19/06/2025
It had been two months and counting since I last stepped into a church. For someone who
had once been immersed in ministry—serving faithfully in the children’s department,
leading a Bible study home fellowship, and attending deliverance church services weekly—
my absence spoke volumes. I didn’t leave because I stopped believing in God. I left because I
felt like a fraud. You see, I had secrets. Secrets that tormented me daily. I couldn’t bear the
idea of standing in front of those young children, singing “Jesus Loves Me” while knowing I
was tangled in a lifestyle that contradicted the very gospel I preached. I feared that living a
double life would bring harsher judgment than simply choosing one path—and so I chose
silence and withdrawal. Some congregants noticed. They asked, “Where have you been?” I
brushed them off, thinking they were nosy. But now, I realize that those were not
accusations—they were expressions of genuine concern. Sometimes we misinterpret love as
intrusion when we’re hurting.
I began to isolate. Not just physically—but mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. Isolation, a
major sign of depression, had become my default. In psychological terms, it’s a defence
mechanism—distancing oneself from others to avoid shame, confrontation, or pain. I felt like
I had wronged God, and instead of living a lie, I chose solitude. I withdrew from the world.
Isolation wasn’t just my refuge—it was my punishment. In isolation, everything around you
becomes heavy. Conversations feel like burdens, laughter like noise. The very presence of
others grates against your soul. You begin to see yourself through distorted lenses—
worthless, unlovable and inadequate. That’s the devil’s playground.
*To be continued*
Are you isolating? 🤔