – that still, steady voice beneath all chaos and confusion. That inner keening beyond surreal – the intuition they taught you to fear. 

That voice is your inner child. The one your adult self is now tasked to protect. Awaiting this very moment for the soul’s return to innocence.

Those who’ve mentioned healing isn’t linear, weren’t lying. Some days bring clarity and power, while others leave you breathless in the dark, undone by stale guilt and limerence. That does not mean you’re flailing, merely detoxing from a lifetime of spiritual gaslighting. Don’t take this the wrong way, but… keep the faith…. consider babies, bathwater…..  

Seek people and places where questions are not deemed threatening, but as welcomed sojourn toward truth. To have your story met with tenderness, not judgement or theology. Not measured by obiesance, rather how freely breath is drawn. These are the sacred realms where healing feels like belonging. And while the road ahead may not proffer manufactured certainty, it extends a branch more valuable by far – wings of the angel Freedom herself! And in such liberation, there is room to nest. To reclaim your values, redefine the meaning of sacred. To form a faith – or life – honouring truth instead of extinguishing its flame. 

Your inner child wants you to know you’re not too far gone, just beautifully broken. As one emerging from a chrysalis, the metamorphosis of which will be astounding! Upon spreading your newfound wings, may that same intuition they tried to hush be one and the same guiding you home. 

Only this time, may home be wherever your feet find solid ground. 

– ReLOVution