11/05/2025
Ten years ago today, I watched my church choose policy over people. And I knew I couldn’t stay.
The November 2015 exclusion policy wasn’t just a handbook update—it was a line in the sand. For me, it was the moment cognitive dissonance became unbearable. I couldn’t reconcile the gospel of radical love I’d been taught with an institution that would bar children from baptism because of who their parents loved.
So I left.
But here’s the complicated part: I didn’t leave the culture, the casseroles, the hymns I still hum, or the community that shaped me. I miss potlucks where everyone brings funeral potatoes. I miss the certainty of knowing my role, my people, my place. I miss believing that goodness had a clear roadmap and that I was on it. But I don’t miss the cost of belonging. I don’t miss performing certainty I didn’t feel. I don’t miss watching LGBTQ youth (and let’s be real, myself) twist into shapes to fit a system that was never built for us.
This anniversary isn’t about bitterness—it’s about bearing witness.
To the harm. To the resilience. To everyone who stayed, everyone who left, and everyone still figuring out what the hell comes next.
For my fellow exmo baddies navigating the messy middle: 🫶
- You can grieve what you lost AND celebrate who you’ve become
- You can honor your roots while pruning the branches that hurt you
- You can miss the community without missing the conditions of membership
- You can be tender about your past and fierce about your future
The policy was reversed in 2019. The trauma wasn’t. And now, with new restrictions on trans members (Aug 2024), the pattern continues.
So today, I’m remembering. I’m honoring the version of me who stayed as long as she could. And I’m standing with everyone still fighting for a place at tables that were never meant to include them. 📖