I'm going to tell you something that might get me uninvited from some Bible studies: I've spent more time doubting God than trusting Him. Way more. And I don't think that makes me a bad Christian. I think it makes me an honest one.
The worst of it was on the floor of a Quality Inn bathroom somewhere off I-40, sick from withdrawal, at about 3 in the morning. I was praying — or something like praying. More like begging. I said something along the lines of, "God, if you're real, either help me or let me die, because I can't do this anymore."
He didn't answer. Not that night, anyway. And I carried that silence around with me for a long time. It felt like proof that nobody was listening.
The Questions Nobody Wants You to Ask
Church isn't always great at making space for real questions. Somebody asks how you're doing and the expected answer is "Blessed" or "God is good," even when you're falling apart inside. And if you're somebody who's walked through addiction, your questions aren't the polite kind.
Mine sounded like this:
If God is good, why did He let me end up like this? Did He look away? Did He not care? If He's supposed to be all-powerful, why didn't He stop me before I wrecked everything? I wasn't asking for a miracle. Just a closed door. A flat tire. Something.
And the big one, the one I was afraid to even think: What if none of this is real, and I'm just swapping one crutch for another?
I sat with that last question for months. It scared me more than the cravings.
The Part Nobody Warned Me About
Here's the weird thing — my doubt wasn't worst during the addiction. During the addiction I had an excuse. I was messed up, I was high, I couldn't think straight. Of course my faith was shaky. Who could blame me?
The doubt got worst in recovery. Because in recovery, you're thinking clearly. Maybe for the first time in years. And with that clarity comes a full, unfiltered view of the damage. Every person you manipulated. Every relationship you torched. Every chance you wasted. You see it all, with the volume turned up.
And you think, Why would God want anything to do with me?
I'd sit in church and look around at everyone singing and I'd think, They don't know. They don't know what I've done. If they knew, they wouldn't want me here. I felt like a fraud. I felt like the worst person in the room. I was performing faith without feeling it, and I was terrified someone would notice.
A counselor I was seeing at the time — a Christian counselor, older woman, kind of reminded me of my aunt — she said something I didn't want to hear: "You know what doubt actually is? It's your faith getting honest for the first time."
I hated that. But she was right.
What I Did With the Doubt
I wish I had a clean three-step process for getting through doubt. I don't. What I did was messy and took a long time.
I stopped pretending. That was step one. I stopped saying "God is good" when I wasn't sure He was. I stopped performing worship when I was angry at Him. I started being honest in my prayers, which mostly sounded like, "I don't know if you're listening. I hope you are. I'm showing up anyway."
I kept going to church. Not because I felt anything. Because my sponsor told me to and I didn't have a better plan. There were Sundays where I sat through the whole service feeling absolutely nothing. And then there were Sundays where a single line from a hymn would crack something open in my chest and I'd have to leave the room.
I read the Psalms. David was angry at God. He was confused. He was scared. He said things like, "How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?" And somehow his complaints made it into the Bible. Which meant God wasn't afraid of complaints. He'd actually preserved them for thousands of years as if to say, Bring it. I can handle it.
Where I Am Now
I'd like to tell you I came out on the other side with bulletproof faith. I didn't. I came out with something better: faith that's mine. Not my mom's faith. Not the faith I performed to keep people comfortable. A faith that's been through the fire and still shows up on Sunday morning, even when it doesn't feel like it.
I still have doubts. I had one last Thursday, actually. But the difference is I don't run from them anymore. I bring them to God, and He doesn't flinch. He never has.
If you're in the middle of it right now — if the questions are louder than the answers — I just want you to know that you're not broken. You're not losing your faith. You might be finding it. The real kind. The kind that can hold weight.
Don't perform certainty you don't feel. God sees through it anyway. Just show up. Angry, confused, full of questions, whatever. He's not going anywhere. Trust me — if He didn't leave me on that bathroom floor in the Quality Inn, He's not leaving you either.