The Secret I was Taught to Believe

I was raised to believe that I knew something other people didn’t.

That almost everyone in the world was going to hell—except for the few of us who had “the truth.”

I remember sitting in church one Sunday—maybe 300 people in the room—and my dad leaned over and whispered,

“Lea, look around. Only 10% of these people are actually saved.”

I was maybe 9 years old.

It’s wild to think about now. But for so long, I carried that belief like armor.

It shaped how I saw the world. How I treated people. How I understood myself.

It gave me certainty. But it also made me afraid of everything that didn’t fit the story.

I wasn’t encouraged to be curious.

I was encouraged to be godly.

And that belief system gave me a framework where love was conditional, questions were dangerous, and doubt was weakness.

It’s not easy to admit all of that.

Sometimes I feel embarrassed thinking about what I used to believe.

But I also have compassion for that version of me.

I was a child. I was doing what I was taught.

And what began to unravel it all… wasn’t rebellion.

It was empathy.

I started noticing how my beliefs were limiting my ability to understand other people.

To really see them.

To let them shape me.

To learn from lives that looked different than mine.

And I realized that if I couldn’t listen—if I couldn’t let go of judgment—then I would never grow.

I would stay locked in a version of myself that was safe but small.

For me, deconstruction wasn’t about throwing everything away.

It was about asking:

Can I love people better than this system taught me to?

Can I live from curiosity, not fear?

And once that door opened, I couldn’t close it again.

Empathy led me out.

Curiosity kept me going.

And now, I’m rebuilding from a place of presence.

I don’t have all the answers.

But I trust myself now in a way I never did back then.

And I trust that the more human I become, the closer I get to whatever is sacred.