Why I’m Not Religious

A Journey Through Loss and Understanding

Dear Substack Reader

In this article, I’m sharing a deeply personal story about my journey away from religion. It’s a story rooted in a childhood tragedy that forever altered my perspective on faith, life, and the search for meaning. Growing up in a devout household, I was surrounded by the comfort and certainty that faith can bring. But after witnessing a life-changing event at a young age, my understanding of the world took a different path. This is my attempt to make sense of it all, and to share how I found peace in a world without clear answers.

The impact was a deafening roar, a violent shattering of the world as I knew it. The stolen car came out of nowhere, a blur of motion and noise that collided with our lives and left nothing the same. I don’t remember the pain, only the confusion, the way time seemed to slow to a crawl as the scene unfolded before my young eyes. The brightness of the day seemed to mock the darkness that had suddenly enveloped my world.

She slipped into a coma that day, a sleep from which she would never wake. And in the days that followed, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I prayed. On my knees, I begged God to bring her back, to restore her to the life she had so lovingly filled. I prayed with the pure, desperate faith of a child who believed that if she wished hard enough, if she asked nicely enough, everything would be okay. But it wasn’t.

The hospital was a cold place, all sterile white walls, hushed voices and an orchestra of machines beeping. It was here that I learned that no amount of praying would change what had happened. I remember the doctors’ voices, low and heavy with the weight of the truth. Medically impossible, they said. No chance of recovery. Words that a five-year-old shouldn’t have to understand, but I did. I had to.

In the years that followed, I grappled with a question that I couldn’t shake, one that haunted me like a shadow. “Why did God let this happen?” I asked my grandfather, the man whose faith was as steady and unshakable as a mountain. He was the anchor of our family, a devout Christian who found solace in his prayers, who spoke of God’s love with a conviction that was almost tangible.

But when I asked him that question, I saw something in his eyes that I had never seen before—doubt. He put his head in his hands, and for a moment, the steadfast man I had always known seemed lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. The tragedy had shaken him, too, but unlike me, his faith remained. He clung to it, found comfort in it, even as the answers he sought remained elusive.

I admired him for that. I admired the way his faith gave him peace, a way to process the pain that I couldn’t understand. Faith, I realised, was a beautiful thing. It was a lifeline, a way to navigate the treacherous waters of life’s hardships. I saw it in the way my grandfather held onto hope, even when the world seemed cruel and senseless.

But for me, the world was different. I had seen too much, understood too much, to find solace in the idea of a higher power with a plan. The randomness of the accident, the senselessness of it all, left me with a truth that I couldn’t reconcile with faith. Bad things happen. They happen to good people, to people who believe, to people who pray. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, and that’s the hardest part to accept.

I often wonder, had I not witnessed what I did, would I have faith? Would I find comfort in the idea that everything happens for a reason, that there’s a greater purpose behind the pain? Maybe. But my path led me to a different understanding, one where the world is what it is—a place of beauty and tragedy, light and darkness, without any higher plan or purpose.

And yet, I hold no resentment for those who believe. In fact, I envy them in a way. Faith can be a powerful tool, a source of strength and comfort, and I’ve seen its beauty through the eyes of those I love. It’s a way to make sense of the senseless, to find peace in a world that often feels anything but peaceful.

For me, though, peace has come in a different form. It’s come in the acceptance of life’s unpredictability, in the understanding that not everything has an answer, and that’s okay. My journey may not be one of faith, but it’s a journey nonetheless, one filled with its own kind of truth and meaning.

Thank you for taking a moment to walk through these memories with me. Life is a tapestry of experiences, woven with threads of joy and sorrow, faith and doubt. My journey led me down a path where answers don’t always come easy, where comfort isn’t always found in the expected places. But it’s a path that’s shaped who I am, and I embrace it with all its complexities.

Whatever road you’re travelling, I hope you find what you’re seeking. Whether it’s in faith, in love, or simply in the quiet moments of understanding, may you discover the peace that comes from knowing your own truth.

With warmth and best wishes

Kathryn (Joyful Sarcasm)