The Layers of Loss: Grief and Religious Trauma
Grief isn’t just about death. It’s about any kind of loss, big or small, expected or sudden, tangible or intangible. When it comes to religious trauma, grief often takes centre stage. It’s not the kind of grief society tends to talk about openly—there’s no funeral, no flowers, no casseroles from neighbours. But for those of us who’ve walked away from the faiths or systems that once defined our lives, the grief is real, raw, and complicated.
I know this grief intimately. Leaving my faith wasn’t just about leaving a belief system; it was about losing an entire way of being in the world. For years, I didn’t have words for the ache in my chest or the emptiness I felt. All I knew was that I had lost something, and no one seemed to understand.
What We Grieve
Religious trauma often carries layers of grief because what we lose when we walk away is multifaceted. We don’t just grieve the loss of a god or a belief system; we grieve community, purpose, identity, and sometimes even our families.
• Community: Faith communities often provide a deep sense of belonging. There’s a structure, a rhythm, and a shared language. Losing that can feel like being unmoored, cast out into the wilderness without a map.
• Purpose: Religion often offers a framework for meaning. It tells us why we’re here, what we should do, and where we’re going. When that framework collapses, we can feel adrift, questioning what life is even about.
• Identity: For many, religion isn’t just something we believe; it’s who we are. When we leave, we’re left wondering, If I’m not [insert religion here], who am I?
• Family and Relationships: This is perhaps the most painful layer. Many of us lose relationships with family members, friends, or entire social circles. Sometimes the rejection is explicit; other times, it’s a slow fade of distance and silence.
The Complexities of Grieving Faith
Grieving religious trauma is often an ambiguous, disenfranchised kind of grief. There’s no clear-cut ending, no closure, no societal rituals to help us process it. Instead, we’re often left to grapple with this grief in silence, feeling as though we’re somehow at fault for even experiencing it.
For me, the grief was tangled up with guilt and shame. I’d been conditioned to believe that leaving my faith meant I was lost, broken, or rebellious. I doubted myself constantly. Had I made the right choice? Was I throwing away something sacred? That shame wrapped itself around my grief, making it harder to untangle, let alone heal.
The Role of Anger
Anger is often a close companion to grief when it comes to religious trauma. Anger at the system that hurt us. Anger at the leaders who manipulated or betrayed us. Anger at the family and friends who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see our pain.
But anger can also be a powerful tool. It tells us where our boundaries are, what we need to protect, and what we deserve. For me, anger was the spark that began to burn away the shame. It was the first step toward reclaiming my voice and my power.
Healing in the Midst of Grief
Healing from religious trauma doesn’t mean the grief disappears. Instead, it means learning to carry it differently. It means honouring the loss while making space for something new to grow.
• Naming the Loss: One of the most healing things I ever did was name my losses. I wrote them down—everything I had lost because of my faith and everything I had lost because I left it. Seeing it in black and white helped me acknowledge the depth of my grief and gave me permission to feel it.
• Building New Communities: Finding new spaces where I could be fully myself was a game-changer. Whether it was a support group, a queer community, or simply a handful of friends who “got it,” these connections reminded me that I wasn’t alone.
• Reclaiming Identity: Leaving my faith gave me the freedom to explore who I was outside of the labels I’d been given. It was terrifying at first, but also liberating. Slowly, I began to piece together an identity that felt true to me, not imposed by someone else.
• Seeking Professional Support: Therapy was instrumental in my healing. Working with someone who understood religious trauma helped me untangle the shame, process the grief, and find a path forward.
A New Kind of Faith
Here’s the thing about grief: it changes you. It strips you bare, but it also makes space for something new. For me, leaving my faith didn’t mean abandoning spirituality altogether. It meant redefining it. Today, my faith looks less like dogma and more like curiosity, less like certainty and more like connection.
I’ve found meaning in unexpected places—in the stillness of nature, the lyrics of a song, the laughter of friends. And I’ve learned that faith doesn’t have to come from a book or a pulpit; it can come from the simple act of trusting myself.
If you’re navigating grief and religious trauma, I want you to know this: you’re not alone, and you’re not broken. Your grief is valid, your pain is real, and your healing is possible. The path might be messy and nonlinear, but it’s yours to walk, and you don’t have to walk it alone.
Take your time. Honour your grief. And when you’re ready, let yourself imagine what life might look like on the other side. You might just be surprised by the beauty that waits for you there.
