We hope this episode feels like a quilt of our time together — stitched with honesty, courage, tenderness, and yes… plenty of grace and space.

EVERY person — even the one whose beliefs feel harmful or triggering — is more than their politics, more than their theology, more than the label we’re tempted to slap on them.

There’s a particular ache that comes when the community we once called home no longer fits. It’s not just losing a place or a group of people — it’s losing a rhythm, an identity, a way of being known.

Gentleness is not weakness. It is courage. It is inventive. It confounds the violent because it refuses their script.

One of the quiet casualties of high-control religion is emotional honesty. Many of us were taught—explicitly or implicitly—that emotions could not be trusted.

The middle path is the brave and beautiful practice of living a both-and life — one that holds complexity without collapsing into despair.

The foggy space of losing our certainty is untethering but holy. If you're here, we've got lots of goodness for you.

Parenting has a way of doing that, doesn’t it? It holds up a mirror. It pokes old wounds. It calls forward parts of ourselves we thought we’d outgrown.

For so many of us raised in high-control religion, fear was the air we breathed.

If you’ve ever stepped away from high-control religion, you know there’s a cost. Sometimes it’s obvious—the loss of community, relationships, or even belonging in your own family.

A brand-new season of Deconstructing Mamas begins tomorrow. But this one is different—it’s not just another beginning. It’s also our last season together.

When we’ve been raised in high-control environments, exploration can feel like rebellion. But what if it’s actually restoration?

If you grew up in a house where sex was never talked about… or only talked about with a heavy dose of fear, shame, and “just wait,” you’re not alone.

What if buried beneath the layers of patriarchy and power was a lineage of women whose stories weren’t about shame or silence—but about courage, resistance, and divine presence?

The sun has come up and the monsters that used to hide in the corners of my theology have either disappeared or turned out to be far more interesting than terrifying.

Once you start acknowledging your self—your desires, your needs, your questions, your knowing—it becomes easier to stop acknowledging the voices that kept you small.

I spent so long believing needs were the enemy. That having them meant I was “in the flesh,” that I wasn’t spiritual enough, that I needed to pray harder or give more or simply suck it up. But what if that framework was wrong?

What if the real miracle of Easter wasn’t about a stone being rolled away…but about love refusing to stay buried?

What if the resurrection isn’t a magic trick that proves divinity, but a whisper of hope that says: Love doesn’t die. Not really. Read more

It’s not so much that I want to know God As to be close to the spiral in the seashell... The rest of the poem is waiting for you.