If you’ve ever been adopted by a cat, you’ve undoubtedly gazed into the winking abyss of their asshole more often than you’d care to admit. It’s the classic feline bait-and-switch: your sweet, darling cat saunters over, eyes half-closed, dripping with affection, luring you into that warm, fuzzy place where you can’t wait to bury your fingers in his fur and coo about how he’s both the best boy and a baby, simultaneously. But just as you reach out, he calmly pivots, tail up, and treats you to a full, unapologetic display of his brown eye.
You’re going to look at my bum, Samantha.
I can’t help but think of this type of cat encounter when religious people whip out their faith without provocation. You’ll be enjoying some mundane small talk with someone you’ve just met, talking about the weather, maybe gas prices, and then, bam! The tail goes up, metaphorically speaking, and you’re face-to-face with an unsolicited sermon or a casual mention of “the one true path.” You’re left blinking, caught between polite silence and the urge to tell them you’re an atheist, while they bask in pride from their high horse. Like your cat, they’re convinced this is exactly what you needed in that moment.
In an ideal world, religious belief would be like a human (not feline) asshole in that it would be kept to oneself until someone specifically requests that one whip it out. Sure, you’re willing to share it with someone you’re intimately close with when there is consent, but you’re not going to drop trow and spread ‘em at the grocery store. Religion should be a private thing you do with your fellow believers, not a door-to-door sales pitch or a mandatory recital at every family gathering. But let’s be real: that’s not the world we’re living in. Instead, we’re stuck in a cacophony of unsolicited hymns, gospel flyers slipped under our doors, and social media feeds clogged with sanctimonious memes from people who think “sharing” equals “saving.”
Because religious beliefs tend to be put on display no matter where you go, your doubts might feel more like alarm bells. It’s a part of you that might have been kept to yourself if you weren’t constantly bombarded with religious belief everywhere you go. But, we live in this world, the one where people expect you to pray with them before dinner, or swear on a Bible in a courtroom or marry on your knees in front of a priest. And so, those of us who are godless and surrounded by a religious community are thrust into the position to have to tell everyone we no longer believe. There are only so many excuses one can give for not going to church. How long can you put off baptizing your child before someone raises an eyebrow? Who wants to hide the fact that you went to Pride and loved it? The only way out is to tell the truth; to let everyone know that you no longer share their beliefs. I am here to tell you that authenticity matters. Because living a lie, even a convenient one, eats away at you like termites in a wooden house. Sooner or later, the whole facade collapses.
Keeping your atheism a secret can feel like you’re living someone else’s life. It’s dehumanizing to constantly edit yourself, to laugh at jokes that don’t resonate, to participate in rituals that feel hollow. It’s like being in a play where everyone else got the script, and you’re just improv-ing to avoid blowing your cover. It’s exhausting and the only escape is the truth.
But, coming out as atheist feels about as comfortable as Andrew Tate in a room full of lesbian feminist sharpshooters. Why does it feel like announcing you don’t share the same beliefs as your loved ones is akin to declaring you’ve joined an underground cult that worships disco balls and eats cereal with a fork?
It’s bizarre, really. Here we are in the 21st century, where you can order a unicorn Frappuccino with extra glitter for $40 and no one bats an eye, but telling your family you’re an atheist feels like you’re admitting to a federal crime. The personal nature of belief gets tossed out the window the moment it doesn’t align with the majority. Suddenly, your internal musings become everyone’s business, and not in the fun gossip-at-the-water-cooler kind of way.
For those with religious parents, atheist children are their own personal apocalypse. You might as well tell them you’ve decided to become a giraffe who communicates exclusively through interpretive dance. Navigating this minefield as an atheist child of religious parents or an atheist with Christian parents is a high-stakes game of emotional Jenga, and one wrong move can make the whole thing come crashing down.
And let’s not forget the romantic front. Living with an atheist husband or partner when you’re on different spiritual wavelengths can feel like you’re speaking entirely different languages. One’s in Morse code, the other’s in emojis. It’s a delicate dance of respect, understanding, and occasionally pretending you didn’t hear that snarky comment about unbelievers burning in hell.
In some places, blasting your truth from the rooftops may not even be safe. There are cultures and countries where being openly atheist is about as welcome as a fart in an elevator. If you’re in a region where disbelief can get you shunned, jailed, or worse, then discretion isn’t just the better part of valor; it’s a survival tactic. You need to understand the risks you face before you decided to let anyone in on your doubt. You are the only one who can decide if you’re willing to take those risks.
But if you’re ready to come out and you’re in a safe place to do so, it can be the most freeing experience of your life. While we still wish religious belief could be personal, letting everyone know they can’t expect you to share their beliefs any longer is like unlocking your own cage. There may be fallout, there can be tremendous grief, but you will no longer be lying to the one person who should matter the most to you: yourself.
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Godless Mom
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