I wrote on my Substack this week about the God of my imagination.
I’d been reflecting on how I created God in my imagination. Which is, of course, what we all do as we learn about faith, as it becomes our framework, identity, worldview, a relationship with the divine.
It’s also why we can experience what Michelle Panchuk refers to as the “shattering of the self” when it unravels like a ball of string being tugged at a little, and then a lot.
As the ball started to unravel, I realised there were too many layers still connecting my imagined God and the unhealthy structure I had known him in – stuck together like the pages of a book that dries after falling in water. Stuck in ways that couldn’t be pried free.
I would need to create a healing story.
And that’s where you’ll find me still. Creating a spirituality of my imagination. A story of new anchors, or ‘creativity’ as one of my clients says, she can’t yet bring herself to use language of spirit.
A healing story that is bigger, more expansive and generous than the one I knew.
One that has connected me with my body perhaps for the first time since I was a child. How it feels, what it’s telling me, how it wants to move. This has been so nurturing.
One that allows the full breadth of emotions, not just the positive ones.
One that has time and moves slower.
One that is open and curious.
One that is slowly, still, rebuilding community and places of belonging.
One that is free (er).
I don’t have a name for these imaginings and my beautiful box is more of a place holder these days. I miss the certainty and the grief was costly. I’m still learning to find and use my voice, often looking over my shoulder for permission or reprimand.
My Self still sometimes feels the impact of being shattered, but my healing story is being written, holding the stories of so many others and coming to life.
If you’d like to work with me you can get in touch here. It’s my privilege to support people to navigate the impact of religious trauma and harm in faith spaces.
Jane
