I Left the Church, Not My Faith

What Divorce, Doubt, and Peace Taught Me About God

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

I was raised in a world where faith wasn’t just part of life — it was life. My mom has a Doctorate in Divinity. We prayed before meals, after meals, during storms, and before bed. Sundays weren’t optional. I went to Catholic school from kindergarten through high school, sat in pews so long I knew the grooves in the kneelers by heart. Then I chose DePaul for college, a Catholic university in Chicago. Not because I had to. I believed. I believed in the rhythm of Mass, the beauty of ritual, the gravity of confession. I believed God was listening, even when I wasn’t sure what to say.

I believed so hard I got married in the Church. We had the full Nuptial Mass. Full readings. No shortcuts. Traditional music filled the space. The priest read from Corinthians. There was incense, a lit candle, and rows of family on either side. I stood at the front of the church in a suit I thought would last a lifetime. I believed vows made in that place carried a weight deeper than paperwork. I believed they bound soul to soul. I believed marriage inside the Church was sacred.

I didn’t expect forever to fall apart. I didn’t think something so holy could break so painfully. I thought showing up in that sacred space meant the rest would take care of itself. I was wrong. I made…