From Communion to Questions: My Shift Away from Catholicism

As a child, I was raised catholic. My grandmother in particular, was deeply devoted to the religion, and due to other family members being mostly non-religious, my grandmother took the opportunity to introduce the religion to me.

In my hometown, there’s a church down the street from my house. It’s where I received my baptism at a young age, and where my religious journey began. My grandmother and I would walk there for mass every Sunday morning, most Saturdays, and during holidays such as Easter and Christmas. My grandmother was a woman who truly believed in her faith, but never forced it on anyone. She loved angels, always wore a cross necklace, taught me prayers, and everything she knew about Catholicism. 

Since I attended a public elementary school, I was enrolled into Sunday school for religious education. I attended every Sunday after mass, as did many other kids in my public elementary school, and it was there that I learned tales of biblical figures, Catholic holidays I devoted myself and my time to celebrating, and what it meant to be catholic. I had my first confession at nine years old, and soon after, I received my communion. At the time, that milestone made me feel more connected to my religion, though I remember being more excited about dressing up in a white dress and veil.

Mass, however, was always my favorite part. My grandmother would give me coins to offer to the ushers, and I lived for the moments when everyone stood to sing. I wasn’t a part of the choir, but singing next to my grandmother made me feel connected both to the church and to her. Holidays were also always my favorite, especially Christmas mass. Something about walking through the snow to service, and then feeling the warmth of the church both physically and metaphorically, was something I looked forward to every Winter season.

Yet even then, something deep down felt strange. In mass, it was often said that God was beside you at all times. Instead of comfort, I felt a certain pressure to be good, or almost perfect, at all times, in fear that I was always being watched. It reminded me of a kind of spiritual panopticon, where you never know when you’re being observed.

I started to question how one presence could be with everyone all at once. The Eucharist confused and troubled me too. Being told that the bread and wine were transformed into the body and blood of Jesus made me uneasy. I found myself imagining the church walls, floors, and even pews as parts of his flesh. I struggled to recognize what was meant metaphorically and what was supposed to be real. Looking back, I was a young and impressionable child, and perhaps that was part of the design.

I am no longer religious, nor do I believe in God or Jesus Christ. My grandmother passed away in 2015, and although she never pushed her faith onto me, I think she might be disappointed by how my beliefs have changed. After she died, I continued with religious education because I wanted to make my confirmation in her honor. However, as I entered middle school, I found myself dreading the classes. I didn’t believe anymore, yet I still felt watched, not only by the holy figures I’d grown up with, but now by my grandmother’s memory as well.

As the time for my confirmation grew closer, our classes were separated by gender. The girls were placed in an empty classroom where the teachers talked about saving ourselves for marriage and described sex as sinful. I hadn’t even had my first relationship yet, so the idea of marriage felt distant. When I left the room, I felt uneasy, and the other girls seemed to feel the same. My cousin, who was in the boys’ group, told me they had just played games. Only later did I recognize this as purity culture, and that we were being taught, at as young as twelve years old, that our bodies already belonged to future spouses, long before we even understood our own.

I received my confirmation shortly afterward. Part of the process involves choosing a saint whose virtues you admire. I chose Saint Ermalinda after my late grandmother Linda, because I wouldn’t have been on this path without her. After I was confirmed, though, I stopped attending religious education and eventually stopped going to church altogether. I no longer prayed at night, and as I grew into an angsty teenage girl, I rejected the idea of God entirely. I believed that if God were real, the world wouldn't hold so much suffering.

I especially resented people who pushed religion onto others, often in moments of real pain.

Although I still have complicated feelings about religious pressure, I’ve let go of that anger. I still do not believe in God, but I don’t regret the journey I had. I value hearing from people who believe and who can understand my perspective. I’ve become comfortable without a label, and am unsure whether I’d call myself an atheist or an agnostic. I wrote this not because I feel traumatized by religion or because my experience was perfect, but because I appreciate it for what it was. I was fortunate to practice freely, and when I no longer believed, I was free to step away. Most of all, I cherish the memories it gave me with my grandmother.

Catholicism wasn’t the right path for me, but she remains the one angel I do believe in.