The Fear of Losing Forever

Leaving your religion is never easy. It’s one of the hardest decisions a person can make — one that demands deep pondering, emotional courage, and countless considerations. It’s not just about beliefs; it’s about leaving a way of life that’s been part of your DNA since birth. Imagine unraveling years of tradition, community, identity — it’s a quiet, personal kind of war. And like any battle, there comes a time when the dust finally settles… and a new peace begins to unfold.

1. Fear of Judgment

Fear was one of the strongest emotions I wrestled with. When someone leaves, people assume many things — that you were offended, that you wanted to sin, that you became too intellectual, even that you stopped believing in God or this is a phase of self-discovery. And the truth is, maybe it’s all of those, or maybe it’s none.

What I’ve learned is this: trying to protect your image by pleasing others only causes you to lose your identity. People judge us not by who we are, but by how they see the world — and often, that reflection is more about them than it is about us.

Being known as a jolly and energetic person, people often expect me to always be upbeat. I remember one time, during an activity, I was unusually quiet because I had just received a personal blessing I had long prayed for. I was overwhelmed—not with sadness, but with quiet gratitude. Yet someone approached me and asked if something was wrong or if I was upset with someone. I smiled and reassured her I wasn’t, just to ease her concern.

Another time, I was bursting with energy—cracking jokes, laughing loudly, and lighting up the room. But deep inside, I was battling a wave of depression. I kept going, as if nothing was wrong. Just like that Taylor Swift lyric: “I’m so depressed, but I act like it’s my birthday every day.”

What I’ve come to know is this: no matter what you do, some people will still believe what they want to believe. So live authentically. Wonderful people shine regardless — not because they’re understood by everyone, but because they’ve learned to stay true to themselves.

2. Fear of Losing Beautiful Relationships

Yes, I feared this deeply—the thought of hurting loved ones or losing cherished bonds was painful. And truthfully, some relationships may change along the way. But I’ve learned not to force others to understand my journey. Instead, I choose to respect their process, just as I hope they’ll respect mine.

Relationships are messy investments. There are days when everything flows effortlessly, and days when nothing makes sense at all. But I’ve come to believe in this: never lose hope in love. As long as we hold on with hope and faith, miracles unfold—sometimes through understanding, sometimes through the quiet return of peace.

The quality of our relationships is not built on perfection but on a constant, conscious effort of love and forgiveness. It’s in choosing to stay kind, even when it hurts. It’s in honoring one another’s growth, even when our paths feel different.

3. Fear of what connecting with God looks like now

How do I still show my love for God, for the Savior, and for the divine purpose that gives life meaning?

For me, the answer came gently and simply: I pray. I reflect. I read the Bible and other uplifting books, drawing wisdom from the beauty of various faiths. I serve where I am needed. I love deeply—as a spouse, a parent, a sister, a daughter, an employee, and a friend.

We built a home where peace is sacred, where mistakes are seen as part of growth—not reasons for shame. A home where you're free to rediscover yourself, where we honor differences,  choose to heal, and to set meaningful goals.

Our family is now rooted in core values—values shaped by knowledge, life experiences, and the virtues of God. And I’ve come to believe this: even if we someday choose different religions, careers, or ideologies, our shared values will anchor us.

Because values—more than labels—are the true compass of faith. They guide us in love, in truth, and in integrity.

4. Fear of Losing Forever

I’ve always loved the idea of forever — that soul-deep promise that we’ll always belong to each other, that families are eternal. But the more I held on to that idea, the more I began to notice its weight.

Sometimes, in the name of forever, we spend hours in long meetings, chasing approval, and sitting in circles that don’t really nurture our growth. We become consumed with rules, checklists, and outward expectations. We forget that the true miracle is already in front of us — our family, our home, our now.

I began to see how clinging too tightly to forever can make us fearful. Fearful of losing people we love. Fearful of them choosing differently. Fearful they might fall short of the standard we think eternity requires. We start controlling their choices, mistaking pressure for protection. We trade presence for performance.

What if, just to keep the peace, someone begins to lie? To hide? Just to appear worthy of your heaven?

One day, in the quiet of my thoughts, a new question surfaced:

What if there’s no forever?

And honestly, that thought broke me.
I couldn’t accept it at first. It felt too heavy, too heartbreaking — like the foundation of everything I believed was slipping through my hands. But eventually, peace found me.

Because I realized... if there’s no forever, then all the more reason to give my very best today.
To love fiercely.
To speak kindly.
To live authentically.
To be present.

I realized that forever isn't some distant destination. It begins here, in the way we live, love, and lead each other now.

So I choose to be intentional.
To build homes filled with grace—not perfection.
To teach with patience, not pressure.
To trade heavy expectations for heartfelt encouragement.
To make memories, not just attend meetings.

And instead of fearing what I don’t know, I walk forward with faith in what I do know:
That love, done right, feels eternal.
And maybe—just maybe—that’s enough.

Remember this, Do one thing each day that strengthens the legacy you're building. :)

Love, 

Nyles