Why I’m Joining a Worldwide Fast for Religious Freedom—Even After Painful Faith Experiences

Religious freedom is not just a legal issue. It is lived in everyday relationships.

As the United States marks 250 years since the Declaration of Independence, some are joining a worldwide fast to express gratitude for religious liberty, praying that it will continue.

But while some worry that freedom of religion is eroding, others are concerned that religious convictions may conflict with other rights.

To many, these feel like opposing sides. For me, they are deeply connected.

Both are part of my lived experience, which takes me back to something Dad used to say when my sister and I fought.

Dad’s Advice

Whenever things between me and my sister got especially bad, Dad would sit us down.

“You girls have to stop,” he’d say. “Watching you, I feel like I'm being forced to choose between my right arm and my left.”

The first time he said that, I smugly pointed out that most people would choose their right arm. Right arms were more useful (and therefore more important). The left could go.

That’s when Dad reminded me that he was ambidextrous.

He valued both his right and left arms, so he could never choose.

Recent debates surrounding religious liberty versus other protections leave me feeling the same way. When it comes to freedom of thought, conscience, and belief—and protections against harm or discrimination—it feels like two parts of myself are fighting and there's no way I can choose.

At the 2022 Notre Dame Religious Liberty Summit in Vatican City, President Dallin H. Oaks of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints expressed a similar idea. While advocating for strong religious freedom, he said:

“In a nation with citizens of many different religious beliefs or disbeliefs, government must sometimes limit the rights of some to act upon their beliefs when doing so is necessary to protect the health, safety and welfare of all.”

He later described what he referred to as a “middle way.” Rather than doctrinal compromise, he called for "fairness for all."

What Diminished Religious Freedom Feels Like

Fairness for all and a middle way is deeply important to me due to my experience as a teen. When I was 15, I wanted to change my faith. This was a happy time for me, but for my parents it was painful. After navigating lots of complicated feelings, we worked out a compromise. I could attend my new church as long as I continued attending theirs. Then, I could make a final decision when I was older.

The opposition at home was something I expected. What I didn't anticipate was what I would end up facing in other places, including at school.

First, it was pressure in the form of embarrassing remarks. Then, shaming comments in front of my peers. Later, it escalated to threats and language in private meetings that no child should be subjected to. Just when I thought it was all coming to an end, an adult locked me out of my dorm all night at a retreat. The combination of these events over a three year period left me anxious and isolated. I also struggled with my self-confidence.

Thirty years later, it's still hard to describe what sustained retaliation for your religious convictions feels like.

As a teen, I withdrew from my peers and I became ill with a stress-related illness. As an adult, I experienced confusing triggers in places that held slight connection to the past. I was also unusually conflict averse, and I felt weak when emotions sometimes tried to make decisions for me. What I didn't know was that there were reasons for that nuanced response. But for many years, I didn’t understand why.

Why I Understand Concern About Religious Overreach

The thing that complicates my experience also explains where the later impact was felt.

As an adult, it was in religious settings where I experienced triggers, and in faith-based relationships where I was conflict averse. This is because what I’ve described took place within a religious institution. At school, the closed-door meetings were with clergy, and it was a few of my religious educators who made shaming remarks in front of my peers. At church, it was a frustrated youth leader who locked me out of my dorm after he felt he was not able to get through to me.

When I share my story, people usually don’t know how to respond.

Some interpret my experience as evidence that religion is harmful. Others, having known only positive experiences, become uncomfortable or assume the adults involved were only trying to help.

Both responses miss something.

Pressure can exist when we are pushed toward faith and belief.

But it can also exist when we are coerced away from it.

Both can affect agency, self-confidence, and mental health.

Another layer to my story is that while it’s true that I experienced harm in religious settings, it was also in my faith community (both as a child, and as an adult) where I've experienced profound healing, goodness, and growth.

Making Sense of My Experiences While Holding Onto Faith

Recently, I found a definition for abuse in an old handbook for leaders in my faith community. In this faith-based resource, a definition of abuse includes "spiritual mistreatment" as something that may "deeply affect the mind and spirit... causing confusion, mistrust, guilt, and fear.”

That has helped me make sense of the impacts I experienced for many years.

But even though coercion affected my developing sense of self, so did mercy.

While it's true that some misused their religious authority, others used it to minister to me. And it was the foundation of faith laid in my childhood—in the same community where I experienced coercion—that instilled the understanding that I could turn to God for help.

Sometimes when things at school became too stressful, I'd excuse myself from class to pray. In the privacy of a bathroom stall, I poured out my heart to God.

That freedom, to exercise my faith and belief, was how I coped with the stress of my situation. It's how I felt my Savior near.

Years later, it was my faith community that connected me with an evidence-based therapy for trauma related symptoms. That, along with positive (and challenging) interactions in the faith community I chose for myself, helped me understand and heal.

Now, after everything I've experienced, one thing stands out. It is that religious institutions are like any other—imperfect. They are not immune to misuse of authority (at times), but they are also responsible for profound good. Disaster relief, healthcare, hospitals, housing initiatives, education and community services are all made possible by religious institutions.

A Middle Way

History suggests that tension between civil law, religious conviction, and human dignity has been navigated before. Personally, I’ve seen this on a much smaller scale, which takes me back to my relationship with my sister.

Yes, we are still opposites. But few relationships are as important to me. My sister's unique perspective has helped me navigate life's challenges. It's taught me the value of seeing through a different lens rather than winning an argument or being "right."

While this doesn’t solve every question about how fairness for all plays out in a larger society, it has shown me that mercy, truth, and conscience do not have to cancel each other out.

Why I’ll Be Fasting on July 5th

When I think about religious freedom, I don’t think about legal arguments.

I think of a teenage girl in a bathroom stall, whispering prayers because it was the only place she felt safe. I think of the stress of being shamed for my faith, and the relief of being able to choose it anyway. I think about the damage coercion can do, and how it affects dignity and agency. Then I think of the healing that faith can bring when it can be chosen freely.

Protecting religious freedom doesn't require denying the rights of others.

Protecting individuals from discrimination doesn't require abandoning belief.

Both preserve freedom of conscience and fairness for all.

Which would you have me (or society) lose?

On July 5th, I will fast in gratitude for religious freedom. And I will pray for the same freedoms for others; even for those with whom I don't fully agree.

For more on imperfect behavior in faith-based relationships, see Understanding Lisa Oakley's A Spectrum of Behavior.

For more on relief in Christ when faith feels high pressure, see Understanding the Difference Between Human Pressure and Discipleship: Christ's Easy Yoke. 

Frequently Asked Questions

What does religious freedom mean in everyday relationships?

Religious freedom is not only a legal right, it’s lived in everyday relationships. It means people can hold, practice, question, or change their beliefs without pressure or consequences from others. Jesus modeled this by inviting and teaching while always preserving agency.

Can protecting religious freedom and holding strong religious beliefs go together?

Yes. Supporting someone’s freedom to choose their beliefs does not require agreeing with them. As Dallin H. Oaks described, a “middle way” allows for strong conviction while protecting freedom of conscience for everyone, just as Christ did.

What does it feel like when religious pressure affects mental health?

Sustained pressure related to faith—whether within a religious setting or from others reacting to someone’s beliefs—can lead to anxiety, emotional triggers, stress-related symptoms, and withdrawal. When individuals experience pressure, shame, or consequences connected to their beliefs, it can affect both mental health and their sense of agency. These experiences are often tied not only to personal interactions, but to challenges surrounding religious freedom and the ability to live according to conscience.

What is the difference between persuasion and coercion in a faith setting?

Persuasion invites change while preserving dignity, conscience, and agency. Coercion compels it through pressure, shame, threats, or consequences tied to belief or behavior.

This distinction matters not only within faith communities, but in any setting where religious beliefs are misunderstood or challenged. When individuals are pressured either to adopt or abandon belief, it becomes an issue of both coercion and religious freedom.

A faith-affirming approach seeks what leaders often describe as “fairness for all”—protecting both the freedom to believe and the dignity of individuals. Jesus modeled long-suffering and persuasion, leaving space for personal choice after invitations.