I’ve seen and heard people act cruelly in the daylight more than I’ve seen and heard in the night. I’ve acted cruelly in the light far worse than I’ve acted in the darkness.
The symbolism of light meaning good, love, and “godly” makes me wonder how far we’ve come from understanding that meaning. To split the world into a binary of light and dark, good and evil, is one of the most misguided things I’ve come to understand.
I’ve seen and heard people act cruelly in the name of their god far more than I’ve seen and heard atheists act cruelly at all. I have acted more cruelly with the thought of a Christian god in my mind than I’ve ever acted any other time.
When I was young, I was a walking contradiction. I had friends who loved those of the same sex, and I never wanted to make them feel inferior or worse for it. Yet I was ignorant, as all children are, and I blindly believed that my friends were going to hell. And I believed I would go to hell with them because I loved my friends.
I’ve always accepted I’m going to hell, like it’s a possibility because there are too many guidelines that I must not be following to get me to heaven. Also, I had family members of a different denomination of Christianity that truly believe if you weren’t part of their religion and followed their guidelines, then you’re going to hell. So I’ve always had these thoughts swirling in my head that I’m going to hell anyway because in so many other religions I’m not holding up to par.
And what a sad thing to think about as a child. To believe that your eternal life will be spent in some fiery pit with all your friends who did nothing wrong, committed no treason, no murder, no cruelty on the world. And what a terrible thing to make a child believe that they have it all right because of the church their parents took them to and their friends are not going to go to the same place as them. It’s traumatizing, honestly, not like we do it on purpose… most of us anyway.
So many people today, some Christians and some people who aren’t practicing Christians but still follow the rhetoric of Christian doctrine, have this blazing fear of “others” who are like my friends, like me, and claim that we are hurting their children somehow. But I have never been hurt more as a child than by the condemnation of a religion claiming this all-powerful light is the only way.
The rhetoric engulfing many denominations of Christianity that reiterate this idea that anyone who is “other”—meaning anyone who is not a cisgender, heterosexual, repenting Christian—is condemned to hell. It is clearly a problem that we still struggle with today. More wars have been started in the name of religion than any other reason in the world (which means more people have died due to religion than any other reason), so it’s not a surprise this toxic ideology lingers in 2023.
Though, the Lutheran church I went to growing up never centered itself around condemning others for being different. There weren’t awful sermons about condemning a whole world of people to hell because they weren’t like us and following the rules stated in one of the oldest books written by mortal men long dead and gone from this world. I know there are people who went or still go to that church who do condemn others for being different, so it can be a matter of perspective rather than church. My own condemnation came from tiny snippets of this archaic book and my perception of myself.
I never truly loved myself growing up, which I believe contributed to my acceptance of hell being a fate for me. I thought for all the cruel things I’d said and done out of ignorance, shame, and self-loathing that I deserved hell. And I never realized that I had this internalized negative self-talk until much later. Part of me used to think it was that “way of the light” talking down at me about all the wrongs I did throughout the days. And even if I prayed for forgiveness, I’d commit a whole knew string of cruelties the next day or two that left me feeling low and miserable.
The most ironic thing is, it would be at night whenever I had time to put my little hands together and ask for forgiveness. It was the shelter of darkness that made me feel best, yet it never lasted because daylight always came.
I don’t know how many kids have this overly critical voice in their head, but I think it’s quite a lot nowadays. Some “way of the light” people, even politicians, like to blame the internet for kids low self-esteem and negative self-talk, but they don’t even reflect on the narrative they’re feeding their children at the dinner table, or at church, or whenever their kids overhear their conversations.
At the end of high school, when I was worn down from being in that constant cycle of low, negativity, I decided to change, to be better—happier. One way to do that was trying to be more open to what “others” were saying instead of instantly shutting out their words because it wasn’t aligned with what I believed. I tried not to overly criticize others. At first, it started with holding my tongue. But the thoughts were still in my head, and it took a while to retrain my mind to not acknowledge those thoughts, eventually not even have them. Not as often anyway.
It takes a long time to try to be a better person, to be an open person. And I probably should’ve gone to therapy for better tools and someone to discuss all this with, but I don’t regret what I did. It was a slow process and very quiet. Internalized. I felt like a scared animal trying to decide whether it wants to cross the road or stay on the other side, so it inches its way across the road instead of sprinting.
I was run over a few times. Sometimes, I wounded myself. I would say something I regretted or do something that wasn’t in line with the person I was trying to be. But I started to realize no one else was paying attention to me crossing this road. They were too busy focusing on where they were going. It was freeing to start focusing on my own path instead of where everyone else was going and what they thought as they passed me by. I realized I was the only one who could pick myself back up and keep moving forward. Just me, which meant I had to acknowledge I was allowed to make mistakes and move on. I was allowed to take my own pace and enjoy the world more, especially as I learned so much more about the world.
Slowly, throughout college, I started forgiving myself little by little for things I thought would follow me to hell. It took me a long time to cultivate myself into someone I was proud to be, someone who accepted others and differences and stood up for them instead of let those in the way of the light crowd and condemn them. I still could be better, but I’m far better than I was even last year. It had always been there, that little part of me that chose love over condemnation and ridicule, but I never gave it a voice.
Now, it is my voice. It’s my perception. And although guilt and sadness follow me, like they do everyone, I had built armor around myself by the time I crossed that road. An armor clad with facts and events—from books, from history—that reminded me why I woke up and started having these thoughts of change and acceptance. Somedays I think I’m still crossing the road, and I wonder if it’s a lifelong journey. Maybe it is, or maybe it’s so engrained in my memory that I can go back and remember why I am where I am now, still building myself up the way I want to be. A way that spreads more happiness than despair.
It’s freeing when you get to a place where you realize your ability to forgive yourself is far more valuable than anyone else forgiving you. Because at the end of the day, every day on this mortal plane, it’s you. Just you. Even if you sleep next to someone, it’s just you in the darkness, and only you can make that darkness peaceful. It’s always been just you since the day you were born until the day you die. So what better way to spend your life than loving yourself, building yourself into someone you’re proud to be, someone who understands love and empathy and forgiveness because you’ve learned how to give those things to yourself.
Loving yourself is a hard task, a constant journey, so I’m not trying to say this is something you can do with the snap of your fingers after reading this. In this world, where so many people, even those who claim they love you, will condemn you and refuse to give you the forgiveness, kindness, or openness that you deserve. And I think we fail ourselves so much when we invest our value in what others see in us. Only we know what it took to cross the road and come out as someone we could be proud of, even if that person is someone you never imagined being when you started the journey. Some of us haven’t decided to cross that road yet, and some of us never will.
Trust me, I never thought I’d be this person, but I’m glad I am. I’m grateful I don’t dwell in sad places that make me think about the ridiculousness of eternal damnation. I’m happy to speak up and feed people the rhetoric that I believe in, a rhetoric that helps open eyes and hearts to see the toxic binds of negativity and condemnation. My soul—my self—has never felt more salvation or fulfillment because it was me who did this for myself.
I understand a semblance of the pain and suffering “others” have endured, and I find no joy in keeping my mouth shut when people in the “way of the light” act cruelly towards others. So condemn me for speaking out, for standing my ground, for making the ignorant look in a mirror. I’ve been prepared for hell all my life, and I’ll gladly go there if there is a god above us who believes that their creations should burn eternally for being different. That god is not all loving, so I’d rather not spend an eternity in ruse of a heaven that only allows cisgender, heterosexual Christians through its gates. In fact, going to a place like that would be hell to me.
God, I love who I am. I hope you learn how to love yourself because… “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?” (RuPaul) If there is an afterlife, I want to go where RuPaul goes.
E.H. Campbell 