You’ve likely heard the numbers by now. Approximately 23% of Americans are religiously unaffiliated (atheist, agnostic and “nothing in particular”). This demographic is expected to double by 2050.

Academia and the media are obsessed with this variegated and poorly understood group and how the growing numbers will play out in American society – and with good reason. Transformation on this scale is a type of national existential crisis and, in this case, it’s entangled with the nation’s historical Puritan ideal of being God’s “shining city on a hill.”

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I understand the desire to chart and track the evolution of religion in America. But I’d argue that this shift doesn’t just need to be documented – we also need to listen to the non-religious to understand their experiences. As someone who recently took a turn for the secular, I suspect that we’ll discover that not only is this new population as diverse as the individuals in it, many of us are grieving parts of what we lost along with our faith.

For me, grieving resulted from discovering that the religion I once held dear, which is central to my family and friends, no longer made sense of the world as I saw it. I felt I needed to be true to myself and honest with others and leave the church, but it didn’t mean I wouldn’t miss what I once thought was a sure thing.

Studies have shown that belief in God (particularly in the Christian West) often provides a sense of purpose, protection and social stability. God does not have to exist to have a real impact. It’s illegal to yell “fire” in a crowded building, for example, because even when that fire isn’t real, people will act as if it is. In yelling “fire,” we breathe existence into it. The presence – or absence – of God can have a tangible effect regardless of actual existence.

Many of us, then, grieve the loss of loved tradition, a liturgical calendar, the hope of an afterlife, the prayer book or the certainty of every moral choice. No less significant is the palpable grief that an atheist or agnostic might feel when one gives up the host of characters (e.g. God, the devil or angels) that fill a religious universe.

I was surprised – and I know I’m not alone in this – at how powerful the loss of God could feel. Beyond giving up loved abstract doctrines, it seemed more like a family member had died. And like any death of a loved one, there is a grieving period.

Similarly, those among the unaffiliated who are rejected by family and community as a result of exiting their faith often experience deep grief. I’ve talked to people who have lost spouses and children after leaving a religion. I’m fortunate in this case, because while my family is deeply religious, they have continued to embrace me.

I felt the grief of loss, instead, in relation to my career. Raised and educated in the evangelical world, I was an evangelical seminary professor, just the sort of job a secular humanist is unable to hold. Out of respect for them, I chose to walk away from my position – and from the certainty of my future.

It is true that plenty of individuals might happily embrace a change, particularly if they are survivors of abusive religious communities or now see religious belief as irrational and dangerous. For others, it might be less dramatic and more of a subtle process of questioning, not realizing where they are until they turn around to see how far they’ve traveled.

This brings me back to the complexities of the unaffiliated: we are not a monolithic group needing a one-size-fits-all solution, but what many of us are experiencing is clearly grief. For the newly secularized, a few secular assemblies hope to fill the social losses. But the majority of the unaffiliated are not secular and may not have discovered a new community.

There are ways to help as a society. If you’re religious, stop assuming that the person next to you is as well. Don’t shame those who are not convinced of your beliefs into silence, but actively welcome honesty.

If you identify as unaffiliated and have a story to tell, invite others who are still in the process to also tell theirs. Immediately after I went public about my new status, like-minded individuals came out of the woodwork wanting to talk. For the sake of a healthy society, be the support mechanism you once needed. That might mean being a grief counselor.

Mourn with those who mourn; weep with those who weep. And when individuals finally resolve their grief, celebrate with those who celebrate.