There was a time when I gave everything to Christianity—my love, my loyalty, my whole identity. I prayed without ceasing. I worshiped with sincerity. I served with heart. It was more than a belief system—it was how I made sense of the world and my place in it.
And for a while, it gave me comfort. A sense of belonging. A feeling that I was doing the right thing in a chaotic world.
But slowly, questions began to bubble up—questions that weren’t welcomed in the church spaces I knew. Questions I tried to suppress with more scripture, more worship, more submission. But they lingered.
When the Scriptures Stopped Making Sense
I never really understood the scripture that said, “Wives, submit to your husbands.” I tried to make peace with it, to believe it was mutual or symbolic—but too often, it was used as justification to silence women, to control them, to erase their boundaries.
And then there was Queen Vashti. She was banished from her throne for refusing to let drunken men gawk at her body. Her dignity was punished. And the story praised her replacement—Esther—for obedience. That never sat right with me. Even as a young girl, I asked, why was obedience more valuable than self-respect?
The Most Damning Realization: Race and Slavery
But perhaps the most damning thing for me—the rupture I couldn’t patch over—was how the Bible spoke of Black people and slavery.
Slavery was never condemned. The people of Cush—my ancestors—were described as cursed. And the so-called “Curse of Ham” was used for generations to justify the enslavement, murder, and dehumanization of Black people. My people.
How could I worship a God who, according to the people interpreting Him, allowed this? Worse, how could I follow a faith that never apologized for it?
Deconstruction Isn’t Destruction—It’s Rebirth
It took time. I prayed harder. I worshiped louder. I volunteered more. I begged for clarity. But the truth kept rising: I wasn’t backsliding. I was awakening.
Deconstruction isn’t about rebellion. For me, it was about survival. About reclaiming my mind, my body, my dignity, and my right to question what I was taught.
I still believe in the sacred. I still feel Spirit. But I no longer believe I have to betray myself to be close to it.
I Honor Who I Was—And Who I Am Becoming
I honor the version of me who believed. She loved well. She wanted to belong to something holy. She served with fire in her heart.
But I also honor the woman I am now—awake, sovereign, and grounded in a truth that doesn’t require me to shrink or disappear.
To anyone on their own deconstruction journey—especially if you’re Black, if you’re a woman, if you’ve ever felt unseen by your faith: You’re not broken. You’re brave.
You’re not faithless. You’re evolving.
And what comes after can be more sacred than anything you left behind.
Because now I worship with my eyes open.
Because now I belong to myself.
Because now I can say with certainty:
I am not cursed. I am divine.
