Innumerable Sins by Peighton Weber (18, Missouri)

Imagine, for a moment, that you’re a parent. Imagine that you’re pushing your child in a stroller down the sidewalk. Now, imagine a man you’ve never seen before approaches you and your child. You have never met this man before. In fact, you have never even seen this man before, nor have you ever heard his voice, but he approaches you. He points to your child and says, “Your child is disgusting and sinful and broken, and I am the only one who can fix it. All you have to do is worship me and do everything I say. And if you don’t, I will burn you and your child alive.” How would you react in that situation? Would you agree to worship him and do everything he says? Would you turn and run in the opposite direction? Would you call the police? 

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Now, let me paint you another scenario. Imagine the same situation, except instead of some random man, it’s a preacher with a bible. The preacher approaches you and says, “Your child is disgusting and sinful and broken, and God is the only one who can save it. All you have to do is worship him and do everything he says. If you don’t, you and your child will burn forever in the pits of hell.” Would your reaction differ? How? 

One final scenario. Imagine you are that child. Imagine either the preacher or the random man coming up to you and telling you that you are broken and sinful and disgusting and the only reason you are alive is that someone else decided that you are worthy of it, but only if you live the way they want you to. As unlikely as it may seem to ever find oneself in a situation such as these, I have been the child in this situation before. 

Growing up, I was taught that I was born broken. I was taught that I was nothing without God, and that I should put him above everything else in my life. I was taught that anything I did that he didn’t like would damn me to hell. It was because of an upbringing like this that I grew up with such deeply-rooted self-hatred that, to this day, I’m struggling to heal from. I was taught that I wasn’t meant to love myself. I was taught that my own needs should be my lowest priority. That self-hatred only got worse as I grew up. The amount of shame I felt when I realized I was gay is indescribable, and it was even worse when I tried to come out as trans. The two biggest parts of my identity were villainized and I was disgusted with myself simply because I existed. I remember the tightness in my chest and the burning of my eyes as I cried myself to sleep some nights. I remember sitting in church on Sundays and listening to the preacher condemn people like me. I remember being told that I wasn’t good enough and that I was never going to be good enough.

​It wasn’t until I was fifteen that I finally started to recognize the harm that religion did to me and continues to do to other people that can’t escape it. It wasn’t until I graduated from my Christian middle school and started public school that I realized how sheltered I had been. I heard people that were loud and obnoxious and didn’t care who heard them. I saw people with dyed hair and piercings and shaved heads. I saw people who could wear whatever they wanted, and no one looked just like everyone else. I met people that had never been to church a day in their lives and they were happier than I ever was. That’s when I started to get curious. 

What else had religion hidden me from? 

Thus, I began to let go of my beliefs and focus instead on rebuilding my own self-confidence. Perhaps I did so a little too well, as I now worship myself as a God over any other physical or ethereal being. I now exist only for myself, and while I still struggle with self-love occasionally as a result of the way I was raised, I will never again put someone else’s wants over my own needs. Even if I did still believe in God, I would not worship him. God can cast his judgment, but his sins will forever outnumber mine.

And should the day ever come when I find myself on my knees in worship before another ethereal tyrant, I would surely rather burn.