I grew up in a very mixed house in regards to spirituality. My father is Catholic and my mother is Baptist. When I was younger, she went through a period of TBN-watchin', tent-revival-lovin', "Jesus is the only Answer" fundamentalist crap. I remember being told many times that I was a sinner, that we pray for forgiveness, and that we'll either a) die and go to heaven if we take up the cross of Jesus, or b) be resurrected by Christ before he allows the world to descend into chaos, or c) suffer in hell, separated from God. I was also indoctrinated into the belief that "principalities and powers" are at work all around us, fighting for our souls. My mother bought me the Peretti books, This Present Darkness, and Piercing the Darkness. She wanted to make sure that her pre-teen understood spiritual warfare and how meditation and drugs could leave you vulnerable to demon possession.

Needless to say, my twin and I had a warped view of Christianity. We were constantly afraid of being "left behind" so losing sight of my mother in the grocery store brought a lot of fear. In addition, we were terrified of being "sinful" and of God's wrath. I always felt like I should be a missionary because I needed to do something overtly sacrificial in order to prove that I was worthy of heaven.

In high school, a cousin tried to rape me. I prayed very hard to be "saved" from the situation but I couldn't get past the idea that God would vindicate me and opening my trap would only cause problems in my family. I told my sister and no one else. Around this time, I began to spend a great deal of time in my walk-in closet (reading, writing, talking on the phone). I wanted privacy in order to protect my family from the horny little beast I was becoming. My mother is a walking mask -- I had no idea that mothers would comfort their daughters with more than, "Pray on it, dear." It seemed that everything, including the purchase of tampons, was wrapped in quiet judgment. I was becoming unstable and would cut myself, dye my hair black, and write sad poetry. My mother never ventured into the closet, she never talked to me about it -- she chose to see it as a phase despite my transparency -- I was severely depressed. When I would try to talk to her about anything she'd blow me off. Apparently, I was not Christian enough.

I am now a follower of the Course in Miracles. Not exactly Christian, not atheist. I went to AA meetings a lot (much to my mother's mortification) and found a more open, loving God and I've been a believer ever since. However, the damage to my sense of self due to my mother's misguided attempts to keep us from burning in hell has definitely prevented my growth. I can't blame her or Christianity completely BUT it certainly helped put me in this current crisis.

I know that many of you found religion to be a shaming construct -- has this something that you, too, have gone over in therapy?

My T is simply empathetic. He hasn't said anything either way -- he's leaving it up to me to make decisions, I suppose. You?