I don’t go to church anymore. I used to, but it became too draining — too much noise, too much pretense, too many people trying to perform something they don’t really live.
I’m a seer. I notice things — things most people miss, or maybe don’t want to see. I ask questions, not to challenge for the sake of being difficult, but because I genuinely want to understand. I ask for clarity, for truth. But in most churches, questions are treated like rebellion.
When I ask, people flinch. Their reactions give them away. They tell on themselves without even realizing it — the guilt, the fear, the defensiveness, the power struggles. They don’t want to be seen. And that’s the thing — when you can see people for who they really are, they either love you for it or they run from you. Most of them run.
So I learned that church isn’t the place for me. Not because I don’t love God — but because I can’t worship through performance. I can’t sit quietly while people twist truth to protect their image.
And it’s not just church. It’s family. It’s work. It’s all the group settings where dysfunction dresses itself up and calls itself “community.” I’ve tried to belong, to sit still, to stay quiet — but that’s just not who I am. I’m the one who asks questions in meetings. The one who wants to know why. The one who won’t just nod along to keep the peace.
Sometimes I start out engaged, watching, observing, trying to give people the benefit of the doubt. But after a while, I see the same patterns. The same avoidance. The same manipulation. And I stop talking. I stop asking. I stop showing up.
That’s when I fade into the background — quietly, without a fight, without an announcement. I just… go. I disappear into my own peace, because I know nothing about the dysfunction will ever change. It’s not my job to fix it. It’s my job to protect my energy, my mind, and my peace.
I’ve learned that walking away doesn’t mean weakness. It means I’ve seen enough.
My Voice Unchained 