This weekend, I am attending Thrive, a conference for those who have left the Mormon Church and are seeking support, community, and healing. Last night was the opening mix-and-mingle event, and I walked into the room not knowing a single soul. As I sat down at the first table and started listening to the stories of those around me, something profound happened—I realized I was not alone.

Every person there carried a similar burden, a shared experience of discovering that what we once believed to be true and essential to our lives was not. Each story was unique, yet the emotions behind them—the pain, the fear, the loss, the resilience—were deeply familiar. It didn’t take long for conversations to flow effortlessly because, despite being strangers, we understood one another in ways that many of us have struggled to find in our closest relationships.

One theme stood out over and over: the difficulty of sharing our faith transition with those we love. I heard story after story of people struggling to tell their believing spouse, aging parents, adult children, grandchildren and siblings that they no longer believe the teachings of the church. The fear of rejection, disappointment, or outright hostility loomed heavy over these conversations. Many expressed a deep sadness that something so personal—something so full of grief and growth—felt like it had to be hidden from the people who once held their deepest trust.

It is heartbreaking that within a faith that proclaims love, unity, and Christlike compassion, sharing our pain with those closest to us feels taboo. Why is it that the simple act of being honest about our spiritual journey is met with judgment and isolation? Why is there a cultural expectation to stay silent rather than risk the disapproval of those we hold dear? We deserve more than this from people who claim to be followers of Christ. Love should not be conditional. Compassion should not be reserved only for those who conform.

I do realize that there are times when the revelation of one’s journey out of the church is met with unconditional love, and that is a beautiful thing. But from the stories I heard last night, that seems to be the outlier, not the norm. Too often, the response is one of pain, confusion, or even rejection, rather than open-hearted understanding.

Yet, despite this struggle, there was something beautiful in the vulnerability shared last night. In that room, there were no walls of judgment, no expectations to perform belief, no shame for asking questions. Instead, there was understanding. There was validation. There was healing. There was love and connection among strangers. It is in spaces like this, among those who truly see us, that we can begin to reclaim our voices and our truth without fear.

As I continue through this conference, I am reminded that we are not alone. Our experiences, though painful, are not isolated. There is a whole community of people who understand, who support, and who walk this path together. And that is something truly powerful.