Min Tro: How Deepening My Faith Led Me Out of Religion
Author’s Note: The content of this blog reflects my personal experiences and perspectives on magic. Witchcraft is a deeply individual practice, and my approach may not align with everyone’s beliefs or traditions. I encourage readers to explore, question, and adapt what resonates with them. Nothing shared here is meant to serve as absolute truth or professional advice. Trust your intuition, do your own research, and walk your own path.
This morning, I received an email from one of the religious communities I used to be a part of. It was nothing unusual—just an invitation, a call to join the community again and participate in a convention. But as I read it, I felt nothing but a sense of detachment. It was a strange feeling, realizing just how far removed I am from that space now. Not just physically, but spiritually. It got me thinking about the path that led me here, to a place where I am deeply rooted in my faith but no longer tied to any organized religion.
I was raised in an evangelical Christian household, though I made the decision early in life that Christianity was not for me. That decision didn’t matter much to my mother, though—I was still forced through baptism, confirmation, and even had to "rededicate" myself to Christianity on a stage at a massive evangelical festival. It wasn’t until middle school that I was finally able to step away from my mother’s faith entirely and begin my own spiritual journey. That choice came at a cost: I was forced to leave my mother’s house and live with other relatives, but they at least gave me the space to explore spirituality on my own.
That exploration led me to the Order of Bards, Ovates, and Druids, where I found a connection to nature-based spirituality. Later, in my first year of college, I discovered the faith that would go on to shape my spiritual practice to this day. I studied, I practiced, and I devoted myself to it wholeheartedly. And yet, as time passed, I began to see that the deeper I got into my faith, the more I found myself at odds with the religious community built around it.
Leaving was not a sudden decision—it was the natural conclusion of a long, slow realization: the faith I had built in my heart did not align with the structures, ideologies, and limitations of the religion itself.
Inconsistency in virtues and rituals. There was no shortage of material to build a faith from, but the communal religion leaned more on Wiccan-inspired structures than on the historical and archaeological foundations of the faith.
Christianized concepts creeping in. Over time, the religion has taken on more monotheistic traits, leaning toward the worship of a single god while demonizing one devil-like figure. These weren’t native to the faith, but they have become dominant ideas nonetheless.
The erasure of goddesses. The feminine aspects of the pantheon was constantly diminished, especially by men in the community. The goddesses were treated as secondary—as if they were mere footnotes rather than vital aspects of the tradition—and often synchronized into one figure or erased altogether.
Racism, nationalism, and sexism. Though none of these things were inherent in the faith’s mythology or teachings, they were rampant in the community—even in spaces that claimed to be inclusive. Too often, I saw history twisted to fit modern political and racial narratives.
A lack of daily faith. The culture of the community was mainly centered around holiday rituals and public gatherings, but there was little emphasis on living the faith daily. Most of the rituals felt more like cosplay than a spiritual path.
Suspicion toward personal spirituality. Those who sought deeper personal faith practices were accused of bringing "Christian baggage" into the tradition—even as the larger community was unconsciously absorbing Christian ideology in other ways.
Misunderstanding of community. The idea of "community" was treated as something that existed only within religious spaces, rather than something that extended to our lived, daily relationships. I believe the virtues associated with community and social behaviors are about the people we share our lives with, not just the ones we stand in ritual with a few times a year.
What I’ve come to understand is this: my faith is not dependent on any religious institution. In fact, I feel closer to my gods, my spirits, and my spiritual practice now than I ever did within the confines of a religious community. I have stripped away the expectations, the contradictions, the compromises, and what remains is something real, something raw, something mine.
I don’t regret my time in religion—I learned a great deal from it, and I honor the path that brought me here. But I know now that my faith was never meant to be confined. It was meant to be lived.
