The Blog That Burned It Down
At twenty-six, I started a deconstruction blog. I had grown up in a strict religious environment that prized performance over honesty, and I needed to process the damage. The blog became a place where I publicly dismantled everything I had been taught.
It resonated. Thousands of people who shared similar experiences followed along. I became a voice in the deconstruction space -- podcasts, collaborations, guest posts. I was articulate, angry, and certain that I was done with God.
The Gap in the Narrative
Three years in, I noticed something. My readers were deconstructing, but nobody was rebuilding. Including me. We had torn down every wall, and now we were all standing in the open, exposed to the wind, pretending the weather didn't bother us.
I started receiving messages from people in genuine distress. "I left the church and now I have nothing. What do I do?" I didn't have an answer. I had built an audience on demolition, but I had no blueprint for what comes after.
Reading with Fresh Eyes
A reader in Bristol sent me a copy of a book that reframed the Bible not as a rule book but as a love story. I read it out of curiosity and found myself underlining nearly every page. Then I opened the actual Bible for the first time in years -- not looking for ammunition, but for something real.
What I found was a God I hadn't met before. Not the controlling figure of my childhood, but someone patient, kind, and relentlessly present. The Psalms wrecked me. David's honesty made my blog look polished and safe by comparison.
Writing the Reconstruction
I published a post titled "I Was Wrong About Some Things" and lost four thousand followers in a week. But the messages that came in from the people who stayed were the most honest conversations I'd ever had online.
My faith now is nothing like what I grew up with. It's quieter, more curious, and far more durable. I still write, but the tone has changed from tearing down to building up.
What This Means for You
Deconstruction is not a destination. If you've torn everything apart, you're not finished -- you're halfway through. The bravest thing isn't leaving. It's coming back with your eyes open.