Therapy for the Doubting & Deconstructing
Curled into the quilt on your bed, you try to keep the sobbing quiet. Don’t want your roommate to come check on you. You long ago mastered the art of crying without making a sound. Tears rolling down your cheeks, snot running down your throat, like a silver screen queen. Hands covering your face, hot tears in your eyes, the thoughts spin faster and faster.
“I don’t know if I’m in this whole Jesus thing. What if everything is meaningless? I mean not meaningless… but what is the point of working so damn hard?”
Images of friends come to mind like polaroid photos developing in your mind…
Your prayer partner not making eye contact, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear - Like…are you okay?
That small group crush, with a touch of pity in his voice, pursing his lips - “You just gotta cast your cares on Him.”
The pastor’s wife, who badly wanted to mentor you once upon a time, gently touches your elbow - “Why haven’t we seen you at church?”
Do they miss me or the muffins I bring to small group? Trying to trade sugar, butter, and flour for deep friendship. Why do I keep loving people who don’t love me back?
As an exvangelical myself, I lived this story. And it took me years to sort through all the pieces by myself. I don’t want that for you.
Therapy for deconstructing is probably best described by a metaphor (which you’ll come to find is like my favorite way to describe literally anything):
Imagine growing up, you were told all good women are houseplants.
Glossy leaves, climbing vines, potted and stable. Purifying. Calming. Ornamental.
But as you grew, you discovered you weren’t a houseplant. Your feelings were more intense. Your leaves and root system all look different. So being the rule-following, striving plant you are, you figure out how to be a houseplant anyways. But all this time cramped indoors has left you malnourished.