How My Strict Religious Upbringing Led Me to My True Self: from blind faith to inner knowing

*Trigger Warning* This article discusses religious trauma, including themes of guilt, fear, emotional harm, abortion, sexuality, and sexual abuse. If these topics feel overwhelming, please read with care and prioritize your well-being 💛

I never expected my strict religious upbringing to become my greatest teacher. The rules were immovable, the consequences eternal. Heaven or hell—nothing in between. Growing up under the weight of religious dogma shaped me in ways I’m still discovering at nearly fifty.

According to a Pew Research study, almost 44% of Americans eventually leave the faith of their childhood, yet the emotional imprints remain long after beliefs change. My journey through rejection, rebellion, and ultimately reconciliation taught me that our deepest wounds often become our greatest teachers. The church that once felt like a prison became the doorway for the open-minded, judgment-free space I now create for others.

But this transformation didn’t happen overnight. It required years of unpacking inherited beliefs, confronting buried shame, and redefining my spirituality outside the rigid boundaries I was given. 

The messy, beautiful work of turning religious trauma into personal wisdom can feel disorienting. If you’ve ever struggled to make peace with your religious past while honoring your authentic self, this is for you. 

Growing Up in a House of Faith: The Beliefs That Shaped Me

I didn’t recognize that I had religious trauma at first, which is not uncommon. I just felt like something was off. I was constantly in a state of guilt, fear, self-loathing, and the feeling of being watched and judged. Religious trauma can have a spectrum of impact. This is what it looked like for me.

The religion I grew up with drew clear lines between right and wrong—there was no gray area. I knew this from a very young age. Basically, if you messed up, you were going to hell. And everyone was born a mess-up. Unless, of course, they got saved by Jesus.

My parents were saved. I truly believe their faith gave them peace. It helped them reconcile their own pasts and gave them hope for the future, both in this life and the next. They were, by all accounts, virtuous people. They didn’t drink, smoke, or swear. They genuinely lived their understanding of their faith—helping others whenever they could. My father would have literally given the shirt off his back to a stranger in need. 

They embodied Jesus’s words:

“Love thy neighbor as thyself.” (Mark 12:31)

And they did.

Recognizing My Parents as Leaders

My parents weren’t just devoted—they were leaders in the church. People constantly sought them out for guidance, and they were always ready to listen, counsel, and support.

My mom was a force—an unshakable doer. She didn’t wait to be asked for help; she jumped in, certain she knew what you needed. 

My father, in contrast, was quiet, steady. People gravitated toward him. And when he spoke, you listened. His twenty-minute sermons were a relief compared to the hours-long droning of other pastors, but it wasn’t just brevity that made him stand out. His words were thoughtful, impactful. He didn’t waste them.

Growing up, I didn’t see them as community leaders. They were just my parents. But looking back now, I see how much they shaped the world around them.

Love, Faith, and Fear: Understanding My Parents’ Devotion

Through my parents’ eyes, the world was simple: Accept Jesus, or suffer in hell for all of eternity. With that belief as their foundation, it makes sense that my mom talked about Jesus to anyone who would listen—and many who wouldn’t. She was relentless in her mission to save souls, especially mine.

I know she loved me more than anything. She often mentioned how much she always wanted a child. And yet, she had would talk about her inner hierarchy:

1. God.

2. Me, her daughter.

3. My father—“Shhh, don’t tell Daddy he’s third.”

My dad was different. Where my mom was rigid, he was measured. Where she was insistent, he was willing to listen. But he still held firmly to certain beliefs, and there were limits to where he would bend.

Still, between the two of them, I found comfort in his quiet rationality when my mother’s passion felt suffocating. 

How My Mother’s Faith Defined Her Until Her Dying Day

One thing I noticed early on: My mother wasn’t on her own list.

She wasn’t first. Not second. Not even third.

She worked tirelessly—at church, at home, for others. Cooking, cleaning, caring, helping. She never stopped moving her tiny four-foot-nine body. She never put herself first.

The morning she died, she was at a 4 AM church service, praying instead of resting, ignoring the headache that had been bothering her. She collapsed. By the time she got to the hospital, it was too late. 

An aneurysm. 

One of my favorite bosses used to say, “trust in god but tie your camel” which made me laugh but I used to share it a lot with my mom. I would joke, “don’t make god work so hard!” I begged her to go to the doctor that week. 

They might have been able to save her if she’d gone in sooner.

But she hadn’t wanted to leave my dad alone and she always put her complete faith in God.

She passed surrounded by family, as we read the Bible and sang hymns. Besides the hospital setting, it was probably exactly how she would have wanted it.

Surprisingly, I found comfort in those moments. The songs she had forced me to listen to my whole life suddenly felt grounding. Familiar. I had enough distance in my own spirituality to hold space for her, to honor what I knew would feel right to her.

And as she left her physical body, I felt her presence, stronger than ever. It’s my belief that when we die, we become our highest selves. And in those final moments, I felt the full force of her love—unfiltered. Like there were no more barriers of belief between our souls.

Religious Rules and Restrictions: What I Wasn’t Allowed to Do

The list of sins in my childhood was extensive, covering just about everything that made life fun:

• Anything from “the world”—music, movies, alcohol, parties, drugs, swearing, smoking.

• Worshiping idols—which, in my church, meant anything outside of Jesus and God. That meant even different denominations of Christianity were frowned upon, materialism was dangerous, and the occult—things like tarot cards, astrology, or psychics—was outright forbidden.

• Sex. No sex before marriage. No sex outside of a man-woman relationship. No pornography, no adultery, and absolutely no abortion.

There were other sins, of course, but these were the ones that shaped my life in the most limiting ways.

Basically, everything I was intrigued by was on this list.

Raised to Follow the Rules and the Fear of Doing Everything ‘Wrong’

Looking back, I can see how hesitant I was to do anything. I didn’t want to get out of line. If I wasn’t sure whether something was bad, the safest bet was to just not do it. I think this is why I was labeled as shy. But now, I can see that I wasn’t necessarily shy— I was suppressed.

I was trying to survive, learning when it was safe to speak, to exist. And church was never the place for that. Church was for sitting still, staying quiet, and avoiding my mom’s sharp pinch if I so much as fidgeted.

The deacons walking the aisles kept a watchful eye, ready to snap at anyone misbehaving with a whispered yell. Some of them were particularly mean.

Eventually, my best friend and I got creative. We learned the alphabet in sign language (thank you, Sesame Street!) so we could talk during service without getting caught.

At home, my mom controlled the car radio. Christian music only. Not even classical music was allowed. The last movie I remember seeing as a kid was Savannah Smiles when I was around five. My parents were in a separate theater watching a Charles Bronson film, 10 to Midnight. When our movie ended, my cousin and I snuck into theirs, and I saw a naked man running down the street. I saw BUTT. I remember the sinking feeling in my stomach, like I had done something terribly wrong just by witnessing it.

I kind of liked that my parents didn’t drink or smoke, but in elementary school, D.A.R.E. came and taught us about drugs—and instead of scaring me, it made me curious.

But I couldn’t ask about it. Talking about drugs—or sex, or anything remotely taboo—wasn’t a conversation. It was a no.

From Religious Obedience to Rebellion

By thirteen, I was done. My inner rebel found ways to get out of church, a convenient stomachache or a flat-out ‘no.’

I started to explore everything I wasn’t supposed to– drugs, sex, smoking, the occult.

I wanted to try everything.

Some of it was dumb teenage stuff, but an undercurrent of seeking energized me— both to find myself and something bigger. Something about the God they preached didn’t add up. There had to be more. And once hallucinogens entered my life, I started to grasp that possibility.

The occult fascinated me. I don’t remember seeing anyone actually use a Ouija board, but I desperately wanted to. I devoured books on astrology and hid them from my mom—because she would go through my room. I had to get increasingly creative with my hiding spots.

I was relentless.

Like anyone who’s told no, I wanted to do exactly what was forbidden. 

And so I did. 

The Burden of Shame Through Different Phases of Life

The Original Sin

I was sexually assaulted as a child and as a teenager. I held those secrets for a long long time until I couldn't hold it in anymore. 

Around age 19, in a drunken stupor, I spilled the beans to my trusted cousin (same one that I saw Savannah Smiles with). Things got around the family rumor mill so I told my parents shortly after that. 

This rocked our world. 

Looking back, I can see how they kept their emotions hidden from me. But I also know that it hurt them on a level I couldn’t fully understand at the time. Despite this, I felt supported and loved by them. 

Along with the usual shame that comes with such experiences, I carried an additional layer because as a child, I couldn’t differentiate the nuances. To me, it was all sinful. And one of my abusers was an elder from the church, which created a whole new layer of confusion and trauma.

When my dad passed, I felt an unresolved distance between us. I could never pinpoint when it started or why, but I always felt it. After his passing, I made peace with it. I told his spirit that we’d figure it out in the next life.

And in the months after he passed he sent me many signs, and I felt like he became this spiritual presence for me. Him becoming his highest self was so much more profound than I expected. 

It was during a sound healing session that I had a realization I had never even considered before. My dad, as a parent -and a virtuous Christian man- couldn’t forgive himself for allowing those things to happen to me. I never could have understood this until I became a parent myself. It was his own shame about this that had created the wedge between us.

In that moment, I forgave him. I never blamed him in the first place, but I felt that his soul needed my forgiveness. Now, as a parent, I can imagine the depth of that pain.

Once again, death brought me closer to my parent than we ever were when he had a physical body.

The Things We Don’t Talk About

I used to really wish I could talk to my mom about sex. I remember one day, probably in high school, asking her if we could talk about it. Her response was something like, “No, there’s no point. You’re not supposed to do it. That’s all you need to know.” 

And that was that.

The messaging around sex before marriage was so intense that when I was actually married and pregnant, there was still a small bit of fear about telling my parents—because then they would really know that I’d had sex. Even though it was “allowed” within marriage, I still carried that shame with me.

The abortion I had when I was 22 was never to be discussed. I remember my dad putting an anti-abortion sticker on the car when I was a kid. That was a big deal to him. 

Now, looking back and thinking about his own trauma, how he felt unwanted by his father, I can understand why he would see abortion as the worst thing. 

He believed it was “killing an unwanted baby,” even though that’s not what abortion is. That was just his perspective.

I never told him about the abortion. Later in life, I did finally share it with my mom. 

She cried. That moment marked a huge opening for us. 

She really listened and, for the first time, opened up herself. She told me that she had never shared many of the horrible things she had experienced because she believed that talking about them would bring them into my consciousness… almost like making them happen.

Now, I understand that the opposite is true. Exposing the things we’re scared of creates an opportunity for us to learn from each other’s mistakes and, sometimes, even heal the past. My mom’s willingness to see how this thinking didn’t protect me cracked open a space for us to connect in a way we hadn’t before. She admitted she had been wrong, and that vulnerability on both our parts bonded us in a way I had always yearned for.

How Religious Beliefs Can Bleed Into Entrepreneurship

It wasn’t until later in life when I saw how religious programming can seep into the crevices of daily life. I was surprised when I started my own business, I encountered a whole new layer of shame. The desire for money felt almost ungodly, as if wanting to be successful was sinful. 

To be a business owner who wanted to earn an income, I had to unravel so much deep-rooted conditioning. 

There was this strange belief that you should help people, but never charge for it. 
How was I supposed to support myself and keep helping others if I couldn’t even charge for my services? 

There were so many conflicting messages in my head. So much unconscious programming that I probably would still be a victim of if it weren’t for the work I’ve done to uncover and clear those hidden beliefs. 

Being an entrepreneur is a challenging path. But it’s also incredibly healing, because in order to reach your goals, you’re constantly faced with triggers that show you where you’re still blocked by old thought patterns.

My list of beliefs about money, about rich people, about giving and receiving, about being deserving, and even about how you should or shouldn’t market yourself, it took years to untangle. 

Seeing how deeply ingrained these beliefs were and how difficult they could be to uproot only made me realize how powerful it was to heal them. This process is a big part of what drew me into the work I do now with the subconscious mind.

The Journey to Understanding and Healing

Shame and guilt can make it impossible to trust yourself. When you’ve been conditioned to believe your natural curiosities are sinful or wrong, how do you begin to rebuild that trust?

Reframing the situation to see that my parents were literally trying to save my life was a game changer. 

I used to resent that we couldn’t just have a normal conversation; we would always end up in a fight. Then, at some point, the light clicked, and I felt deep gratitude for them. Even though I didn’t agree with their dogmatic beliefs, I realized my mom was never going to stop trying to protect me. 

And I decided I would let that be okay.

I learned to accept that as her way of showing love and allowed myself to receive it instead of fighting against it. 

We talk about giving unconditional love, but what about receiving love unconditionally? 

That shift allowed us to build a more authentic, intimate relationship. I began to understand how to talk to her so she could hear me, and I learned how to listen to her: I chose to believe she was always standing in a well of love for me.

I think it was when I was in acupuncture school (something she had doubts about -was this school one of those “bad”religions?) that I truly started connecting with my own spiritual healing. 

I began to understand that the God she interpreted wasn’t different from the one I interpreted. We just had different approaches, and hers had really helped her. So, who was I to try to take that from her or tell her it was wrong? If I was truly coming from a place of non-judgment, I had to apply that to my mom too.

I realized I could talk to her about God through this lens. I didn’t need to shove my practices in her face. Why would I do that? Just to make her uncomfortable? 

I wanted to create connection, not rejection. So, I stopped arguing and began finding common ground. 

We could talk about angels (from the bible), crystals (gifts on Earth from God), and intuition (messages from God). I could share with her, and she could share with me. 

In that space, I learned how to speak from my heart and listen with the same openness. We truly became the best of friends, able to laugh, joke, and enjoy each other. 

She was a fucking delight, and I am so grateful that’s where we ended up.

How I Rebuilt My Beliefs

Teenage rebellion eventually gave way to early adulthood stupidity. I kept pushing boundaries in some areas while restricting myself in others.

But the seeking never stopped.

Failed relationships often became the catalyst for growth. After my worst breakup, I found therapy. And eventually, my calling.

Acupuncture school changed everything.

It shattered my old way of thinking, exposing me to entirely new paradigms. In my pursuit of clarity and wellness, I quit drinking around this time. 

Eastern philosophies expanded my understanding of spirituality. The rigid black-and-white thinking of my childhood began dissolving into shades of gray.

This wasn’t teenage rebellion anymore.

This was the messy, necessary work of defining my own values, without completely rejecting my past.

Finding Spirituality on My Own Terms

Today, my spirituality looks nothing like it did in my childhood—but I wouldn’t call it a full rejection, either.

If anything, I’ve come to believe that all roads lead to God. Just not in the way I was taught.

I don’t subscribe to rigid doctrines anymore, but I do believe in something greater—something vast, loving, and interconnected. My spiritual practice is fluid, a blend of intuition, energy work, and deep reverence for the unseen.

It’s less about rules and more about resonance.

What feels true?

What aligns with my soul?

What actually works in my life?

The answers to those questions shift and evolve, and I allow them to.

In a way, I’ve built a faith that honors both my past and my present—holding space for where I came from without letting it define me.

How I Found My Own Path

As my relationship with spirituality transformed, I realized that my belief system had become something entirely different from the rigid framework of my childhood.

My current spiritual practice is deeply personal and fluid. It’s no longer about rules—it’s about connection. Connection to myself, to my creativity, and to something greater than me. Sometimes I call it God, sometimes I call it Source, the Divine, Universe. It all means the same thing to me now.

Acupuncture school cracked me open to new ways of thinking. Eastern philosophies expanded my understanding, while my own healing journey introduced me to energy work, meditation, and intuitive practices.

I stopped seeing spirituality as a fixed doctrine and started experiencing it as something alive and beautiful. Something that breathes, evolves, and grows with me.

For me, God isn’t a judgmental figure waiting to doom me to hell.

God is love. God is expansion. God is connection.

My daily practices reflect that:

• Meditation

• Cacao

• Writing

• Paying attention to signs and synchronicities

• Working with intuitive tools like tarot—things that would have been considered sinful in my parents’ church

But here’s what I’ve learned:

• Spirituality is deeply personal.

• Any practice can be used in a way that is helpful or harmful.

• What works for one person might not work for another.

And that’s okay.
The key is intention, authenticity, and grace.

It’s not that my mom ever fully accepted my beliefs.

But my own spiritual practice showed me that I didn’t need her to.

I accepted her.

And that was enough.

What My Religious Upbringing Taught Me About Life and Healing

One of my core spiritual beliefs that helped me heal is that our souls choose our parents. That we come into this life knowing the lessons we need and who would provide them.

And when I asked myself, Why would I have chosen my parents?—suddenly, my life made more sense.

It was because of their religion that I learned to have an expanded mind.

• Their belief in miracles made me believe in things science can’t explain (yet).

• Their rigid thinking pushed me to seek out all perspectives, leading to my open-mindedness.

• Their judgment instilled in me the commitment to not judge others.

A lot of my clients tell me they feel judged by everyone—even their own therapists.

They say that with me, they don’t feel that.

That’s something I learned from my parents.

They also taught me true generosity. What it means to give without expectation, to genuinely want to help others.

Even when they didn’t understand my choices, even when they didn’t agree with me, and constantly tried to change me – their love never wavered.

That, in its own way, was a form of acceptance.

Honoring My Past While Reclaiming Myself

That mix of wanting to help people and rebelling against rigid thinking is what led me to the work I do today.

I’m an energy healer and intuitive. I help people clear stress from their minds and bodies by bringing awareness to their emotional world.

My mission? To give people tools so they can fully express their authentic selves and connect to their own intuitive path.

It’s not just a job. It’s a calling. One that emerged from my own healing.

Most of my clients are recovering people-pleasers and perfectionists, people who are learning to distinguish between the not-enoughness they inherited and the authentic life they actually want to create.

I specialize in what I call emotional clearing.

It’s about identifying what you want—and then recognizing the unconscious programming that’s keeping you stuck.

We work through layers of rigid thinking, shame, fear, and limiting beliefs.

Sometimes that looks like deep conversations.

Sometimes it’s breathing.

Sometimes it’s simply holding space for someone to see and speak their truth—maybe for the first time ever.

And the irony?

The same religious structure that once tried to control me became the catalyst for my most meaningful work.

My parents dedicated their lives to saving people.

And in a way, I do too... I help them save themselves.

Through compassion. Through understanding. Through finding their own inner wisdom and direction.

My clients come to me feeling stuck, carrying years of self-doubt and suppressed emotions.

I help them see that their experiences are valid. That their pain can have purpose. That they have the power to rewrite their own narrative.

It’s not about replacing one belief system with another.

It’s about helping people realize that when they’re connected to themselves, they can figure anything out.

Healing, Self-Discovery, and the Power of Letting Go

I’ve healed more wounds than I can count.

Not because I erased my past.

But because I changed my relationship to it.

That’s the power of healing old, hidden emotions.

That’s the power of excavating your belief systems.

That’s the power of learning who you are separate from how you were raised.

The strict dogma of my childhood forced me to look elsewhere.

And that path led me here.

And I wouldn’t change any of it.

My clients benefit from my obsession with learning, healing, and uncovering new ways to shift the subconscious— helping them remember who they truly are.

The Power of Questioning Inherited Beliefs

So much of religious programming is shame-based.

You follow the rules to avoid shame.

But it’s impossible to follow them perfectly.

So you will break a rule at some point.

That’s how we learn to follow without questioning, perpetuating the same dogma without question.

But the thing is—this conditioning runs deep.

It causes us to doubt and disconnect from ourselves. 

It doesn’t just affect trust and faith.

It affects everything.

Which is why one of the most powerful things we can do is question all of our inherited beliefs.

• Where did this belief come from?

• Do I actually agree with it?

• Does it serve me?

Breaking Free from Religious Trauma: Lessons, Healing, and Moving Forward

The journey of questioning inherited beliefs isn’t about rejecting everything from your past.

It’s about consciously choosing what you carry forward.

When we excavate our belief systems with curiosity instead of fear, we find parts of ourselves that have been waiting to be acknowledged.

That process of bringing forth what’s inside us isn't just healing.

It’s liberating. 

We learn to trust ourselves again.

It allows us to live from a place of authenticity, rather than obligation. Creating a life that resonates with our deepest truths rather than inherited expectations. 

That’s heaven on earth.