Spirituality, on your own terms.

My Personal Jesus (and Other Early Clues)

I grew up the picture of a firstborn, white, middle‑class daughter of a Cleveland Lutheran and a Southern Baptist belle from Arkansas—two people who started a family in Southern California in the 70s and carried their generational trauma well into the 80s (and really still going strong today!). Translation: I loved New Wave and Rock‑n‑Roll, and I questioned everything.

To their credit, my parents tried out nearly every Christian denomination in our community, hoping one might feel like home. I could write a separate editorial about why none of those churches stuck for my parents, but this story is about my personal Jesus—yes, the Depeche Mode reference is intentional. My parents never forced church on us but probably took us only because they thought they were supposed to. Maybe because of their own religious trauma, they gave us space to choose our own or choose nothing. They dropped me off every Sunday and I walked in by myself. I was that emo kid in all black at the Methodist church dance, eyes closed in the middle of the floor, slow‑dancing like Robert Smith from The Cure, praying someone would see me and I would find my way home.

At this time, and for many years, I thought I was the only one with a story like this, but I’ve come to learn that so many others also struggled to find their place. If that resonates with you, I’m glad to meet you here so neither of us have to be alone.

The First Cracks in the Establishment

Back then, choosing a church was easy. My friends went to the Methodist church, the youth leader had a glorious afro and a guitar, and I felt something spiritual in the belonging. It was my decision to be baptized and confirmed at 13.

One Sunday though our beloved youth group leader was no longer there. Looking back, I realize there were many reasons for why he could have moved on, but this 13-year-old created a conspiracy theory that the pastor must have been envious of the power he had with us and kicked him out. Outside of my growing distrust of adults, there was zero evidence to back up this theory. Just my vivid imagination that pushed me to side-eye with new intensity anything that smelled like authority.

Growing Up in Chaos, Growing into a Seeker

Those Sundays were one of my early escapes from my house where one parent raged, the other retreated, and I was the kid who kept standing up to the chaos and getting knocked down for it. No surprise I carried those reflexes into adulthood – reacting to life as if I were still that kid in the line of fire, still trying to outrun a story that was never mine.

Even with all the programming that I was the problem that created my family’s problems, something in me stayed stubbornly hopeful. I couldn’t make sense of it then, but I knew deep down I couldn’t be as bad as the story I’d been handed.

You don’t need my exact childhood to understand this – many of us carry a version of the story we were told about ourselves, and most of us eventually outgrow it. For anyone with generational trauma, the process of rewiring could take many years. It requires an extreme amount of willingness to become self-aware. Many people aren’t willing to do this work.  

When you combine the layers of home dysfunction with my church fantasy chock full of abuse of power, it makes sense that my seeker spirit spent the next 30 years searching for answers about the universe and my place in it.

Distrust, Discernment, and the Long Road of Reading

I used to believe people just needed something to believe in—God, good music, a lucky rabbit’s foot—anything to give them hope. Being raised by a narcissist gave me a Spidey‑sense for megalomaniacs, and my relentless probing and second-guessing strained more than a few relationships. That instinct sharpened over time – I read, explored, dissected anything that crossed my path, but I had no tolerance for blind devotion or rigid hierarchies, while at the same time giving myself away to anyone or anything that might look like love.

I felt unmoored. I had a basic Christian sense of right and wrong, but low self-esteem and no real connection to any religion—especially ones that placed me at the bottom of a hierarchy where someone else stood between me and the divine. That never felt right. But I had hope I would find something.

The Books That Found Me

So, I continued reading. The irony is not lost on me that the early books stolen from my parents’ shelves were more enlightening to me than my broken parents. Many Lives, Many Masters, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, and Leo Buscaglia opened my mind and heart in my early teen years.

In college, I felt so grown-up exploring the medieval mystic visionaries and the cultural foundation in a Jewish ethics course.  As a young adult I found solace in the mythology of The Celestine Prophecy. Then I was drawn in by the regular humans who wrote about awakening – Deepak, Eckhart, Pema Chödrön, Timber Hawkeye, Anne Lamott, Elizabeth Gilbert, and Glennon Doyle.

I didn’t realize until much later that I was in my Collecting era—ideas that felt good, that soothed my distrust, that simplified what I had overcomplicated. If you’re anything like me, your mind just zoned off remembering the books, teachers or moments that made deposits into your soul.

Therapy, Bottoms, and the Doorway Back

Life experience filled in the rest. I became an expert at telling my story on therapy couches, plural. My mom… my dad… my sister… and then there’s me blah blah blah. One therapist finally said, “Your family story sounds like classic alcoholism—have you heard of AA or Al‑Anon?” No. No one had ever told me that. I was living life the best I could with the tools I had, albeit very lacking tools, and I didn’t know how to get to happy. I just wanted someone to point me in the right direction.

And yet I ignored her suggestion until a coworker who was both a “friend of Bill” and of Lois gently invited me to my first meeting. That was the doorway back to spiritual exploration.

The Permission I Never Knew I Needed

You don’t have to be in a 12‑step program to relate to this – the real story here is about permission, autonomy, and reflecting what guides you. This meeting was the gateway to a spiritual program that gave me something I’d never had: permission to define a Higher Power for myself. Not the one I inherited. Not the one I was expected to believe in. One that was mine.

This was freedom I’d been seeking without knowing it.

Opening to Something Greater

I was hurting deeply, despite having a good marriage, good kids, a good job, good hobbies. My life looked great to any onlooker, but it didn’t feel great. So I opened myself to the process which didn’t immediately start with “Welcome to God” or I would have run fast in the other direction.

So, this is how my path unfolded…

Seeing My Patterns

First someone helped me examine through fresh perspective all the distractions occupying my mind, bringing me suffering and confusion, the places I kept inserting myself into—trying to manage outcomes, emotions, belonging.

I Am Not God

Next, I opened to the idea of a power greater than me. That part was easy. The hard part came next: stop acting like I was that power. I had to adopt the mantra: I am not God. It was a hard habit to break before it became undeniably liberating.

Holy Sh*t, I’m allowed to do this

Defining the God of my understanding felt like stepping into myself for the first time. This was mission‑critical. I had never been empowered to do that. No middlemen. No inherited definitions. Just me.

Once I had that permission, the real work began – actually shaping a Higher Power I could live with, one that reflected my values instead of inherited expectations.

In my humble opinion and in my experience, this is the crux of how 12-step programs are so successful, how it's been successful for me. If I had to do this work based on someone else’s belief system that didn’t work for me, I would never stick around. I’ve self-sabotaged or dropped out and abandoned myself so many times in my past. But here I have ownership in my spirituality which gives me accountability to be a participant in the journey. And no one can argue with me or take away my definition.

Building My Definition

After a lifetime of criticism and control, I finally had agency to shape something that reflected my values – to author my own definition, leaving out the punitive and choosing the love. I preferred “the universe” or “the all that is”—something vast, inclusive, and something I was part of, not separate from.

I didn’t want a male intermediary like all the pastors, priests and reverends I saw growing up whose white robes permitted them to be closer to God than me.

The Texts That Shifted Everything

A Course in Miracles

A Course in Miracles solidified my belief in my oneness with my creator, reinforcing my belief in my divine light, the untouched place inside me that remains pure despite dysfunction.

Conversations With God

I’ll never forget reading several times the words that finally gave me language for something I’d felt for years, enabling me to adopt concepts like God and I are one, like each human experience contributes to the whole, like challenges and delights are both necessary, and there is no need for judgment of them as good or bad. No need to judge people as good or bad – all are necessary for the human experience.

The Untethered Soul

Twenty years later, when I was in my Integration era, this was the one that finally cracked me open. Every page felt like a burning bush. Hearing Michael Singer via podcast explain his concepts in his own voice sealed it. He spoke directly into my soul. He distilled all the similarities across the great religions so I no longer had to fight one over the other but naturally take from them the simple truths and live them in each present moment.

Letting Go of the Need to Convince Anyone

Thanks to Al‑Anon’s traditions, I don’t need to convince anyone else. I can share if asked, but I don’t need to proselytize to feel solid. I know what works for me and I don’t need anyone to agree, approve or like it. One of my closest friends can’t stand Michael Singer. Bummer. Funny. But all good. She’ll find her own way, just like I found mine.

Where I Stand Now

Now, in my early 50s, I’m still learning, still evolving. I trust my discernment. I check in with my beliefs. I choose what aligns and release what doesn’t.

I’m better at not demonizing people with different beliefs—I’ve broken that cycle of my upbringing—and better at choosing how much time I spend with people who don’t offer the same courtesy.

If you’re somewhere on your own path –beginning, middle or circling back again – I hope you’re reminded here that evolution is encouraged.

GUS: The Great Universal Spirit

The word “God” used to give me the heebs so I spent most of my life saying “the universe” instead. I had endured so much at the hands of humans… and I still believed in the concept of god. What was done to me wasn’t done by God. My god doesn’t harm me. My god loves me more than I can love myself, supports me, protects me, and walks with me through every step of my journey. I get to choose this belief and carry it with me always.

I’ve landed with G.U.S., the Great Universal Spirit (lovingly adopted from Anne Lamott). I partner with GUS as my wingman – the one who helps me see around blind spots, keeps me accountable to my own clean living, and reminds me who I am. GUS knows every single thing I’ve done in my life and loves me without judgment, with unconditional acceptance, holding me so I never again feel alone or unloved.

This feels good. I’ve finally come home.

An Invitation

Consider this an invitation – not to adopt my beliefs, but to trust your own. I’d love to hear how you’ve come to believe in and define your own Higher Power. This space is for sharing connections and lifting each other up; please no tearing anyone down.