Growing Up Apostolic — and the Quiet, Unnamed Journey of Leaving Without
Leaving All at Once
“Any religion that doesn’t allow questioning and curiosity is dogma.”
I don’t rememberwhere I first heard this quote, so I can’t give credit to the individual. But when I heard it, it struck such a deep chord within me. I had to sit with it, mull it over, and really dissect it.
Because the truth is — I grew up in a system that discouraged both.
Curiosity about anything outside of our religion was openly discouraged. Questioning? Not permitted. That was seen as a sign of disrespect to the church leader’s authority. Faith was defined as obedience — not exploration, not wonder, and certainly no doubt.
My mother carried this dogma across the ocean like a relic—a shield against the loneliness of a new country. In Jamaica, faith was inheritance; in Toronto, it became our armour. She needed the church’s familiarity. I needed to escape its grip.
That tension — between inherited comfort and personal freedom — would come to define much of my early life.
There was an unspoken rule: don’t ask too much, don’t look too closely, don’t poke holes in what’s been handed down.
I remember wanting to know why I couldn’t wear pants. Did I ask why? No. I already knew the answer: “A woman shouldn’t wear anything pertaining to a man.” That was the end of that. No room for follow-up. No space for context. Just a scripture used as a full stop. A decree that didn’t invite understanding — only compliance.
But I was a child who did ask — inwardly, constantly. I wanted to understand. I wanted to know the “why” behind the “what.” I wasn’t trying to be difficult. I wasn’t trying to disobey. I was trying to believe — but with my whole being, not just my obedience.
And yet, that wasn’t allowed.
Over time, I’ve come to understand something that took years to name: A spiritual path that silences curiosity isn’t guiding you toward truth — it’s demanding submission to dogma.
Dogma doesn’t grow or evolve. It survives by fear and silence. It needs certainty. It needs people to stop asking.
But genuine faith — living, breathing faith — is not afraid of questions. It welcomes them. It thrives on curiosity. It honours the seeker. Because truth doesn’t crumble under scrutiny. It expands. It deepens. It withstands being wrestled with.
So when I heard that quote — “any religion that doesn’t allow questioning and curiosity is dogma” — it felt like someone naming what I had felt for years but didn’t yet have the language for.
It gave shape to the quiet unease I had carried. It helped me understand why I had to unlearn so much. Why I had to let go, in order to find something real. Why I had to choose truth over tradition. And why I now believe that asking is not a betrayal — it’s a beginning.
It was in my teen years that the internal questions began to stir into outward — subtle, but noticeable — rebellions.
For my 16th birthday, I chemically straightened my hair. That wasn’t subtle. That was bold. A clear line drawn across years of being told how a “godly girl” should wear her hair. I couldn’t hide that under my hat for long —not the shine, not the shift in how I carried myself. Something in me was starting to claim space.
Later, when I saved enough pocket money, I bought foundation that matched my actual skin tone — not the pale, chalky shade but something that actually matched me. I chose it carefully — not to draw attention, but to blend it just enough that no one would notice. I wanted to feel beautiful without them quite knowing why.
I added clear lip gloss to the mix, bought at the cosmetics counter at the drug store, others girls used Vaseline. My lipgloss was glossy and visible, not subtle. It caught the light just enough to remind me that I was still me — that something inside me was alive and resisting.
No one would have called it a protest. But it was. It was me reclaiming my face, my image, my right to exist on my own terms. Me saying — without words — I am not a canvas for your control.
These weren’t just cosmetic choices. They were acts of mental survival. Of self-definition. Of trying to breathe beneath layers of doctrine that had told me how to dress, how to speak, how to move, how to disappear.
And still, the questions grew louder.
Part Two Coming Monday, March 2, 2026
Follow on Instagram theunraveling.ca