When Belief Meant Survival

As a child, I was taught to be obedient. Obedient children were safe. Disobedient children were in danger. There were stories to remind us: stories of bears, rebels, daughters sacrificed for the sake of a vow.

The message was clear:

Don’t question. Don’t doubt. Don’t think too much. Just believe.

And I did. I believed hard. Because to believe was to belong. And to belong was to be safe.

Sometimes belief felt like survival, and survival looked a lot like being good.

But there were moments — even then — when something in me asked quiet questions. Not with my mouth. But with my body. With the ache in my chest. The tremble in my belly. As if something deeper knew there was more to the story.

I didn’t have the words yet. But I do now.

We can be faithful without erasing ourselves.

We can live in alignment without abandoning our voices.

We can ask questions and still be worthy of love.

My story isn’t one of escape. It’s one of clarity, of listening to the part of me that was never fully silenced, of realizing that obedience without presence is just performance… and I don’t want to perform anymore. I want to live.

So I’m telling the truth.

Even when it shakes. Even when it trembles in my throat.

Because someone else might need to hear it.

-Jasmine