Dear honest daughter,

It really broke my heart to see that you felt that you had failed your mother as a daughter. You didn’t fail me, and if you’re reading this, somewhere out there, I want you to let you know that.

I was encouraged by your words because there was a time when I also felt guilty, like I had failed others as a brother, as a son, and as a friend. I also felt like the definition of a disappointment when those closest to me, the ones I cared about most deeply, yearned for the same “spiritual” support I once gave them as a Christian. I would be lying if I didn’t say that a lot of my anger at Christianity is partly rooted in the fact that I can no longer give them the camaraderie in their Christian walk that they seek.

Every day, I have the chance to give them that support. And every day, I feel pain in making the decision to let them down, yet again. Over and over.

I wasn’t prepared for this when I left Christianity. I mean, I was prepared to be hurt by other people. I was willing to take it all, no matter how severe the consequences to myself, when I left. So I thought I knew what I was getting into.

But I was not prepared to hurt those closest to me. I wasn’t prepared for feeling like a terrible person, a disappointment, a person who, in the minds of those who loved me, was an outspoken enemy of the God that they depended on to get through each day.

I know it can be confusing to feel deeply hurt by the fact that you – the real, genuine you — are hurting people you love.

The whole experience made me upset at how fully I had given myself to Christianity before, creating many relationships based on an identity that I could no longer honestly sustain. It wasn’t just Christianity I was angry at – it was the fact that I had brought so deeply into it, setting myself up to let so many people down when I realized it wasn’t true.

I don’t know if you feel any of that. But I think your story is powerful because a lot of people do – many people whose deconversion stories touch my heart mourn about how their lack of belief seems to be doing terrible things to the people they love, which makes them angry at religion and at the fact they ever were religious in the first place.

I understand enough about this situation to know that I don’t understand yours, because I have yet to meet someone who fully understands mine. Our experiences are our own. You don’t really know how difficult it is to be deeply religious and then realize it isn’t true — letting all these people who respected and loved you down – unless you’ve experienced it. Sometimes, it’s hard to know the right thing to do. Sometimes you feel lost, like there are no right decisions – as if any decision you make will lead to regret. And you may be right.

Maybe my advice may sound cold and cruel or selfish. But I’m saying it with tears in my eyes. I wish I could hold your heart or give you a hug for what I’m about to say next. It’s a hard thing to admit; difficult words to embrace. It blew my world apart at first, and it’s only five words:

This is not your fault.

The fact that Christianity is not true is not your fault.

The fact that your mother is a Christian is not your fault.

The fact that you may have been raised Christian, only to find that Christianity was not true, is not your fault. Christianity was fabricated long before you were born; your parents were Christian before you took your first breath, most likely, and the myth was created hundreds of years before your time.

It’s not your fault your mother was a Christian, and it’s not your fault that what she believed isn’t true.

It’s not.

There have been times in my life when I wanted to make what other people believed about Christianity real and true. But it’s not. I may want to believe a dear friend doesn’t have cancer. But if he does, that’s the reality. And life is a process, sometimes, of making peace with things that aren’t true, and even with the fact that their presence is not OK.

And that’s OK.

If you had prayed with your mom, that would have been saying, in a sense, that you have a responsibility to make Christianity come to life for her, and you don’t. Christianity’s truth does not depend on you, and it is not our responsibility to uphold a lie.

I want you to know that the impact your story made on me caused me to realize that, to see the value of being genuine. It caused me to come to the tearful and heartfelt conclusion that I would rather live for a truth that draws a tear than for a lie that brings a smile.

And the knowledge of that leads to deeper, more sincere relationships. I think that’s what you learned from that experience – that this is what you want. That you want to be comforting, that you want to be a companion, that you want to be a friend, but that you want to do so as yourself, not as someone you pretend to be.

Your relationships have integrity. Even the limited relationship here, in the raw honesty of your postcard, has integrity.

It’s a pity I don’t know your name, because it would truly be an honor to meet you. But if I never do, and yet you end up reading this…please know that, even though we’ve never met, I can tell by your honesty that you are a beautiful person and a beautiful daughter.

I genuinely think that, if she understood you, your mother would be proud.

With sincere gratitude,

Peter Mosley