A Complicated Relationship with Church

If Church and I were “official” on Facebook, our relationship status would probably still read:

It’s complicated.

And I know I’m not alone in that.

I grew up in church. My parents were known for their theatrical gifts and worship involvement, but we were also the family surviving on welfare. Church was a place where we were both visible and quietly struggling at the same time.

From early on, I learned something important:

Church can be meaningful—and complicated—at the same time.

Church as a Place, Not Always a Community

As a child, church was always somewhere we went. But it rarely felt like somewhere I fully belonged.

My family lived in Section 8 housing, and there were years when our church helped provide Christmas gifts. I’m grateful for that generosity. But I also watched how shame shaped the way my parents showed up there. After my parents divorced, my mom eventually left church altogether during a season when she already felt exposed and inadequate.

Even as an adult, I continued attending church regularly. But I rarely served. My understanding of “serving” looked like what my parents had done—leading worship or performing in productions—and I never felt quite good enough for those roles.

For a long time, I was mostly a consumer.

That changed after hearing a sermon about the difference between church consumers and contributors. Something about that message stayed with me. It shifted how I saw my place in the church.

Serving Without Feeling Fully Known

Later, my husband and I began serving together in several roles, including helping start and lead a youth group. On paper, we were involved. But internally, something still felt disconnected.

The more I tried to show up authentically, the more I sometimes wanted to hide.

It took me years to understand that participation and belonging are not always the same thing.

When Church Became a Refuge

My posture toward church shifted dramatically during Army basic training in 2016.

Arriving on Good Friday, the first few days felt overwhelming and disorienting. During an Easter service that weekend, something changed in me. I remember reflecting on Christ’s suffering compared to my own circumstances, and something softened internally. I surrendered my expectations for how things should feel and began focusing on endurance with purpose.

During that season, church became a place of restoration again. It became somewhere I could grieve, reflect, and be refilled.

That experience stayed with me for a long time.

Deployment and the Experience of Real Community

During deployment in 2019, I experienced something different again.

I joined the base chapel worship team and helped start a Monday night gathering centered around prayer and Scripture. Despite some resistance along the way, that small community felt meaningful in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

It felt simple. Honest. Shared.

And when I returned home, I realized how much I missed it.

Sometimes you don’t realize how deeply something shaped you until it’s gone.

Working as a Therapist in the Bible Belt

Now, living and working in the South—where churches are everywhere and Christianity is often assumed—I spend time professionally walking with people through experiences of church hurt, spiritual confusion, and sometimes religious abuse.

That work has changed me.

It has also made me more aware of how complicated church culture can become when belonging is replaced with performance, or when power replaces humility.

Books like Letters to the Church by Francis Chan and more recently A Church Called Tov by Scot McKnight and Laura Barringer have helped me name something I had sensed for years:

Healthy church culture is not automatic.

It has to be cultivated.

Church Is Meant to Be Family—Not a Business

One of the tensions I continue to wrestle with is how easily churches can begin to function like organizations instead of families.

Churches develop programs. Strategies. Branding. Metrics.

People attend like consumers.

And when discomfort shows up, they leave.

But what would church look like if it actually functioned more like a family?

Not a perfect family—but a committed one.

A place where authenticity mattered more than image.

Where people were known instead of managed.

Where belonging didn’t depend on performance.

Still Searching for Belonging

I still believe in the Church.

But I’m also honest about the fact that my relationship with church communities has been complicated.

Part of that may be my own wiring. I’ve always leaned a little counter-cultural. I don’t fit easily inside traditional structures. And I’m increasingly aware of how power dynamics and narcissistic patterns can quietly shape faith communities if they go unchecked.

At the same time, I still long for the kind of Christ-centered community that reflects humility, honesty, and shared purpose.

So for now, I keep asking questions.

I keep paying attention.

And I keep hoping that belonging and authenticity don’t have to be opposites inside the Church.