When I first realized that I might’ve been raised in a cult, I immediately wondered, “How can I be the only one in my family to see this?” I was the fourth generation in my family to be stuck in this cult, and only a few had decided to ever leave.
Almost three years later, I know that I’m just a pattern breaker. And that’s an extremely difficult role to play. It means being ostracized by people who claimed to love you. It means accepting new truths and new information, no matter how much it completely shatters your sense of reality.
Religion was ultimately an empty sense of security. I thought I knew why humans existed, what my purpose was, and what happened after death. And now I don’t. And interestingly, it’s actually super freeing to not know the answers. Because I’d rather have questions that I can’t answer, than answers I can’t question.