The Crush of the Chrysalis
Part 3: Guilt and pain during de/reconstruction
This is part of a series where I examine spiritual deconstruction through the lens of grief. I’ll link the other installments here as they are released:
Intro | Shock & Denial | Guilt & Pain | Bargaining & Anger | Depression & Testing | Acceptance
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth…”
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth…”
“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth…”
Over and over and over again, words I wasn’t sure I still believed swirled around me.
This was before a pandemic ravaged the world. Before I picked up a pen. And long before I felt brave enough to voice all the doubts clawing at my throat.
I was standing between wooden pews in a spacious stucco-colored church hall, its wide windows thrown open in a desperate attempt to compensate for the lack of A/C. Beyond them, the dust and the traffic and the cows of Chennai, India, roiled.
I was documenting a Bible distribution. These were audio Bibles: solar-powered, indestructible, water-resistant little speaker boxes with raised buttons that skip through books, chapters, and verses. They make it easier to independently access scripture if you are:
Someone who is blind
Someone who is not literate
Someone who belongs to a predominantly oral culture
I’ve documented several of these distributions in India; every time, it’s a party. Leading up to the event, communities often decorate their streets with elaborate chalk designs and line them with flower petals.
Once everyone is assembled, the audio Bibles are handed out.
People are always instructed to wait to open them after the MC does a brief tutorial. But no one ever does. Recipients can't wait to turn them on.1 One person would figure out how to navigate the keypad of their audio Bible, then turn to their neighbor and show them, and on it spread around the room.
It happened every time, including at this distribution.
So, in addition to the whir of electric fans circulating the hot air, dozens of In-the-beginning's and joyful exclamations erupted from every corner of the room as each Bible was turned on.
All these distribution events were emotionally charged, but this one was especially charged because the people in attendance were all blind. They weren't mirroring someone’s smile. They weren't amping their expressions for the camera. They were completely authentic in their reactions. They were so happy to have their own Bible.
I watched the faces and the exclamations through my camera’s viewfinder and tried to ignore the raging voice inside me that screamed: You’re such a hypocrite.
Guilt is mire. It sticks to your shoes and bogs down your wheels, making it seem like this is just the speed of your life now. The guilt encountered by someone de/reconstructing their faith seems to stretch to the horizon in an unending labyrinthine estuary. At least, that’s how it was for me.
The more time you’ve spent in a religious space (because de/reconstruction isn’t just an evangelical invention), the more that evil little voice in your head can play with:
You’re a sinner.
You’re a disappointment.
You’re separated from God.
You’ll spend eternity tormented and alone.
You’re vulnerable to spiritual or demonic attacks.
If your faith crumbles during a hard season, then you never had faith to begin with.
At the root of all these bombs thrown is accusation: a deep-seated message of personal failing. It makes sense, then, that guilt and pain would be a station along the de/reconstruction journey. Guilt can fuel depression and anxiety. It can cause people to isolate and withdraw.
As I weathered a storm of In the beginning’s, I felt guilt from multiple angles: I felt like I was somehow being dishonest to the people around me while also being dishonest to myself. It made me depressed because I couldn’t see a way out (at the time). Living in this heightened sense of guilt also made me feel anxious and jumpy like I was going to be “found out” at any moment.
There were times it made me want to crawl out of my skin.
In reading the de/recon experiences of other people, I’ve found that guilt is still (ironically) present if your de/recon catalyst involved church hurt and the actions of someone else: a pastor, a small group, a church, a denomination, or even an entire religious institution as you see it.
Why is that? Why do we feel guilty when we’ve acted in response to someone else’s failings?
People who speak up, who blow the whistle, are often doled out the excommunication and reproach that the abuser deserves. That certainly could have something to do with it. But I think it’s more than that. It’s easy to feel like the happy bubble you lived in before would’ve stayed intact forever had you not rocked the boat. This is not true, but the idea that it might be gives guilt enough space to creep inside your brain and change the locks.
This type of guilt (as distinguished by psychology researchers) is actually shame.
From what I’ve read by people smarter than me, guilt occurs when we feel bad about a behavior or choice we’ve made. There definitely might be some of this at play. On the other hand, shame occurs when we feel bad about who we are at our cores. Because faith has such a huge impact on how we view our identity and worthiness, “losing” that faith has equally huge implications.
It’s often hard to even find the language for the kind of anguish that comes with shame.
C.S. Lewis wrote: “Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say, ‘My tooth is aching,’ than to say, ‘My heart is broken.’”
Humans can respond to shame in two ways: we can curl into avoidance, or we can grow out, often exhibiting what researchers call “prosocial behaviors” that seek to rebuild, make amends2, and continue to evolve.
I believe that anyone entering this station of guilt and pain will grow out and into healing. If someone is choosing avoidance, they just aren’t quite ready yet. Some of us need more time than others, and that’s okay.
This experience is a chrysalis, really: so much of who and what we were is collapsing into goo, and, at the same time, we’re being remade into something new and beautiful and honest. It’s incredibly painful. Having people around who understand deeply can take the sting out of guilt and shame. But the pain may remain. Just keep going, baby. It may not get easier, but you will get stronger.
You may even learn to love the process.
I’ve not seen any other writers or researchers talk about this, but I think the reason why so many former evangelical and de/reconstructed people are now activists is that this sacrament of unlearning and relearning (this pursuit of “prosocial behaviors”) becomes part of our new doctrine.
We are people who pursue (r)evolution because we’ve already known the crush of the chrysalis and are no longer afraid of it.
Don’t worry about any of that right now, though, while you’re going through this for the first, most painful time. Seek out safe friends, find a good therapist, and give yourself permission to be goo.
If this series resonates, you might enjoy my debut memoir, which tracks my faith journey against the backdrop of my time in India. It’s set to hit shelves in spring 2025.
My Substack subscribers will be the first to know when it’s available. 🧡
One time a group of Bible recipients were so thrilled, they set off fireworks at an unadvisably close range.
This doesn’t necessarily mean “making amends” with aggressors or abusers, but making amends with yourself.
Fear, guilt and shame are three big killers of joy. Moving through them is a lifetime's work. Especially at a time when 'powers and principalities' know how to trigger them in the masses in order to gain more power over them.
A gem 💎