Your story is YOURS to tell. You get to choose if you tell it, how you tell it, and why you tell it….
Hey there, friends! As I navigate all the thoughts and emotions surrounding this topic, this blog has been a real challenge for me. Because of a few roadblocks, it took longer to finish than I anticipated. I questioned whether I should even move forward with it, but I’ve realized that staying silent about the tension between faith and hurt within the church isn’t true to who I am. It’s not that I believe the church itself lacks authenticity — I’m simply trying to reconcile the pain so many people carry in a place that’s meant to offer care, healing, and belonging. My life has largely revolved around the church. My daughter attends preschool there, and I serve on both the worship and production teams. I’ve also been part of MOPS (Moms of Preschoolers) for five years. With enough experience on both sides of my faith journey, I’ve begun to see how my strong faith and my difficult church experiences can coexist — and how they’ve both shaped me.
The church has been a source of some rough experiences for me, which I’ll share later. This piece is essentially about faith deconstruction — reconciling my firm belief in God with painful experiences involving God’s people. Like many millennials raised in the Christian faith, I’ve become disillusioned watching church leaders act in ways that don’t align with who we thought they were. It’s common to see leaders expect behavior from others that they don’t model themselves — the classic “Do as I say, not as I do.” Over time, I’ve realized that many of the wounds people experience in the church aren’t born from theology itself, but from the ways leadership culture can twist it. Too often, leaders surround themselves with sycophants — forming inner circles of close friends and “yes people” who reinforce their authority. Instead of mentoring and developing others, they dismiss or marginalize anyone who challenges them. Volunteers begin to feel more like workers filling roles than people who are seen, valued, and nurtured.
Manipulative leaders often rely on partial truths to maintain control, and favoritism becomes impossible to ignore — a few are elevated, while others are quietly overlooked. In some cases, churches even go so far as to hide sexual misconduct or moral failure in order to protect their reputation, prioritizing image over integrity. The message becomes clear: preserving the institution matters more than protecting the people within it. My observation over the years has been that people placed in leadership positions because of their spiritual gifts sometimes behave as though those gifts grant them a special status. Their personalities are often charismatic, eloquent, and authoritative — traits that can inspire, but also control. Their influence tends to shape the ministry and culture of the church around their own strengths. Volunteers in areas like production and worship are held to extremely high standards, and when those expectations aren’t met, disappointment and frustration can quickly turn into anxiety, aggression, or cynicism.
To some extent, most people — myself included — agree that a leader’s vision should be supported. We often hear phrases like, “We value your feedback,” but that feedback is later dismissed or ignored. A common issue within leadership is the lack of accountability, which blinds them to their failures. It’s easy to be told that you’re an “asset to the ministry” or that you’ll have opportunities to serve, only to have your motives questioned once your service begins to shine. Unfortunately, this pattern extends far beyond personal experience. Take Pete Newman, a camp counselor at Kanakuk Kamps — one of the largest Christian camps in the U.S. — who systematically abused boys for over a decade. When victims came forward, their credibility and motives were questioned. Leadership claimed that reporting the abuse or criticizing the church was an act against Jesus Himself. Similarly, Hillsong New York witnessed a devastating lack of accountability when its pastor, Carl Lentz, was fired after cheating on his wife. The cover-up ran deep — those aware of his actions remained silent to avoid negative publicity, prioritizing reputation over repentance.
It’s a widespread belief among some church leaders that exposing abusers will harm the church, but in reality, it’s the opposite. Hiding the truth may offer short-term protection, but it causes long-term damage — not only to victims, but to the very integrity of the gospel message. In light of rampant unbiblical attitudes and misconduct in church leadership, I’ve found myself asking: Can I still trust my beliefs? But the more I’ve reflected, the more I’ve realized that my faith in God was never the problem — it’s the systems and structures that claim to represent Him that I’m questioning. Deconstructing the church doesn’t mean abandoning my belief in God; it means separating the purity of faith from the brokenness of human leadership. And while I could continue sharing my personal story, I also wanted to hear from others walking through similar struggles. Empathy grows when we make space for different experiences and perspectives. I interviewed three individuals — none of whom know each other personally — to shed light on what faith deconstruction looks like in different lives.
My first story comes from one of my friends who wishes to remain anonymous.
I went to church every week and went to different denominations throughout the years, but church and Christianity are my religious background. There’s some evangelicalism throughout, but not one specific sect of Christianity has been taught. About eight years ago, I stopped attending church meetings because I needed a break. The church leadership’s voices and their words overwhelmed my voice, and I wanted to listen to myself. The language and teachings were drowning out my voice at church, and I didn’t want to go back and abandon her. There was a specific moment when the deconstruction started to vamp into full gear. I lived in a very strained and stressful season, and I wasn’t attending church—but was overwhelmed with college and work. In addition to that, I experienced some very sudden and tragic deaths. That triggered a lot of anger and confusion at a God I had always taught was in complete control and had made all the decisions. This left me dealing with outrage about the world and within my inner life. Sitting in a coffee shop, I thought through all of this and the all-encompassing idea that God was choosing or allowing the suffering I was seeing and experiencing. A question bloomed, “What if you had more control over your life than you had been told?” This was an open-ended, curious and thoughtful what-if question… I couldn’t answer, but I naturally let it wrap around me. Eventually, beliefs fell away, or I pulled them apart. The church and those leaders didn’t necessarily have the answers anymore; I did. I experienced much hurt by the church over the years, but the suppression and containing women inside the church that killed me internally has stuck out. Being told repeatedly to stay in that area, inside these roles, inside those parameters, had been my personal experience. I knew, without a doubt, that there was more to me and the other women I knew than those measly suppressive scraps. We are more capable, strong, and daring than the patriarchal, heteronormative, oppressive, fear-based religious institutions told us we were. As of right now, I would say I’m agnostic. This is the most authentic term to me. I know and believe in some truths about the world, but I cannot say that I know a God does or doesn’t exist. Instead, I live inside what I have experienced to be accurate and genuine. And I’m curious about learning what I don’t know yet. – Anonymous
Attending church has been a big part of my life from a very young age. Like most who have grown up in the church, I accepted Christ into my heart. Ever since I have always had an intimate connection with Him, as both of my parents served in the church, it was inevitable that I would volunteer my time like them. There was never a time when I felt obligated to attend church, it always felt organic, and I thoroughly enjoyed serving. Being a part of a community with one goal in mind to serve Jesus was incredibly fulfilling and life-giving. For me, it’s so beneficial emotionally and spiritually; that’s why I choose to be a part of the church. Overall, my experiences were very positive, but once I started transitioning from high school into college, some negative experiences caused me to start questioning and deconstructing the church. It seemed like the more I allowed myself to be involved, the more I saw the exclusiveness within the various groups. There was a young women’s group that I was trying to join, but it was tough to fit in and truly feel connected. Fortunately, this one girl was lovely and welcoming to me. She made an effort to engage with me, and for that, I was thankful. However, the struggle continued, and I felt lost within the group. As an outsider, you think the church would be more welcoming and inclusive, but this wasn’t the case. With the small group being a letdown, I thought I’d try to get into the youth choir in hopes that I could find a connection there. But like the small group, it was very exclusive. I came to realize that for the first time I truly started to question the church, and whether or not the importance of attending was beneficial to my overall well-being. Because of this experience, the church was something that I dreaded every week. Like the other churches, I immediately pugged myself in and served alongside my Mom in the student ministry. Unfortunately, because we were both so involved, we saw much of the church’s messiness and politics. There was a lot of mistreatment and disregard for my Mom’s needs and feelings, and it was very challenging for me to lead a group of young girls while also watching this mistreatment and no support from the church leaders. It was heartbreaking to see my Mom go through this, mainly because it was within the confines of the church, and I knew it wasn’t a healthy environment. I finally felt confident enough to cut ties with this church and decided to take a break from attending and searching for a new one. I needed a break to regroup and determine if being involved in a church was healthy for me and if I could find community outside of it. After about a year, I was ready to search for a new home church. Despite the negative experiences mentioned above, I still enjoy church and am proud to call myself a Christian. Going to church can help individuals walk in their faith, but it is the relationship with Jesus that is most important. I’m always grateful for all the many opportunities to serve and be a part of something bigger than myself over the years. I met many beautiful people who have helped me grow more spiritually in my walk with Jesus, and it has helped me open my eyes to the fact that church, like anything else in this world, is not perfect. – Karlyn Whittington
As I sit in my thirties, I never dreamed I would be at a place deconstructing my faith and questioning everything I believed in. I figured I would have it all together and ultimately be that next generation taking up the torch and leading the church—like what was told to me in those many youth conventions I attended. I thought I would have my elders’ support, love, and mentorship. Unfortunately, as I transitioned into my mid-twenties, I found out that my elders refused to mentor me and instead decided to spread lies that I was stupid and not submissive enough to my peers and church leadership. Shockingly, my peers followed suit and were malicious, stabbed me in the back, conjured up lies, and slandered my character. Furthermore, they murdered the only social structure I had ever known with hate in their eyes, and this was something I had never experienced before. Why was I in this place? It was all I had ever known. My parents started attending a United Pentecostal Church when I was three years old, and I participated in this church until I was about twenty-four. At that age, I had met some Independent Fundamental Baptists, thus leaving me to take almost a year of questioning them before I decided that I wanted to prove them wrong about the apostle Paul speaking in tongues. To my dismay, I proved myself wrong and them suitable for the gift of salvation. I was part of this denomination for several years. The spiritual abuse was unbearable during those several years, leaving me to struggle with my mental health for the first time since I was part of this denomination for several years. The spiritual abuse was severe in those years. This left me struggling with my mental health for the first time since experiencing some traumatic events in my childhood. As a result, I hated life and worked to prevent myself from ending it all. I finally took a stand for myself and expressed to my husband that emotionally I could not handle going to this church. It was killing me inside, and I couldn’t take life anymore outside of that. I tried out the Southern Baptist Convention for a short time. However, it came out that the former pastor was arrested for sexually abusing a child. Because of that, I decided to quit attending this church structure. I tried out a group called Recovering Fundamentalists at the time, but I saw some red flags and similarities in the UPCI, the IFB, and the SBC, but I decided to give them a year or two. During that time, they seemed to have changed their beliefs a little concerning some rules about the religious organization, but they didn’t fully let go of the hierarchy display of leadership. Moreover, the authority and devotion did not accurately reflect the Bible or Jesus Christ’s life. As I dived deeper into the Bible and the culture and the times within scripture, I found that the church of America didn’t depict the complete picture of the body of Christ written in the scriptures.
While I believe there are kind, well-meaning people in every church, I’ve encountered more business-minded individuals than I had Christ-like individuals. The concerns seemed to be focused on how good or bad the church looks rather than loving and caring for the hurt and broken. The lack of love for those whom the church has hurt is astounding to me, and they continue to pile on the pain by victimizing these individuals. Moreover, the church slanders and blames us for the hurt and dismisses our experiences. This hurt is one of the reasons why I started questioning the foundation of my faith while being a part of the United Pentecostal Church International, Independent Fundamentalist Baptist, and Southern Baptist Convention. Overall, the American church started my deconstruction because of the repetitive behavior that left me in pain.– Nichole Vaccaro {Instagram} @kup_a_tee
Many church leaders believe that exposing abusers will harm the church. In reality, that’s a short-term gain that leads to long-term damage.
When it comes to where I stand in the church, I’ve been terrified to speak my truth. My inner voice keeps whispering that if I start questioning leadership, I’m not qualified to serve — whether it’s on the worship team, in children’s ministry, or on the production team. Last October, along with a few other members, I was asked to step down from the worship team after leadership learned about my divorce. They also believed that the ongoing instability in my relationship with my adoptive parents — who would come in and out of my life and often cause chaos — was affecting my emotional well-being and, in turn, bleeding onto the worship team. Although I disagreed with how they handled it, I understood where their concerns came from and chose to respect their decision.
This wasn’t my first experience with spiritual control. Years ago, I watched similar dynamics unfold at my dad’s church — where image and reputation were prioritized over honesty and grace. When I was sexually assaulted, the response from leadership reflected that same pattern. Instead of seeking justice or offering genuine care, they swept it under the rug to protect appearances. The unspoken rule was clear: the church’s image mattered more than my safety or healing. Leadership often masked brokenness behind perfectionism and appearances, and questioning authority was treated as rebellion.
At the time, I didn’t have the words for what I was seeing, but over the years, and especially after this most recent experience, I began to recognize the pattern: the silencing, the shame, and the subtle message that belonging depended on compliance. Both experiences collided, pushing me toward deconstruction — not out of bitterness, but out of a deep desire to find truth and spiritual wholeness outside of performance.
Now, I believe that speaking my truth won’t cause any more harm than what’s already been done. It’s more important for me to be true to myself than to conform to someone else’s idea of who I should be. There’s nothing authentic about that — and it certainly doesn’t reflect the “come as you are” attitude the church claims to uphold. Right now, being part of a church brings up a lot of anxiety and unresolved hurt. Honestly, there’s no single “right place” to land after deconstruction. I’ve embarked on a spiritual journey — one that might look different from what I once thought it had to be. My belief in God and Jesus is not dependent on church attendance. For years, I thought showing up every Sunday was proof of my dedication, a requirement to serve. But I’ve realized that my faith doesn’t hinge on belonging to a religious institution.
If leadership questions my attendance as a measure of worthiness to serve, that’s not a healthy or life-giving environment. Galatians 6:2 reminds us to stay in community and carry one another’s burdens — but community shouldn’t come with guilt trips or manipulation disguised as “family.” I’m not against church participation, but I’m done being guilted into it or told to “just forgive” while enduring harm. When I teach my children to stand up for themselves and own their truths, I want to be a good role model. They don’t need organized religion to demonstrate their love for God — and neither do I. No matter where you land, dear friends, you are not a bad person for leaving the church or walking away from Christianity. Your choice isn’t wrong simply because you’re tired of abuse or hypocrisy.
We each have to decide how much we’re willing to tolerate in the church. I struggle with many aspects of it, but while no church is perfect, it’s still possible to build meaningful relationships within it — even if you disagree with the un-Christlike behavior that happens behind closed doors. The emotions I’m wrestling with are real, and deciding what to do next is difficult. If I step away, I know I’ll lose a sense of community and connection — but I’ve learned that staying doesn’t guarantee peace, either. Despite my commitment, I often leave church feeling hurt and disappointed. Yet, when I remember that no human is perfect, I can approach it all with grace.
Even through the pain, one thing hasn’t changed: I believe in God and His goodness. His faithfulness continues to show up in my life. Leading worship has always been one of my ways to honor Him, even in times of uncertainty and pain. Even when everything around me shifts, trusting God through uncertainty has become my greatest testimony. But I’ve also learned to hold that calling with open hands. My heart will always be one of worship, yet I’ve come to realize that being a worship leader within a church might be something I need to release for now. Worship takes many forms, and releasing bitterness has opened space for me to find new, life-giving ways to express it — ones that bring peace instead of exhaustion.
In closing, I want to remind us that we’re all in this together. We need empathy and love when engaging seekers and doubters. Sometimes, the most faithful response is to say, “I don’t know,” and search for answers together. Deconstruction doesn’t come from rebellion — it often comes from deep curiosity, grief, and personal pain. If believers feel uncomfortable expressing doubts, the church should offer a safe space — not condemnation. Those deconstructing their faith are seeking truth, not trying to destroy it. You can separate your faith in God from your relationship with the church. Every individual deserves the autonomy to question, explore, and rebuild.
I’m proud of my friends who have spoken out and shared their stories. Each journey looks different, and none of us can say, “I’ve arrived.” We’re all evolving, healing, and learning to love God in our own ways. Whether you stay or walk away, may we honor one another’s stories with love.
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