I grew up in a leafy, affluent and conservative area of Sydney. Many people I grew up with never left. 
 My parents were very involved in church. I’m a naturally enthusiastic person and hard-wired for a cause, so I embraced church, youth group, bible studies and all church things. I was like ‘1000% yes’ to Jesus, soon becoming the most intense Christian in my family. I was fast-tracked into leadership, overseeing the youth group leaders (including my older brother) in my second year of youth leading. I took this responsibility very seriously but had little support and no training. The year I led the youth group I was crippled with intense anxiety, terrified about letting God down. I stopped leading youth group after that. In my teens and early 20s I had a few intense crushes that were not reciprocated. It confirmed my suspicion that I was not a desirable Christian woman, too loud, not sweet or cute enough. I’m grateful now that these crushes didn’t work out as they would have been truly disastrous relationships and I’m not sure if I would have had the confidence to break up with anyone.
 My lack of romantic luck confirmed my growing belief that I didn’t fit in. I was a people person and had friends, but I always felt like I was wrong. I was too opinionated. I wanted to fit in better but was incapable of changing, succeeding only in toning myself down for small bursts of time before the passion and opinions leaked out of me. I was always the person asking why in the bible study groups, truly wanting to understand but feeling increasingly exasperated with the answers. I found myself in stark disagreement with a couple of teachings, particularly the doctrine that women had to submit to men and were not supposed to preach or be leaders. At times I pretended that this belief didn’t bother me, and at other times I read widely about it and wore my egalitarian views as a badge of honour. Secretly I was petrified that I’d never find a nice Christian boyfriend. Spoiler, I never did! After I graduated from university, I spent a year doing a graduate course at a bible college. I never had any intention of entering ministry, but wanted to really learn about my faith and the bible. My mum calls it ‘my year of being angry.’ I met some great people, and had some lecturers who leaned into the mystery and nuance of the bible and opened my mind but I clashed with the conservative element but even more so, the people who seemed to have gone to bible college not to grapple, but to rote learn neat, precise answers. I frustrated them as much as they did me and felt I was judged as being difficult and disobedient rather than enquiring. When I was 25 I moved to Melbourne and lived in the inner city. I met people (Christian and not) who had similar interests and views to me but were further ahead in their learning. I went to a progressive church that accepted and affirmed gay people and I made friends with a lot of them. I can’t describe how refreshing it was to be allowed to think it was fine to be gay! I was used to being the most politically engaged in the room, and now I wasn’t, not even close. I felt I could be myself. I met men who were actually interested in me and seemed to like my strong personality. I had a few boyfriends. I had sex. I made a very deliberate choice to do that, it wasn’t a moment of weakness. I didn’t feel guilty about it at all.
 After five years in Melbourne I moved back to Sydney with my then boyfriend (now husband). In my early 30s I realised some of the church friends I grew up with didn’t seem to like me or enjoy spending time with me. I think the reason they kept hanging out with me was a Christian obligation to ‘Jesus me.’ Can you ‘love someone’ if you don’t like them at all? I drifted away from some in the natural way you do as you grow up and change, but had some very painful falling outs with others. One case really rattled my whole sense of self. I felt a deep sense of betrayal because I had been so heavily invested in her, telling myself we were such close friends. I had not allowed myself to listen to my intuition that something was off. It seemed that the last few years of our friendship had been sort of a martyrish sacrifice of hers, and I would have preferred to be cut loose than continue spending time with someone who didn't want to be there, but was never honest about it. What I believe she would characterise as Christian love, was really a lack of ability to value her own truth, to be confronted by someone who had left the church and have a difficult conversation. Often from these sort of hurts comes learning and so did that experience. Growing up in the church I was taught that being a Christian made your life better. Not easier, but more meaningful, richer. The script was Christians aren't perfect, they're works in progress but being one, being in a relationship with Jesus and living in the truth and in the love of Christ makes you a better person. Jesus enriches your life, and your relationship with him outworks in you to show the fruit of that love, which attracts other people to him through your love and good works. When Christians shared their stories this was a pivotal part of it, how they'd changed from the love they received, and the power in their message had to rest on them being sinners yes, imperfect, yes, but better people because they knew the truth. But I met and became friends with more people who weren't Christians, who were driven by non-Jesus reasons to do good in the world, they weren't selfish and their lives were meaningful. Many also seemed less inhibited and more well adjusted, they were more free to think through things without having to stick to a script. I started to think that if Christianity didn't 'work' in terms of improving peoples' lives, maybe what I'd been taught wasn't right. Or at least wasn’t so simple. 
The first year with my now husband was hard at times, he hadn’t grown up in a Christian family and found my whole experience fascinating in a detached way. Some of the language he would use felt offensive and judgmental to me, and we had a few arguments about it. When we got to know each other better it wasn’t a big deal, he came to understand more about my faith journey and has made friends who have had similar backgrounds. He loved and encouraged my feminism and offered to take my last name when we got married – he didn’t, too much paperwork we just kept our own names. 
 There are practices I learned through going to church that I cherish. Giving generous amounts to charity, practicing gratitude, singing, connecting with people from different generations, taking time to reflect on your own values and make conscious choices about how you live. I don't think these things are unique to church, but a good one provides a sense of guidance and direction to engage with them. I'm grateful for that, and I try to maintain them in my life, the sense of acting humbly, loving mercy and walking gently on the earth. With God? I'm unsure. 
 My husband and I had a couple of really hard years with complex issues going on I won't get into. While living through this grief I read ‘Any Ordinary Day’ by Leigh Sales. I found her agnosticism made a surprising amount of sense, more than the Christian lines I had learned to explain suffering under a loving God. If something bad happens to you, you’re not cursed, you have the same chance of more bad things happening to you as anyone else. And the same chances of something good happening next. Thinking about the hard things that were happening to me as having no real meaning or purpose behind them felt more comforting than seeing them as part of a deity’s plan for my life. I don’t feel like a Christian, but maybe I will be again one day, I’m not against that notion. I see some real strengths in growing up with a faith and in a faith community, but also some serious dysfunction and a lot of denial. I might try and go to church once a month or something in the future, a nice gentle Uniting church. I have a young daughter now, and wonder what I'll do as she gets older about faith. I know though that I hope for her sake she won't be as zealous as I was.