I had written a post going into my conversion into Christianity, but it ended up being long and meandering and about abuse. Again. I can’t separate the two because my upbringing was central to my religious instruction.
So I’m sitting on it and figuring out if there’s any redemptive qualities that merits posting it. I don’t think there is. Instead, I find myself trapped in the same place. I’m a small kid, seven years old, begging for Jesus to save his ass from hell.
I hope people can understand why I don’t like to share that.
Besides the backlash I’ve gotten in the past, it’s not a place I want to live. I want to move on. But I think there’s something back there I haven’t let go of. It’s something I don’t remember or don’t see or both.
It could be the fact that talking about what I used to believe is still uncomfortable. The weight of it still lingers after all this time. I don’t want to relive it out of fear that it will harm me again. Not in itself, but in how I know others might criticize it.
Until then I feel like I’m blocked from being able to do anything. Yes, it’s a lack of sharing. And sharing is the whole reason to write blog posts. But now a mild explanation is all I have.