Stepping off the stage, I hurried to the dressing room backstage and started taking off my skimpy belly-dancing costume.

‘Fancy a drink?’ one of my fellow dancers asked.

Pulling on my jeans and trainers, I shook my head. ‘Sorry, I have to be up early in the morning,’ I told her, smiling. ‘I’m going to church.’

Hearing the words come out of my mouth sounded strange.

For so long, I’d been a closet Christian, not admitting my faith to anyone as I’d struggled to come to terms with it myself. And for years before that, I’d actually turned my nose up at Christianity, argued against it.

According to some religious people I’d come across growing up, I was brought up in two ‘sinful’ homes.

I, however, knew them to be beautifully diverse. My dad is gay and lives with his now-husband, and my mum had boyfriends before marrying my other step-dad.

As they criticised my family, I began to judge them. I spent years believing Christians to be those on Jesus Army buses, wearing leather brown sandals and shouting bible verses – along with their bigoted views – out of a megaphone, often exploiting vulnerable people. 

I grew to love debating religion as an atheist so much that I went on to study Philosophy of Religion at A-level.

I was passionate about questioning and fighting any homophobia or sexism I’d previously associated with religion.

That said, my dad had an openly gay friend who was a vicar, but I assumed he was a rarity. 

My family and I have also experienced a lot of challenges in life and I couldn’t understand why I – or those who’ve been dealt far worse cards than me – would have experienced these things if there was a God. 

Having only been to church for weddings and funerals, in my early twenties I accompanied a friend to mass, interested in what drew so many people to miss Match of the Day or their Sunday morning lie-in.

I felt that if I was to be critical of a religion, I should know what it involved first-hand. 

After years of negatively speaking about Christianity with family and friends, I felt like a hypocrite for turning to God

There, I was overwhelmed by the music, the atmosphere and hearing scripture in a modern context about feeling lost and unfulfilled by worldly possessions. The words really resonated with me. 

I couldn’t have been more surprised. 

My heart started ruling over my head and I began attending with my friend each Sunday. I found myself surrendering to God.

I only told my mum I was going. I was too embarrassed to tell others as I thought they’d laugh, or start a big debate – and I simply didn’t have the answers to why I was going or believed in God.

When I fell pregnant at 23 – two years later – and moved to a new city, I was determined to find a church to attend that felt like it was for ‘me’, despite worrying I may become the self-proclaimed church floozy.

I finally found ‘my church’ when I attended a Sunday family event at a local Methodist Church still in my football kit from playing a match, with my baby in tow. Certainly not in my ‘Sunday best’, I was half-prepared to be shunned, or at least stick out like a sore thumb.

But my kit turned out to be a huge icebreaker as I was welcomed with open arms by the volunteers who were also football fans. Instantly, I knew this was the place for me.

At church, I joined the women’s fellowship. Again, I wrongly assumed this would just be full of cake-making chat, serious scripture and hardcore prayer. Instead, over cups of tea, we chatted about everything from work, to kids and mental health.

These women quickly became my sisters, showing me unconditional love and offering support without agenda. 

Despite discovering the right place for my daughter and I, I remained secretive about it – until recently.

After years of negatively speaking about Christianity with family and friends, I felt like a hypocrite for turning to God.

But as religion became a bigger part of my life, I gently started to drop into conversations the fact that I was going to church – and it wasn’t the huge deal I thought it would be. In fact, most people were supportive.

The girls at work had mixed reactions – from shock to intrigue – as I certainly wasn’t ‘the church-going type’ and they couldn’t imagine a Yorkshire mixed-race girl shimmying in belly-dancing costumes, would be accepted at church.

It may be ‘uncool’ to be Christian but that’s OK

But my church friends not only embraced the real me, they celebrated it.

One former friend said that church was a cult for vulnerable people like me. But by then, I had confidence in my beliefs and just accepted they were on a different path.

And the church became my second family, especially after I separated from my husband and father of my children in 2019. The main loss was my children – I went from co-sleeping and breastfeeding them to co-parenting. 

The vicar’s wife and some of the other women took me under their wing as they had done for so many of our community who struggled.

They took me to the shops, cleaned my house with me and even helped me find work locally as a freelance journalist and wellbeing practitioner. 

I replaced the lonely nights with church groups, teaching dance and going to yoga and gym classes with my new ‘sisters’. 

I even started putting up bible verses around the home, too, as I turned to God in my darkest moments.

These words, along with a disco ball and pink pole in my lounge, certainly made it feel like home. 

You don’t need to go to church to be a Christian, but for me, it was important to learn and get myself back on track each week. I’d never been around people who wanted to help you unconditionally. It was a tonic for my soul. 

That’s the essence of what church is to me, a big, perfectly imperfect, loving community. 

It’s why I found it extremely hard in the pandemic, losing that community. I danced to worship music at home to feel connected, went for walks with the vicar’s wife when I could and watched services online, but nothing replaced that in-person contact. 

Now, my church family is an integral part of my life.

I’m ready to talk openly about my faith because I think people are more receptive since the pandemic. There’s a lot more respect now for us as part of the community and I want to be more open around those I work, socialise and surround myself with because nobody should feel ashamed about their faith.

It may be ‘uncool’ to be Christian but that’s OK.

For me, it isn’t about surrounding myself with people of the same denominations, it’s simply about loving one another unconditionally.

My main drive is now to serve. All I hope to do is grow in faith every day and become a better person. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing [email protected]. 

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