Ex-Christians Philippines

#ExChristiansofthePhilippines6 Religion has ruined my life and my family. My father is extremely obsessed with religion. He puts it before his family. My mother, while not as religious, believes that wives should always submit to their husbands. She still tolerates my verbally and emotionally abusive cheater father because the Bible says to forgive. They also forced me to forgive my abuser. I had to come out as atheist to them because I could not stand attending church 2-3x a week anymore. After being a Christian for most of my life, I felt like my identity was stripped away from me, and I had to start anew by unlearning a lot of our church’s toxic teachings. Then came the gaslighting and guilt-tripping. My parents believe that I will go to hell for being atheist. What kind of parents would worship a god who would send their child to hell? No matter how hard I study to get good grades and awards, no matter how hard I work, I will never be enough for them just because I left the church. Until now, my brain still relives my religious trauma everyday. Because of my parents, I developed 2 mental disorders, one of which is a lifelong condition. Because of my childhood and religious traumas, I now have permanent brain damage. Brain damage that my father perceives to be a demonic possession. My father believes that I am possessed and won’t stop posting about it. How I wish to be possessed by demons instead. At least it would just be temporary, all I need is an exorcism. But the damage that religion and my parents have done to me is permanent. My father thinks he is a bad father because his child has become an atheist. No. He is a bad father because of religion. - their little angel

#ExChristiansofthePhilippines5 I was born and raised in a Catholic household, but in my 7th grade, I converted to a Christian religion that we’ll call Italiano (you know what I mean). Unlike many conversion stories, mine wasn’t met with conflict—my parents weren’t conservative, so they supported my decision. The person who guided me into Italiano wasn’t just an ordinary member; he was my science teacher and mentor, and he held an active leadership role in the church. Under his guidance, I didn’t just become a member—I became a leader. In less than a year, I was given responsibilities, moving up from an officer to a Local Youth President, and eventually becoming the District President of a Deaf organization within Italiano. I was fully committed, not just spiritually but in action, dedicating my time and effort to serve the church. Back then, I truly believed I was in the right place. Everything shifted in June 2024. That was when I started immersing myself in philosophy, biblical studies, and religious criticism. I wasn’t just casually reading—I was devouring books and articles, listening to podcasts, and critically examining everything I had once accepted without question. Naturally, these new perspectives led to deep questions—questions I expected my church ministers to help me with. But when I reached out for guidance, I didn’t get the intellectual discourse I was hoping for. Instead, I was met with vague answers, deflections, and at times, outright dismissiveness. The more I pressed, the clearer it became that they didn’t have answers—at least, not ones that could withstand scrutiny. Frustrated but still searching, I began posting my thoughts on social media, mostly in the form of memes (because, let’s be real, memes are the best way to spark conversation). At first, it was just an outlet for my realizations, but it quickly caught the attention of fellow church members. Some engaged with curiosity, others with concern. Eventually, it reached the higher-ups. My local pastor showed up at my house for a "discussion." What started as a conversation turned into a heated debate. I challenged doctrines, questioned interpretations, and called out inconsistencies. The response? Instead of addressing the arguments, I was given the usual reminders to “just have faith.” It was clear that critical thinking wasn’t welcome. A few days later, I was summoned by a district staff minister. This time, there was no debate—just a reminder to be careful and a warning to keep my thoughts to myself. The tension lingered for about a month, but things took a definitive turn when the church became more explicit about its political agenda, especially in light of recent events. That was my breaking point. I called out the church’s political involvement on my social media, refusing to stay silent. That was the final push. Shortly after, I was officially excommunicated. Through this journey, I arrived at three major realizations that made me see the Bible and religion in a completely different light—not from a theological perspective, but from a critical, philosophical one: 1. The Bible does not have an inherent meaning, nor is it univocal. Its interpretation is shaped by people, influenced by biases, cultural contexts, and personal agendas. There is no single, absolute truth within its pages. 2. There’s no such thing as "religion" in a fixed sense—it’s a fluid collection of human expressions, shaped by society and, in turn, shaping society itself. It’s not a divine institution but a social construct that evolves over time. 3. Historically, the Bible has been weaponized to serve those in power. It has been used to justify slavery, marginalize people, subjugate women, and enforce oppressive systems—all under the guise of divine authority. Now, as an atheist, I’m not here to demonize religion or the Bible entirely. They are not inherently bad—they are tools, and like any tool, they can be used for good or harm. My goal isn’t to erase religion but to challenge the dogmas that uphold power asymmetry, control narratives, and suppress critical thought. This journey isn’t about rejecting everything—it’s about seeking truth, questioning inherited beliefs, and ensuring that whatever philosophies or worldviews we adopt, they serve humanity rather than control it. Angelo, 22 Malabon City

#ExChristiansofthePhilippines4 Since childhood, I had attended church every Sunday, finding joy in it—especially because my grandfather was the pastor. Back then, my Christian faith felt pure, untainted by judgment or hypocrisy. My grandfather led with kindness, and the church felt like home. But even as a child, I carried questions in my heart. If God was loving, why was my family always in conflict? Why was my home filled with fights and trauma, no matter how often I prayed? I did everything right—attended church faithfully, followed the teachings—yet my life remained filled with pain. As time passed, the church changed. After my grandfather passed away, a new pastor took over, and with him came a different message—one that I struggled to accept. I remember sitting in the pews as he preached that all gay people were destined for hell. I felt something inside me break. How could a place that claimed to teach love and acceptance speak words filled with so much hate? I swallowed my pain, but deep inside, I began to feel that maybe I didn’t belong here. Everything built up over time, and my breaking point came when the former president was arrested. I was vocal about politics, unafraid to stand up for what I believed was right. But in the eyes of the church, that made me an outcast. They turned against me, whispering about me behind my back. In our church youth group chat (CYF), someone sent a message: *“As Christians, we shouldn’t get involved in politics. We should focus solely on our spiritual growth.”* I couldn’t stay silent. I argued that Jesus Himself fought for justice, defended the poor, and stood against oppression. *“If you only focus on spiritual growth while ignoring the suffering around you, then you are nothing but hypocrites,”* I told them. But instead of listening, they laughed at me. No one stood by my side. The next day, I still decided to attend Sunday school. I arrived late, and as soon as I stepped inside, I heard them talking about me. *“He has no good manners,”* one of them said. Another added, *“Roy is here, be quiet.”* They quickly changed the topic, but I already knew. They had been gossiping about me, judging me behind my back. At that moment, I felt an overwhelming realization—I didn’t belong here. The place that once felt like home had become nothing but a house of judgment. I had spent so much of my life trying to fit into a faith that had no room for people like me—people who questioned, people who fought for justice, people who didn’t blindly follow. That was the day I chose to leave Christianity behind. Not because I wanted to abandon morality, but because I wanted to embrace something deeper—humanity. I realized that not everyone who goes to church is good. Faith is not measured by how often you pray, but by how much you choose to love, to fight for justice, and to stand for what is right. And if believing in humanity made me an outcast, then so be it. Because out of 1,000 followers of Jesus, maybe only 100 are truly sincere. And I would rather stand with the few who fight for what is right than be part of the many who turn a blind eye. RC 22 SND, Mindanao

#ExChristiansofthePhilippines3 I haven't yet found a community where my experience as a Christian were validated. Sometimes I feel like I am the wrong one for leaving, or for villainizing them because those I left are still in the same belief. When I realized that questioning my faith was in too deep, and I can never go back again to believe, my world kind of fell apart. They were all I had. They told me nobody can love me truly outside the church because real love only exists within God/Christ and those who believe. I have friends outside the church but I dont see them as "true" friends because of what I was told. But when I was at my lowest, my church friends were nowhere. It was pandemic, maybe we were all going through something but I felt alone. Maybe they will say, I did not see God as sufficient for my problems but I needed community. My non-church friends were there. They loved me through all my rock bottoms. They were there when I came back from long isolation. My world shattered when I realized I dont believe in any God anymore because I am losing a community. I am not close with my family, so they were all I had. Now, I realized that I was faking so much parts of myself while I was in church. I was forcing myself to fit in. 5 years after, I found my people and I dont need to be apologetic about who I am. I just get to be myself without thinking that this action might hurt God or something. There is more to it all but I felt like my life shattered when I lost my church community.

#ExChristiansofthePhilippines2 I told my parents I am an atheist 10 years ago when I was a graduating college student here in Pangasinan. Coming from a conservative and religious family, they are against it and cannot accept my view. I even once heard my mom calling me a demon for not believing in the Christian god. I felt abandoned and miserable leaving the fold after that until I got to know a fellow atheist in my workplace that eventually started a group of atheists here in the province under the wing of Philippine Atheism, Agnosticism and Secularism Inc. or PATAS. From that time on, I found a "family" that fully accepts my atheist viewpoint. It helped me to become more certain with myself and more confident in life since there are people who finally understands me who also share the same experience of animosity with their family and circles. After all, the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water in the womb. - Troy, 31 Dagupan, Pangasinan