Seven or eight years ago, I left the faith of my youth. I went from an absolute, die-hard believer to someone who wants nothing to do with the church. I’m sure it seemed abrupt to everyone on the outside. One Sunday, I was there, praying and singing hymns with everyone else, and the next, I was gone…unwilling to talk to anyone about what had happened.
The truth is nothing happened. I’d just finally stopped forcing it. I’d ignored the red flags for too long. The cracks in my faith had been...
Growing up, I wanted to be a witch. I wanted to see a ghost. For me, those ambitions were right up there with becoming a famous singer…or actress…or writer…and making millions of dollars.
I can’t pinpoint where my obsession with “otherness” came from (though it likely started with this), although it did seem to run in the family—despite our religious background and understanding that the pursuit of anything magical/spiritual outside the confines of our faith was prohibited. Perhaps, in fact,...