How My Faith Was "Broken"

I learned many painful lessons in my teens that I believe my parents learned at the same time. To this day, I look back on "our life."
When my parents and I moved to our new house in the country, we befriended the next-door neighbor, who often invited my mother on trips to the lumber store, to go get hay, or to horse shows. She helped us with our many building projects (horse shelters, etc) as we helped her with hers.This woman was very generous, and willing to help.
Her husband was away, and she often looked to my mom for companionship, and they were good friends. As I was home-schooled at the time (and my mother and I were both anxious if I was left home alone), I had to go along with them on their trips and help with their projects most of the time.
There was just one problem with all of this: The neighbor was loud and dramatic, and often did things to get attention ("performed," I guess). She had a screeching voice that scared me, and when laughing, would laugh at the top of her lungs, prompting our neighborhood flock of wild turkeys to answer her. I hated when she screeched at the sight of a snake or yelled at her dog. I was quiet, reserved, an introvert, and painfully shy at that age (about thirteen), so I would often cringe at the unpleasant loudness.
We saw her every day, and she often wanted to take my mom (and me, because I was an appendage) on trips that would last for hours or all day. My mother and I both got tired and longed for the comforts of home after a few hours in town or hauling hay.
But we (my mom) almost never said "no" to her. We had to always be good Christians and "help her out." Basically, this woman who tired us out with her unpredictable drama, who was very different from us, who wanted a life very different than the quiet one we wanted, was controlling our lives.
Complicating things was the fact that we loved her baby as our own, and were basically raising him (he being at our house about five days a week, normally), but had no legal claim on him whatsoever. If we said no to her often enough, or made her mad at us, we were afraid we wouldn't see him ever again. The only comment I will make on her parenting style is to say that he and his older brother were both very small, and that her now-ex-husband has custody of them ("Cody" is now eleven and is still very involved in our lives, happily).
When Cody was almost two, the worst thing that could happen, happened: His mother decided that we would never see him again.
A friend of hers had said that my mother had spoken badly about her behind her back. I could never imagine my mother doing this, but she believed her friend, and said that we would never see her or the baby again.
I prayed the hardest I had ever prayed in my life. I was constantly desperate, anxious, insecure about myself as a Christian, as a good daughter, good "witness" for Jesus, good person, etc. These were all tied up together, and they all pointed to me being bad or inadequate, or not loving God enough.
Months later, my family was involved in a custody battle over her divorce. We were scared, terrified, for so many reasons. The newspaper at that time was full of stories of small children being raped, sexually abused, or even killed by their mother's boyfriends. We had...seen things. We knew that she befriended...everyone. Not a comforting thought, to say the least.
I was hurting so very badly at that time. My family was going through financial difficulties, and I thought we would lose our house. My parents were fighting at the time, and my mother talked about the possibility of divorce.
I begged God for some kind of sign that things would be all right. I prayed so hard for peace. I heard a song at that time, "Sometimes He calms the storm, other times He calms His child." I wished it were true. I wondered if I was really his child.
After a while, I felt numb. I couldn't feel anymore. I couldn't pray. I couldn't read my bible. I couldn't go to church, and look around me at all the people who were twice, three, even four or more times my age, and know that most of them had never been through something as painful as this, or had forgotten. I couldn't say anything, knowing that "grownups," just because of my age, would give me platitudes that meant nothing to them, and that were useless to me. That they would use my youth to boost their egos and pass on their "wisdom."
My faith was broken.
"A bruised reed he will not break." But something did break me, break it. He had allowed it to happen. For years afterward I could not bear to hear any bible verse, any Christian song, anyone praying or talking about god. It was too emotional, for so many reasons. I got rid of everything that even remotely reminded me of god or Jesus or Christianity.
My faith was broken, and it's never been the same.
Once or twice over the years, I've had my "revivals." I've tried it again, "rededicated" my life to Christ, committed myself to praying and reading my bible. Once I even went over a year without masturbating, trying to dedicate my space and body to god and trying to remain "pure" and get rid of all of the "sin" in my life. I took it up again on purpose, after thinking things through and deciding that going my whole life without any kind of release was ridiculous.
But I had learned some things, even in my "revivals." I wasn't groveling anymore. I wasn't begging god to show me a sign of his presence, or even thinking that he ever would. I wasn't expecting that he would give me a sense of peace, that everything would work out.
I wasn't as naive as I was before.
And I've learned some things, through all of that:

1) I learned was that I needed a place where nobody knew my mother. I needed a place where I was not somebody's daughter, but me. I needed to be my own person, at least somewhere.
2) I learned that God will not give you peace, no matter how hard you beg for it. For whatever reason, he just doesn't do it.
3) I learned that you can "get saved" or "rededicate" as many times as you want to, but after a while, you get tired of it, and you know that this time won't be any "different."
4) I learned that people don't want to hear about your pain or doubts, especially Christians. They will try to "comfort" you, but really they're just trying to shut you up. They don't want to deal with your bothersome emotions, else they might have to deal with their own.
5) I learned that you HAVE to say "no" to people sometimes. Fuck being a "good Christian." You can't help everyone, and sometimes you shouldn't. You have to look out for yourself (and your own) and set boundaries. You cannot live in fear of people taking something away from you (a baby, for example) or live in fear of others. Look out for your own safety, but don't live in emotional blackmail, even to your own family.
6) Almost all Christians have NO CLUE! All people unintentionally hurt others, but Christians are some of the worst. They are emotionally invested in believing fanciful things (and in you believing them), they believe in thought crimes and are afraid of committing them, they put people into boxes of "saved" and "unsaved" (and often don't consult you about what box you're going in). They want to shut down your doubts, as swiftly as possible, often using whatever means necessary. They often simply try to tell you "the way it is." If they hear the word "atheist", or that you don't believe, they will often stop listening altogether (after all, how can they listen? They're too busy imagining you in hell!). In other words, religion can bring out the worst in people. There's a reason people say, "The Christian army shoots its wounded."
7) The ONLY acceptable thing you can say to someone who is hurting is, "I'm sorry." Don't try to tell them it will be all right, that this person lived a good life (if they've lost someone), that God has a plan, etc. If they're not ready to "look on the bright side," they will always remember how much you hurt them when they were down. The only thing that should be added is an offer to help.
8) I learned that I have a need to vent my frustrations (even with God), my doubts and anger and despair. If I have to hold it all in or not think about it, in order to keep myself in line, avoid hurting someone's feelings, or "be a good witness," I will die inside.
9) Divorce is never an "easy way out." Though it may be difficult to keep a marriage together, it can be even harder to break it up. Going through, of all things, the neighbor's divorce, was one of the most difficult things to ever happen to my family and me.

But through all of that, the most important thing I learned was this:

10) It will be all right. You will not die, you will not "lose" your salvation. No matter what happens, you will move on, even if you're not even trying to. It is okay to have doubts, and it is okay to be honest with yourself and others about those doubts. My atheism is just an extension of those doubts, of that same honesty. There is nothing wrong with you, or whatever you are. Everything is going to be all right.
I learned this about myself, and you might learn this about yourself too.
And I can say this from experience, that I will move on, and I can hurt alongside those who are hurting, without trying to talk them out of their hurt.
I know that, no matter what happens, there is life after it. I will move on, without even meaning to. My life will not end up as "God plans," or even as I planned (I never, ever planned to be an atheist), and not even as it's "meant to be," but I can carve out a little happiness, a tiny bit of peace, even in the most chaotic, uncertain or unhappy circumstances.
In a way, I was very lucky to have my faith broken. It worked out in the end. I am finally free.

Send me an email at: atheistjourneysblog@gmail.com
Follow or tweet me here: https://twitter.com/atheistjourneys