Why I Left God Behind to Find My True Self: Deconstructing Christianity

Photo by Steven Menendez

When I found my light and began living life to the fullest, I felt that I was slowly becoming free of the binds that tied so many—men and women alike—to their misery. This light wasn’t gifted by God or granted from above. It emerged from within me—through near-death experiences, deep meditation, and ultimately, my ayahuasca ceremonies in Peru. Over five years, I reawakened. It all started with sobriety—the most terrifying leap of faith I’d ever taken—not because I believed a higher power would save me, but because I stopped believing I needed to be saved at all. The second biggest leap of faith would be leaving the faith and deconstructing the disastrous effects of christianity on my life.

Before that, it was me against the world. I thought if I could just control everything, fit people into the right boxes, and shape my life to mirror what the world told me I should want—wife, house, car, success—then I’d finally be safe. But the problem wasn’t the world. It was the script I’d been given. A script rooted in religion, patriarchy, shame, and submission. A script that said I wasn’t enough. That I had to earn love. That I had to perform for God.

But God wasn’t there. Not really. God was an idea—a projection of fear, control, and punishment. A system designed to keep us in our little boxes. And when I stopped looking for Him, I found something far more real: myself.

So many live their lives inside this theater, clinging to their roles, their dramas, their small containers of safety. They call it love, but it’s fear wearing perfume. They don’t see the bigger picture because they’ve been told not to look beyond it. And when anyone dares to question the script—when anyone breaks character—the whole stage shakes. That’s why people fight to keep each other small.

I couldn’t live like that anymore. I stopped forcing people into my theater. I stopped casting myself as the savior. I jumped—from the narrative, from the structure, from the performance. I leapt into the wild stream of life. The one that has no stage, no lines, and no God directing the scene. Just movement. Just flow. Just presence.

What we focus on shapes our reality. The more we fixate on our little conflicts, the more trapped we become. And that cycle—of suffering, shame, and submission—is a loop religion thrives on. I stepped off that loop. I became the underdog who chose himself. Not by divine intervention, but by radical self-ownership.

I’ve found joy in becoming my own hero. In reclaiming my story. Not in chasing God’s will, but in living my own. Virtues like love, courage, and integrity don’t come from scripture. They rise from experience. From touching the fire and not being burned. From holding the messiness and not turning away.

I surrendered—not to God, but to reality. To myself. That’s what I wrote about in "My Suicide Race." That was the beginning of my real faith—not in the divine, but in the sacred power of self.

Today, I follow my bliss—not because a prophet said to, but because my body leads me there. I live in rhythm with desire, presence, and motion. Just like I learned guiding rafts down a river: you don’t control the current—you move with it.

We are movement. We are pulse. We are divine not because we are made by God, but because we are born of the earth, of stars, of sex, and fire. And if we don’t honor that, we miss the whole point.

Now, I live fully. People are often shocked by how much I can fit into a single day. But that’s what happens when you stop living for someone else’s plan and start worshiping your own breath. Food tastes better. Sex feels sacred. Sweat becomes holy. I’ve turned life into a ritual—not for God, but for myself.

Through this, I’ve redefined love. I’ve learned not to demand or control. I don’t see people as puzzles to solve or souls to save. I see them as sacred mirrors, imperfect and beautiful. I no longer expect anyone to be everything for me. That was never love—it was ego, dressed in devotion.

Relationships are no longer places of performance for me. They're spaces of exploration. Of permission. Of shared breath. I’ve stopped trying to shape others to fit me. I simply hold space and offer love. Not because God demands it—but because I choose it.

This way of living isn’t painless. Like every rose has its thorn, this freedom sometimes cuts. But I’d rather bleed in truth than live numb in a lie. I’ve learned that to love like the divine, I must love without condition—not because I’m commanded to, but because I’m free to.

Now, I serve not God, but life. I love people, animals, wind, water, and myself as sacred. And if someone doesn’t love me back that way, it’s okay. I don’t need it. I am whole without it.

This shift transformed my relationships, my work, my worth. I stopped being what others expected. I became what I already was. And that became the example others saw—not someone saved by God, but someone reborn through self-trust, self-touch, and self-love.

I am no longer a disciple. I am a creator. Not a servant, but a sovereign. Not a worshiper, but the worship itself.

And if you’re still in the box, still on the stage, still waiting for God to give you the greenlight—

here’s your invitation:

Jump. The stream is wild, but it’s yours.