I am an atheist. I grew up in a pretty lax religious background. My dad considers himself to be a Christian while my mom grew up going to Catholic school. We rarely went to church while I was growing up (my parent’s didn’t even push for us to go during Christmas or Easter) and religion was not something we talked about often. I was never baptized and we didn’t pray before meals. However, I always considered myself to be a Christian, even if I did not completely understand what that meant. Jesus Christ and the Bible meant little to me and for the most part I didn’t think anyone took religion very seriously. I never really questioned my faith until my grandmother died when I was nine.
I remember her being sick and watching her deteriorate. But it didn’t feel real until she had died. There was an open casket at her wake and I remember walking up to see her only to see a different face. It was like a wax model of my grandmother was lying there and it haunted me as a child. I feared death and struggled to understand why she was no longer in my life. I had nightmares and would sleep in my parent’s bedroom with fears of dying while I slept. I began to more readily question Christianity and prayed/talked to God in the hopes that my grandmother would hear me.
I never really felt like I was praying to God, but more just communicating to my grandmother directly in Heaven. I wanted her to be in a safe place where she could be happy after she died and I liked the idea of seeing her there when I passed away. But, certain details would always bug me when I thought too long about it. Did she miss me? Would she be in a different body or state when she was Heaven? Would I recognize her? And would she even remember me? Nothing really made sense, but I felt like I needed to have faith in God in order to keep my grandmother close to me.
As I continued to grow up my curiosity and yearning for how Christianity fit into my life developed. Throughout high school I thought that I needed to understand all of the other religions or to start going to church. My dad and I found a local church and my family went one Sunday morning. I remember walking into this huge chapel and seeing a Christian rock group playing on the stage. The preacher used props and tried desperately to get his message across, but I just didn’t understand. I was stunned. This was nothing like I had expected. I thought the service would be taken more seriously and wouldn’t involve so many theatrics. What was the point of going to church if my greatest questions couldn’t be answered? It was a an eye opening experience that shifted the high ideals I held for church. The involvement left me uncomfortable and disheartened. I knew then that Christianity was not for me, but I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to shed that part of my identity.
In my first year of college I continued to tell my peers I was a Christian if asked. It wasn’t until I met my current boyfriend during my second year that I began to question why I still considered myself a Christian. I was scared to let go of that part of myself, scared to ask the big questions, and even more scared that I would lose the one connection I had to my deceased loved one’s. I had never really been a Christian but the only reason for believing in God was to keep my grandmother close in some way. I couldn’t let my fears determine how I truly felt though. Once I really understood what being a Christian meant, I knew that I never wanted to be a part of that community.
It took me awhile to start calling myself an atheist. I had stripped myself of the Christian title and my belief in God, but I feared the stigma that comes with being an atheist. Even after I had admitted it to myself it took me years to tell my parents. They are supportive but don’t understand my lack of belief. I want to take a stand and show that I am not a bad person. That I can proudly say that I am an atheist and there is nothing wrong with that.