Leaving a religious community isn’t just about stepping away from belief—it’s about stepping away from a whole way of life. When faith is the foundation of your friendships, what happens when that foundation crumbles? And what happens when, in the process of leaving, you finally come out as your full, authentic self—only to find that the people who once claimed to love you no longer do?
I know this because I’ve lived it. The moment I started questioning, I felt the shift. But the moment I came out, the shift became a rupture. Friends who had once prayed with me suddenly stopped speaking to me. Some reached out, not to offer support, but to express their concern—concern for my soul, concern for my “lifestyle,” concern that I was choosing the world over God. Others didn’t say anything at all, just let the silence settle in, like my queerness had rendered me invisible.
The loss was heavy. The loneliness was suffocating. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that loss is not the final word. Leaving faith and/or coming out doesn’t mean living without deep, meaningful connection—it just means finding it in new places, in new ways, and sometimes, with new people.
The Loss of Faith-Based Friendships
Religious communities often function as built-in social circles. There’s a rhythm to it—weekly gatherings, small groups, prayer meetings, casual catch-ups over coffee that turn into theological discussions. These friendships can feel deeply intimate because they’re built around shared belief, shared purpose, and, often, shared vulnerability.
But that depth can come with conditions.
Many of us who leave faith—especially those of us who come out as queer in the process—find that our friendships were not as unconditional as we once thought. When belief is the glue that holds a relationship together, questioning that belief can make everything feel unstable. And when your identity itself is seen as the problem? That’s when you realise just how conditional that love really was.
Some friends might feel obligated to “bring you back.” Others might not know how to relate to you outside of a shared faith framework. And some—let’s be real—might judge you. Hard. For me, it wasn’t always direct condemnation (though there was plenty of that). It was the quiet pity, the condescending messages about praying for me to “find my way back,” the refusal to acknowledge the wholeness of who I was. It was knowing that the people I once trusted with my heart now saw my queerness as a burden, a deviation, something to be mourned.
The loss of those friendships can trigger a cascade of emotions:
- Grief – Losing people who once felt like family.
- Sadness – Mourning the memories, the shared experiences, the closeness that’s now gone.
- Loneliness – Feeling like no one truly understands what you’re going through.
- Betrayal – Realising some friendships were conditional.
- Shame – Wondering if you were ever truly known or loved.
- Anger – At the hypocrisy, at the rejection, at how easily they let you go.
- Fear – Doubting whether you’ll ever find belonging again.
It’s painful. And it’s okay to feel all of it.
Trusting Again: Rebuilding Connection After Religious Trauma and Coming Out
After being burned by friendships that didn’t survive your faith shift and your queerness, it can be hard to trust again. The fear of rejection, of being misunderstood, of not being “enough” without the spiritual identity you once carried—it’s real.
So how do you start to rebuild?
1. Take Time to Grieve
Losing friendships is still loss. Sometimes, in the rush to move forward, we forget that healing starts with acknowledging what’s been broken. Let yourself grieve the friendships that didn’t last. Mourn the version of your life where those people were permanent fixtures. It’s okay to miss them, even if they hurt you. It’s okay to long for the connection you thought you had.
But also remember: the loss of conditional friendships makes space for real ones.
2. Identify What You Actually Need in a Friendship
Religious friendships often come with a script: be accountable, be available, be spiritually encouraging. And for many of us who were closeted within those friendships, there was an added layer—be acceptable, be straight-passing, be silent about who you are.
But what do you actually want in a friend? What values matter most to you now?
- Do you need friends who celebrate your queerness, not just tolerate it?
- Do you need spaces where you don’t have to educate people on why religious trauma hurts?
- Do you need people who meet you in your full complexity—your joy, your grief, your uncertainty?
Naming these things can help you recognise the friendships that align with where you are now.
3. Find Community in New Places
This part can feel daunting. Where do you even start?
- LGBTQIA+ spaces – Queer friendship, chosen family, and community are life-giving, especially after coming out of religious spaces that shamed who you are. Look for LGBTQIA+ social groups, meetups, or online communities.
- Ex-religious or deconstruction communities – Online spaces, in-person meetups, or support groups can offer a soft landing for those of us who’ve lost friendships due to faith shifts.
- Interest-based communities – Book clubs, hiking groups, art classes, game nights—connecting over shared passions can be a powerful way to form new friendships.
- Reconnect with old friends – Sometimes, people from your past (outside of church) are still there, waiting.
- Lean into therapy or support networks – Especially if trust feels hard to rebuild.
The Beauty of Post-Faith, Post-Coming-Out Friendships
Here’s the thing about friendships after faith and after coming out: they’re often built on something deeper than shared belief. They’re built on you—your values, your quirks, your experiences, your full, unfiltered self.
When I left the church and came out, I thought I’d lost everything. But the friendships I’ve built since? They are better—not because they are perfect, but because they are real. There’s no more walking on eggshells. No more performing. No more hiding the parts of me that don’t fit into a theological framework.
I’ve found some of my most meaningful friendships outside of religion. Friends who don’t need me to believe the same things they do. Those who don’t view my life as a cautionary tale. Friends who see me, fully, as I am. And the beauty of it? These friendships aren’t based on fear of losing each other if one of us changes. They allow for growth. They make space for evolution.
If you’re in the thick of friendship loss after faith and after coming out, I want you to know—new connections will come. It may take time. It may not look the way you expected. But you are not alone. The people who will love you for who you truly are? They’re out there. And you will find them.
If you’re navigating the loss of friendships after leaving faith or coming out, know that you’re not alone—so many of us have walked this path. Hearing others share their experiences can be powerful, which is why I explore these stories on my podcast, Beyond the Surface. And if you need space to feel, grieve, and process all the emotions that come with this loss, don’t hesitate to reach out for support. Healing happens in connection—you don’t have to do this alone.