My Journey (The Short Version)

I grew up in church—the kind of kid who got everything right. I was the youth group leader, the one with the answers, the one adults pointed to as a model Christian. For a while, it worked. My beliefs were neat, clear, and completely untested.

Then I left for college.

Studying the Bible in an academic setting while experiencing life outside the sheltered world I came from shattered everything. My theology collapsed. My image of God cracked wide open. I tried to hold it all together, but the harder I tried, the more it unraveled.

Eventually, I let it go. For a time, I stopped believing altogether.

What brought me back wasn’t a book, a church, or an argument. It was an encounter— quiet, unexpected, and still hard to explain. I sensed the presence of God in a way I hadn’t before. Not the God I had grown up with, but something deeper.

“I may not be who you thought I was… but I’m here.”

That moment didn’t give me my old faith back. It gave me permission to begin again.

The Long Rebuilding

I spent the next several years slowly putting the pieces back together. I enrolled in seminary, earned my Master of Divinity, and began to discover new ways of thinking about God, the Bible, and faith. But the real work happened outside the classroom.

I was introduced to spiritual direction— not as a concept, but as a practice. I began working with a spiritual director and found a space where I didn’t have to perform. I could bring my questions, my grief, my longing— and trust that God was big enough to hold them.

That experience led me to pursue training in spiritual direction myself. Over the next few years, I completed extensive training, including a full year devoted to learning how to guide others through the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius.

I also started working as a life coach, particularly with people in addiction recovery. Whether I was sitting across from someone in a homeless shelter or walking with someone through a crisis of faith, I saw the same hunger: to believe in something again— but without all the baggage.

The Angry Phase

In 2020, the pandemic hit. And everything came back up.

I entered another round of deconstruction— only this time, it was angry. I was consumed by outrage: at injustice, racism, performative Christianity, and my own past complicity. I was scrolling, posting, reacting, reposting. In the name of “love and justice” I was destroying myself with rage and hatred.

What saved me wasn’t more theology. It was practice. Again.

The Ignatian Spiritual Exercises helped me find interior freedom.
Intensive therapy helped me untangle what I couldn’t process alone.
Twelve-step work gave me language for surrender, humility, and healing.

Slowly, the anger gave way to something quieter: presence, honesty, and clarity.

Creating Something New

After that season, I began guiding others through their own deconstruction— not toward easy answers, but toward deeper questions, gentler practices, and honest spirituality that holds up in real life.

I helped cofound Eremos, a nonprofit focused on contemplative spirituality and emotional health. I began training new spiritual directors. I led retreats and cohorts. I kept coaching people who were tired of pretending and just wanted something real.

And in 2025, I published Deconstruct with Jesus: part memoir, part theological reflection, and part permission slip to stop pretending.

The Next Chapter

After the book came out, I entered a quieter, slower kind of unraveling.
This time it wasn’t about theology. It was about identity.

I realized I was still defining myself by what I’d walked away from. I was still reacting—still centering my work around critique, even when I wasn’t trying to. And even though my content had softened, I was still orbiting pain.

I didn’t want to live there anymore.

That realization became the seed of What I Do Believe - not just a title, but a shift in posture. A way of telling the truth without staying stuck in what’s broken. A space for naming what hurts, yes - but also for naming what helps. For exploring what’s still good, what’s worth keeping, and how to live it in the real world.

Why I'm Here

I don’t want to argue or debate. I don’t want to tear everything down.
I want to help people move forward.

To heal.
To reconnect.
To rebuild something rooted, honest, and alive.
To live a faith that doesn’t require certainty or performance—but welcomes the messy, unfinished work of becoming.

What I Do Believe isn’t about deconstruction.
It’s about what comes after—and how to live it with integrity.

If you’re tired of reaction videos, takedowns, and content that just makes you angrier…
If you’re done performing but still drawn to something sacred…
If you’re ready to stop obsessing over what you don’t believe and start practicing what you do—

You’re not alone.