I know what it's like to feel a deep pull to get back to Christ, but at the same time, feel like there's a wall you can't get over. That feeling of 'I want to, but I can't. Not being able even to pick up your Bible. It can be a lonely and confusing place, filled with guilt. I am walking that path, too. This is a non-judgmental space to talk about those difficult times in your faith, heal from stigma you may have faced, and find a gentle way to reconnect with God at your own pace.

For years, I moved through faith spaces feeling both seen and silenced - adopted by doctrine but disconnected from my own spirit . My spiritual awakening wasn't gentle, it was a rupture. What followed was a reclamation of voice , boundaries and divine connection. Now, I hold space for others navigating spiritual warfare, religious experiences and the quiet ache of disembodiment. This offering is for those ready to re-enter their sacredness on their own terms.

I’ve been queer all my life, but I didn’t come out until I was 24. I grew up in a strict religious home my mom Christian, my dad Muslim, where being gay was never an option. I had my first girlfriend at 14, but hid it behind boyfriends and even had two children trying to please my family. When my older brother came out, my parents were so devastated they stayed in bed for two weeks. That made me hide even more. For years, I lived a life that wasn’t mine until one day, I got tired of pretending. Coming out was the scariest but most freeing thing I’ve ever done. Today I live openly, happily, and surrounded by chosen family. I lost people, but I found myself and that’s everything. If you’re ready to stop hiding, I can help you walk toward that same freedom.

I grew up in a religious group that controlled every part of my life, even down to how I thought and felt. It wasn’t just spiritual, there was abuse, betrayal, and deep wounds that shaped my sense of self. Leaving that community meant losing my family, friends, and the only life I had ever known. For years, I struggled with isolation, PTSD, and questioning everything I believed in. Through therapy, art therapy, journaling, and connecting with others who had walked similar paths, I began slowly rebuilding who I was outside of those walls. It took time to trust myself again, but today, I live freely, grounded in my own values and dreams. I now support others who are stepping away from controlling environments, helping them navigate grief, find their voice, and believe that life after leaving can be beautiful.

Recovering from trauma is not about “getting over it.” It’s about learning to live, breathe, and grow in ways that honor what you’ve been through while creating space for who you’re becoming. Through my own lived experience, I know trauma recovery can feel lonely, confusing, and exhausting. Healing isn’t linear—it comes with setbacks, small victories, and the courage to keep showing up for yourself. In our time together, I offer: A compassionate, nonjudgmental space to share what you’re carrying Understanding from someone who knows what it’s like to live through and beyond trauma Gentle reminders that your healing pace is valid and enough Support in finding strength, resilience, and hope while honoring your story You don’t have to walk through recovery alone. I’ll sit with you in the hard moments, celebrate the small wins, and remind you that healing—while not always easy—is always possible. 💫

I left the religious community I was raised to live and die in. My value of art, expression, and continuing education and personal development as a person in a female body led me to leave religion based in a supreme male God.

I overcame religious trauma by embracing spirituality for me it has been a much smoother way to face the challenges that came when I came out the closet and embraced my truth .I have also learned through meditation and positivity that everything we go through can be a little easier.

I grew up around a lot of instability—mental health issues in my family, DV in the home, and I spent my teen years going in and out of hospitals for suicidal ideation. My experiences led me down a path of delusions, addiction, and homelessness. I hit a low where I felt disconnected from everything, especially my faith. But after the deaths of my godfather and grandmother, something shifted. My grandmother gave me her old Catechism book before she passed, and somehow, holding it made me feel less lost. I'm transmasculine, Latinx, queer, and creative—and for a long time, I thought there was no space for someone like me in the Catholic faith. But I’ve been slowly reclaiming it in my own way, with honesty, questioning, and a lot of compassion for myself. Reconnecting with something spiritual while healing from trauma isn’t easy, but I’ve found peace in making it my own. I’d love to hold space for anyone trying to rebuild a relationship with their faith after pain.

I know firsthand how heavy guilt and shame can feel after leaving religion. For years, I wrestled with questions of identity, worth, and belonging, feeling like I had lost both my community and my foundation. Over time, I learned how to redefine spirituality on my own terms by finding meaning in connection, creativity, and inner truth instead of external expectations. That process wasn’t linear, but it gave me the strength to rebuild myself piece by piece. Now, I help others navigate that same terrain: moving through religious trauma, loosening shame’s grip, and creating a life rooted in self-trust and authentic meaning. You don’t have to walk this path alone. I offer a safe space to unpack, process, and rebuild.

I grew up Southern Baptist in a small town, where I was taught a very fire-and-brimstone version of Christianity. From an early age, I was taught that questioning your beliefs, or even being curious about other faiths, could land you in hell. The message was clear: being a born-again Christian was the only way to know God, and everything else was wrong or dangerous. When I went to college and started meeting people with different beliefs and worldviews, I couldn’t ignore the thought that there was no way there was only one “right” religion. I struggled with guilt at first—I’d been taught that any doubts were sinful. But the more I learned, the more I realized that doubt is normal, and even sacred. People of all faiths (and no faith) wrestle with the same questions. Over time, my view of God shifted to a much more caring, loving, and gracious presence. I see each religion as a different way of trying to explain or connect with God. I still read the Bible and pray because those practices are familiar and grounding for me, but I also believe that love, safety, and intention matter more than labels. If you’re questioning the beliefs you were raised with, or just trying to figure out what spirituality means to you now, you’re not alone. I’d love to hold space for that exploration and help you navigate changing beliefs while still interacting with family, friends, or communities that may not understand.

I was raised in an evangelical Christian homeschooling cult (think the Duggars.) I experienced spiritual, sexual, emotional, physical and mental abuse from a very young age. At 12, I lost my older sister to suicide. As a result of my childhood, I developed PTSD and spent most of my 20s using unhealthy coping mechanisms (eating disorder, substance abuse) and moving between several abusive relationships. I finally decided enough was enough and spent a period of time focusing on going to individual and group therapy, working on my health, and focusing my time on healing and creating the life I wanted. I now live in a wonderful city with a wonderful partner and circle of friends. I work a job I love. But I still remember how hard the early days of healing were. I hope to offer an understanding listening ear, since I know that sometimes the hardest part of dealing with childhood abuse is simply gaining the courage to talk about it in the first place.

I was raised in an evangelical cult (think the Duggars.) I experienced physical, mental, emotional and sexual abuse within this cult. The last 12 years I have spent working on deprogramming from the messaging I absorbed as a child and young adult. I know what it is like to live with the fear, shame, and uncertainty that come with deprogramming after spiritual abuse. If you are stuck with the fear and shame and anger that comes after spiritual abuse I'd love to speak with you. I know how important it is to have validation and clarity from someone who has been through it and arrived on the other side. Especially because deprogramming from religious abuse often involves losing much, if not all of your community.

I grew up going to a Southern Baptist church 3 days a week. I was committed, prayerful, and devoted to what I believed was a personal relationship with Christ. Yet there was a constant friction, because I also value equality and empathy, which often conflicted with the rigid teachings around me. This led to constant feelings of guilt and cognitive dissonance. One Sunday in my mid 20s , the dissonance dissipated and I found clarity. Despite my desperate prayers and the sobs heaving in my chest, I was met with total silence. This silence was not the peaceful kind, but the kind that reveals truth. I then realized that no divine rescue was ever coming, and I would have to be my own savior. That realization was the catalyst for not only leaving the church, but also leaving a seven year long abusive relationship. I began the painful, liberating journey of reclaiming my identity. My story now allows me to hold space for others who are facing religious trauma and spiritual deconstruction.

I grew up in a conservative Baptist Christian family, where my siblings and I were always under a microscope. My mother was self-centered and egotistical, a trait she still carries to this day. This environment shaped my views on relationships, especially how I navigate family connections. Despite the challenges with my parents, I’ve always tried to teach my children the importance of love and acceptance. I encourage them to be the bigger person, even when faced with difficult behavior from family members, including their grandparents. My journey hasn’t been easy, but through navigating a single-parent household, becoming part of a stepfamily, and experiencing three significant relationships, I’ve learned invaluable lessons about love, commitment, and communication. These experiences have shaped my ability to set healthy boundaries, manage expectations, and cultivate meaningful connections. I firmly believe in the power of love and acceptance for all, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity, and I strive to instill these values in my family and relationships.

I have spent my life helping others, being a pastor and a teacher. As much as I enjoyed these professions, I found them ultimately draining and taking away from my other relationships in my life. I learned that in order to help others, I first need to take care of myself. If I do not have mental and spiritual clarity, then I will not be able to guide or assist others. Self-care is not selfish. It's the first step to reclaiming a life that inspires both yourself and others.

I've, as they say, had a "hard life" full of many disadvantages, uncertainties, obstacles, and set backs. It felt as if, though seated in all my sincerity and authenticity, I just couldn't win nor get ahead! I struggled to not feel defeated, to not give up. With the right tools (mainly applicable books on varying subjects), I was able to overcome any lack of confidence, and find again my faith, clarity, and optimism about life. I know how to access personal truth, and share that process with others who have stalled or lost their way.

There was a time when I felt completely broken. I lost my father, and the grief swallowed me. I turned to meth to quiet the pain, then spiraled into a world of addiction, using whatever I could find: Methanphetime, Adderall, weight loss pills, cocaine. Things got worse when I married my dealer and spent years in an abusive relationship. I went through homelessness, brushes with the law, and the kind of trauma that leaves you unsure who you even are anymore. But then I found out I was pregnant. That moment snapped something awake in me; I quit cold turkey and never used again. It wasn’t easy. Recovery wasn’t just about getting sober; it was about clawing my way back to myself. I fought for my peace, leaned into therapy, found support, and eventually built a life I never thought possible. Today, I’ve been clean since 2001. I’m a Peer Support Specialist helping others with complex PTSD, mental health, and addiction. I use what I’ve lived through to walk alongside others in their darkest moments. I know what it’s like to feel lost—and I also know the way out.