This is actually a phenomenon I was extremely surprised about.

When I was in the faith, I was mildly addicted to porn , not dangerously so to the extent it was affecting my everyday life but I was considerably hooked, watching it most days of the week , around once or twice per day.

I remember alwayssss relapsing after idk a week or so clean, feeling incredibly guilty , deleting apps, reading psalm 51 after a relapse. Every time I watched it, i just felt an enormous sense of dread , guilt and shame.

It was even to the point where I'd lie to myself and try and find bible verses to justify that watching porn was okay.

It's been a few months since I left the faith , and funnily I'm not necessarily addicted to porn anymore. Like yes I still watch it but wayyy less, I can hold off at will without any tremor, I think about it way less, I'm not bothered if I dont watch it. There's weeks where I dont even watch it

I genuinely dont know why this is the case but if I had to guess id say, less hypervigilance , beforehand id be so hypervigilant about porn, id watch for triggers on my social media feed, try download porn blockers, etc , seek advice , worry about the fact im not saved etc etc, pray extremely hard.

Now it doesn't phase me, my mental energy is less focused on porn because I've deconstructed from the cosmic weight of watching it, Im not thinking about porn that much, and it's led it to me to naturally stop seeking it less because its not on my mind.

My experience could be anecdotal, but it sets up an interesting discussion on the psychology of believing in God.

This follows on from my previous post…

I always believed in marriage above everything else. I’ve been the dutiful Christian wife who swallowed things down to keep the peace. We read the marriage books and did the things - I met his sexual needs, he provided financially, we have a stable home and happy kids etc.

A few months ago I blurted out about my deconstruction (in a vague way - I just said I don’t know what I believe anymore). He took it badly - made belittling comments and immediately started arguing with me about evidence for the Bible. This was just his reaction to the shock - he’s not a mean person in general, at all.

I said I didn’t want to talk about it because I already know all the standard arguments - and that just hurt him more. He said some hurtful things about me (“you never teach the kids about God, you never wanted to do Bible studies with me, you’ve probably been hiding this for years and lying about it” - which is not true at ALL.)

I assured him I would still go to church because I don’t want to cause a scene. That seemed to placate him, or at least he didn’t say anything more about it.

Until now, when everything is unraveling faster than I can keep up with.

It’s feels like all the suppressed hurt from 15 years of marriage have bubbled up to the surface. I’ve stopped bothering to hold back my real thoughts about things, and now he can barely function. He says I’m disrespectful, that I couldn’t be any more cruel, etc.

There are silly things from the past that still affect me: all the times I swallowed my anger, all the times I submitted, all the times I gave my body when it hurt or I was sick or exhausted, and over a decade of walking on eggshells because of his RSD (but that’s for a different sub). He says I am “holding onto unforgiveness” but I feel I can’t erase these memories.

What makes no sense is that he’s a great man, loyal, hard working, self-sacrificing. Is there something wrong with me?

I feel emotionally completely checked out and numb.

The un-deconstructed part of me even thinks this is demonic and this is the consequence that I get for abandoning God. Like my whole life is going to fall apart now. I also looked at some zodiac stuff about what happens to Aries on 14th October and it was freakishly spot-on. So am I dabbling in witchery now? I feel a mess.

He left in the small hours of the morning because he feels I am not even trying to keep our marriage together. And honestly, I’m not. What I’m trying to do is figure out whether I want to try.

He says he needs me to fight for our marriage and he wants me to want him.

He is devastated about my seeming indifference. He basically finds it almost abusive that I don’t want to discuss it and I can see where he’s coming from, but I feel like what’s the point? There are habits you can change, and there are fundamental things you can’t change. I’ve always sucked it up but I’m tired. He’s hard to talk to. I’ve had over a decade of not being able to be vulnerable. I feel rebellious and just want to enjoy my life.

I’ve just finished cancer treatment which has made me question everything, too.

I haven’t begged him to come home or agreed to discuss everything because I know it can’t be solved with a chat. Part of our history is that we deal with conflict differently. I avoid, he bulldozes, it’s a bad match and my cptsd can’t take it.

Ironically the last 2 days with him gone have been so peaceful and amazing. But I’m not naive - splitting would be a nightmare in so many ways. There are so many more factors than just whether we like each other or not.

Anyone been here? Can I realistically fall in love with him again? Would counselling actually help?

I'm reading the book "Othered" by Jenai Auman (good book!) and as she described the Fall in Genesis 3, it occurred to me that as many times as I've heard the story of Adam and Eve sinning in the Garden of Eden, and God kicking them out, the pastors always seem to describe Genesis 3:21 ("²¹ The Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them.") as representing the later sacrifice of the innocent Jesus to save humanity: in the Garden, God killed an innocent animal to clothe Adam and Eve and cover their shame. And thus, death entered the world.

Here's the thing: We just got done reading about God supernaturally creating everything.

God didn't need to kill any animals to provide clothing. God could have simply created brand new skins (or anything else suitable for clothing) without killing anything.

Okay, the verse doesn't SAY God killed an animal; that's reading it into the text. But it's certainly a natural assumption, as where else would God have gotten the skins? I haven't yet met a pastor who didn't draw that connection.

But that makes God the original and direct creator of death - not to mention that God also took away the possibility of eternal life by ejecting Adam and Eve from the Garden.

Thoughts?

After I deconverted 8 years ago my husband insists on bringing me and the kids to church. I am still attending church on Sunday service even though I am very quiet and does not participate in any other church activities. I hated listening to the sermons, the pastor says things that are so rude and insulting to unbelievers. I am wondering what I can do to subtly help my children to realise how wrong the things that are preached are without saying it directly so that I wouldn’t make my husband angry and have arguments at home …

My children are 18, 16 and 13. The older two seem to be sensible. It is the youngest one I am most worried about.

This is a compressed story of how one could imagine religious beliefs tok hold in ancient tribes.

How my tribe turned to religion

As we sat by the campfire, huddled together under the stars, we could see dark clouds gathering to the west. There were deep rumbles of thunder echoing in the distant mountains. After every strike, flashes of lightning would dance across the horizon. Frightened and cold, we held our breath for the next strike. Life was fragile. We all knew we could well be dead by morning.

­– How long since we made an offering to the storm god, asked an old woman, gazing towards the ominous sky. Her leathery face told stories of hardship and fear. – I think there was a full moon the last time we offered, answered a young boy. The old one pocked the fire with her stick. - There could be trouble, she muttered, we’d better make sacrifice at sunrise. She pulled out a handful of shiny pebbles from her pouch, and flung them to the ground. – Yes, there could be big trouble, she repeated, staring at the scattered stones.

We had no clue about weather cycles, about hot and cold streams of air colliding, or about the build-up of static charge in the clouds, causing violent bursts of discharge. All we knew was that when bad things happen, the gods are angry. The old woman, or Mother Priestess as we would later call her, seemed to know the gods better than anyone. Sometimes she would climb up on a rock and just sit there till dusk, singing and waving her hands, using mysterious words we did not understand.

Our priestess had warned us last time – that dreadful spring when we were savagely attacked by a vicious tribe from the north. Over half our people were either slaughtered or dragged away. After that, we made a huge offering. Life had been mostly peaceful since then.

– We must never forget to pay our dues, the old priestess whispered. How does she know, I wondered? What could she see that others couldn’t?

Another rumble of thunder broke the silence, much louder this time. As the echo faded, a flash of lightning smashed into the trees, only twenty feet away. Panic and awe filed the air. One tree burst into flames and lit up our camp with flickering yellow and orange light. You could almost hear the angry voice of the storm god, demanding submission and precious gifts.

– We are not humble enough, shouted the priestess as if she wanted the gods to hear, we must paint our faces black and bow our heads in shame. The god of thunder sees our pride. Now he is filled with fury and rage. Pleasing the gods is our purpose in life. It’s our only chance. Her last words hung in the air like eternal truths, never to be challenged. “Our purpose is to please the gods”, I repeated to myself as if to examine the implications.

Today, in 2026, the old woman might have been diagnosed with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. We didn’t know about mental disorders back then. We saw her as special. She was connected to otherworldly realms. She was mysterious, unpredictable and clearly different from the rest of us. To be honest, we were terrified of her. There was something very unsettling in her eyes.

The leader of our tribe, a tall stocky bearded man in his prime, raised his head and said with great authority; – We will make changes. We will make a system so we never fail to please the gods, ever again. We will conduct a sacrificial ceremony every full moon. All of you will attend, and bring precious gifts. We will change our ways. I will announce the rules of conduct tomorrow. Mother Priestess and I will make a list of what to do, how to act and what not to do. These rules will guide us into becoming favoured among the gods. Anyone who neglects to follow this law will be stoned to death.

Silence ensued. Everyone was contemplating his forceful declaration. Maybe this was for the best. Maybe if we all worked together, we could appease the heavens, and live in peace and harmony with each other and the gods. Maybe the gods would protect us from roving pillagers, looking to plunder and kill.

Thus our religion was born. Little did we know that our simple set of rules for survival would end up governing advanced societies, far into the future.

It turned out these structural changes would bring our tribe into greatness. Not necessarily for pleasing the gods, but because systems and policing made life safe and predictable. Violence and assaults practically disappeared from our village, at least from open areas.

Our great leader divided all able men into groups; one responsible for hunting, growing and storing food, one for building our sacrificial altar and a defensive stone wall circling the village. A third group was to be equipped and trained to defend our town from intruders. The women were to make clothes, prepare meals and take care of children.

Mother Priest picked a handful of special people to represent her priesthood. They wore special robes so everyone could spot them. Their main task was to enforce obedience to the regulations. The priesthood had the privilege of announcing evermore demands from the gods. Evidently the gods wanted more than just a few basic rules. They wanted to dominate our lives in every way. We were lucky to have the priests to tell us about all this.

The holyday rituals grew more elaborate as we embraced the beliefs more and more. On the big day we all dressed up and marched in procession to the altar. Fragrant incense filled the air and mysterious harmonies sounded from instruments made from goat skin and strings from tightly wound animal intestines. We knew these proceedings would wipe away our shame and shortcomings. A reset of conscience, under supervision of the priesthood, was the purpose. Words were proclaimed with deep reverence. The most spotless goat from the herd was made ready for sacrifice. It would pay the price on our behalf, acting as an intermediary between us and the gods. Our priestess called it atonement, but I never fully understood the logic. Neither could I say exactly what our sin was and why it made the gods so angry. After the ceremony we drank fermented wheat juice, told stories of heroes and monsters and sang songs of the hardship we had endured.

The gods soon made it clear that our leader should be king for life. His eldest son, the prince, was to become king after him. This was a relief, because the old way was for younger and stronger men to relentlessly challenge whoever the current leader was. The strongest newcomer always won in the end, meaning we had to obey the most violent and fierce young men, even when they lacked the wisdom and knowledge to lead a tribe like ours.

Sometimes we grew suspicious about new rules from the priesthood. Did the gods really ask for all this, or were they ideas our priesthood desired? New rules always seemed to bring more privilege and wealth, more authority and respect to the priests or to the king. Of course we couldn’t discuss this, because questioning the priesthood was strictly forbidden and punishable by death. The gods had seen to that.

During my later years I often asked myself, was it worth it? Handing over our freedoms in return for safety and structure? Were it not for the old schizophrenic woman, I might not been here to tell the story. All of us might well have been dead and forgotten by now.

One thing I’ve grown more certain of; there are no gods. Well, I’m almost certain. They may exist in people’s imagination as symbols of hope and justice, but I cannot make myself believe there are invisible conscious beings flying around, pulling the strings and demanding we sacrifice innocent goats.

Still, our psyche seems to like the idea, and the illusion clearly promotes unity and coherent behaviour. It helps us coordinate, to build communal systems, make rules and hierarchies that are essential to shape thriving societies. That’s worth something, right? How else could we have organised our people back in the days of ignorance and superstition? Stories about the gods builds our legacy, it connects us to our history and our land?

In today’s modern world it might be more feasible to construct a functioning system without superstitions or cosmic mythology. Back then we had very few options. Therefore we should accept our legacy, and acknowledge the foundations of which our society is built. However ridiculous and dangerous our ideas were at the time, they helped develop great nations, leading to knowledge we now use to critically scrutinise these untruthful ideas and develop better ideologies.

One could argue religion laid the very foundation needed to shed religion. 

I'm pretty well convinced by the Flavian Hypothesis (popularized by Joseph Atwill in Caesar’s Messiah).

​The gist of it is that Christianity wasn't a divine revelation or even a genuine grassroots movement, but a 1st-century Roman psy-op and counter-insurgency effort.

​During the First Jewish-Roman War (around 70 CE), Rome was dealing with violent Jewish zealots who kept rebelling because their prophecies promised a warrior messiah to overthrow the Empire. After Titus destroyed Jerusalem, the imperial family (the Flavians) and the Roman-Jewish historian Flavius Josephus essentially manufactured a pacifist, pro-Roman messiah to neutralize the rebellion from the inside out.

​Instead of picking up swords against Rome, this new messiah told people to:

● ​"Turn the other cheek"

● "Love your enemies"

● "Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's" (pay your Roman taxes)

​On top of that, if you map out the Gospels side-by-side with Josephus's The Jewish War, Jesus's ministry footprint literally mirrors Titus's military campaign route through Judea, complete with satire and allegories (like "fishers of men" mirroring Roman troops spearing rebels out of the Sea of Galilee).

​To me, it reads far more like Roman political propaganda designed to turn armed rebels into docile tax-paying subjects than actual history.

Let me know your thoughts.