Deconstruction. You’ve torn it all down. Now what?
There’s this moment, after the late-night Googling, the panicked journal entries, the “wait… did I just become a heretic?” spiral, when things finally start to quiet down. You’ve questioned the theology, challenged the authority, left the group chat, unfollowed the megachurch pastor, and stared down the shame that kept you tethered to beliefs that no longer feel like home.
The scaffolding has come down. The doctrine is dust.
But now you’re just… here.
In this strange, blurry space between who you used to be and whoever the hell you’re becoming.
It’s not nothing. But it’s definitely not clear.
This weird in-between, the space after deconstruction, isn’t talked about enough. Probably because it’s hard to describe, and even harder to sit in. So, let’s talk about it.
The In-Between is Real (and Uncomfortable as Hell)
There’s a grief that hits when the height of leaving fades. At first, deconstruction can feel powerful – liberating, even. Like you’ve finally given the middle finger to a system that harmed you. You’ve said no more. You’ve said never again.
But then? You’re left standing in the rubble, holding a bunch of old beliefs in one hand and nothing concrete in the other. You might not believe in a god anymore or maybe you still do, but the version of God you were handed just feels like a cosmic narcissist. You’ve left the church, but still find yourself bracing when someone says “I’ll pray for you.” You’re trying to figure out what rest even feels like, because everything used to be about striving.
This is where the discomfort creeps in:
- You’re not who you were.
- You don’t know who you are.
- And that identity crisis? It’s exhausting.
I remember sitting at my kitchen table one night, staring at a candle (very exvangelical of me, I know), and thinking, “Okay… so what do I believe now?”
And then immediately spiralling into panic because I didn’t have an answer.
Turns out… you don’t need one. Not yet.
The Urge to Rebuild Fast is Real (But Can Be a Trap)
When the system falls apart, a lot of us, especially those of us raised in high-control environments can feel a massive pressure to “figure it out” again. To rebuild. To land somewhere. Anywhere.
Maybe you try progressive Christianity, or witchy Instagram spirituality, or astrology, (shout out to all of us who have tried all of those in one chaotic six-month sprint). You’re looking for the next thing to belong to, because floating in the unknown feels terrifying.
And honestly? That makes so much sense.
Certainty was once sold to you as the ultimate goal.
But rebuilding fast can sometimes be another version of spiritual bypassing. It looks different but the same unprocessed stuff is still sitting underneath. Instead of giving yourself the space to feel grief, anger, confusion, joy, relief, and sometimes wild, unexplainable hope all at once… you end up skipping ahead. Trying to “make sense” of it all before you’ve actually lived it.
The truth is:
You don’t need to rush to become someone new.
You just need to give yourself permission to be undone for a little while.
Sitting in the Slow Space
This is the part about deconstruction that no one teaches us.
How to be okay with being in-between when we were trained to chase clarity. To find the “right answer.” or to perform the right version of ourselves so we’d be safe and accepted.
So now, when there’s no ready-made identity to step into, it can feel like you’re doing something wrong. But what if this liminal space is actually sacred? What if slow is not a failure but a reclamation?
- Let yourself be in the mess.
- Let yourself ask questions that go nowhere.
- Let yourself cry over the parts of you that still want to go back because safety felt safe, even if it was manufactured.
- Let yourself rest. Like… real rest. The kind where you’re not “working on yourself” every minute, or trying to turn healing into a new project.
- Let yourself be boring. Or quiet. Or lost.
- Let yourself experiment.
- Let yourself try something, realise it’s not for you, and gently put it back down.
- Let yourself not know.
Honouring the Slowness (Even When Others Don’t Get It)
There will be people who don’t understand this space or deconstruction at all. Sometimes it’s friends who are still inside the system you left or the ex-believers who “figured it out” faster and make you feel behind. Maybe it’s family members who just want you to “go back to church already.”
And maybe (just maybe) it’s the voice in your own head that whispers, ‘Shouldn’t you be over this by now?‘
But healing isn’t linear. Identity isn’t instant and you are not behind. Slowness is where the deeper integration happens.
It’s where you start learning how to listen to your own voice not the one that was shaped by fear or dogma, but the one that’s emerging from a place of truth.
I’ve worked with so many people who’ve said, “I feel like I’m just floating. I don’t know where I belong.”. To which I always say: floating is still movement.
You’re not stuck, you’re in the sifting process of composting the old stories.
And that takes time.
Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is not jump to the next belief system. Sometimes the most rebellious thing you can do is pause.
You’re Not Broken. You’re Becoming.
The space after deconstruction can feel like a void but it’s also the beginning of something. You don’t need to rebuild your identity in a hurry and you don’t need a five-year plan for your soul.
- You are allowed to take your time.
- To grieve.
- To play.
- To rest.
- To explore.
- To not have it all together.
There is no perfect timeline and there is no perfect version of you waiting at the other side of this.
Just you, here, now.
Learning how to live with honesty and curiosity and softness. So if you’re sitting in the rubble, unsure of what’s next; you’re not alone and the dust will settle.
And what emerges won’t be a reconstruction of what once was, it’ll be something altogether new.
And it’ll be yours.
If you would like to connect you can find me on Instagram – @anchoredcounsellingservices or if you’re interested in therapy use this contact form.
Also, connect in with The Religious Trauma Collective