Indoctrinate a Child in the Way He Should Go

This is Anonymous Church. Every week we share real stories behind faith and ministry, the kind that people don't always feel safe to say out loud. Our hope is that by listening you'll remember you're not too much, you're not alone, and your story matters.

My guest today is Madison.

We’d actually never met before recording this episode, but it was such a gift to talk with her.

Madison is a licensed trauma-informed pediatric occupational therapist with extensive expertise in child development—everything from motor skills and sensory processing to emotional development and independence. She’s been married to her husband Luke for eight years, and together they’re raising a daughter and a son. When she’s not working, she loves to travel, explore her community, and spend time at home with good food and creative outlets.

Madison was raised in a deeply church-centered culture in Oklahoma. Over time, that foundation led her on a journey of both deconstruction and rebuilding her beliefs. Ultimately, she chose to step away from identifying as a Christian but continues to explore faith, identity, and parenting with deep curiosity and compassion.

So, tell me about your experience in religion.

My experience with religion starts at birth. I was raised in the Church of Christ. My mother grew up there, influenced by my grandmother, who followed my grandfather into that denomination. My dad’s faith was more casual—Christmas and Easter, mostly—but the culture of religion in Oklahoma is everywhere.

I grew up going to church every Sunday, youth group on Wednesdays, Vacation Bible Schools, even Bible competitions in other states where we memorized scripture.

Would you consider yourself religious now?

I wouldn’t. I don’t call myself a Christian either.

How did you get from Church of Christ to that?

It started with a boy. It always does. I met my husband in eighth grade, and as we grew up, we faced purity culture, teenage expectations, and the tension between wanting to belong and wanting to be good. By college, I realized I was insecure, codependent, and had no idea who I was or what I believed. I started asking, “What’s my voice? What’s my parents’? What’s the church’s?”

Graduate school changed everything. I studied human development, became an occupational therapist, and started seeing patterns—how we teach, how we shame, how we ignore the whole person. Then I had my daughter, and I thought, “I know better now. I have to do better.”

Deconstruction is hard enough alone, but in marriage, it’s another level. We’ve been together since we were teenagers, and at 25, we were different people. We’ve had to relearn who we are individually and together. Therapy helped. A lot. I was running ahead, looking back asking, “Are you coming?” and sometimes he wasn’t ready. It was painful, but we’re better for it.

You’ve worked professionally in a church childcare setting too, right?

Yes, minimally, but it was eye-opening. It was post-COVID, and I helped with childcare at my husband’s church. I saw how early indoctrination starts—Bible stories, murals, songs—all done with love but also rigidity.

As someone with a background in child development, I began to notice how unsafe some of it was. The system doesn’t want to change, because change threatens the structure. If you start seeing the child as a whole being, not a blank slate to be molded, everything shifts.

There is a way to teach the Bible safely, with curiosity and love instead of fear and shame. But systems built on control don’t want curiosity. They crumble under a child’s honest question—like, “Is hell real?”

Most of us learned, “My identity is who God says I am,” but someone else told us what that meant. We were taught to silence our instincts, to mistrust our own voice because it might be “the enemy.” Undoing that is painful—it’s cognitive dissonance.

For me, the biggest lesson has been learning to trust my gut. If we believe a higher power created us, how does it make sense that our instincts would be wrong?

Do you think that ties to the idea that people are born bad or good?

I do. I don’t believe people are born sinful. That belief no longer serves me or the people I love. It’s not who I see Jesus to be.

In occupational therapy, we assume competency. We believe every person is worthy of dignity. People do well if they can. They don’t do well if they don’t have the tools or support. I’ve never met a child who didn’t want to do well. So no, I don’t believe people are inherently bad.

How do you teach your beliefs to kids without indoctrinating them?

Teaching isn’t top-down; it’s side-by-side. It’s relational. You can’t force learning—it happens hand-in-hand, not from a pulpit. That’s how Jesus taught: walking with people, not preaching at them. Teaching is relational, experiential, and rooted in love.

Where did religion go wrong?

Probably when it became religion. When it got complicated and built on fear instead of love. People act out of perceived lack—of power, control, belonging. Systems form around that fear. Jesus constantly flipped that upside down. He showed that love casts out fear. That’s the answer, every time.

He didn’t hand out certainty; he invited transformation. That’s what prophets do—they transform hearts. Anyone who helps others heal and love well is doing the same work.

Leaving ministry and deconstructing comes with grief for the harm we caused. But as you said, when you know better, you do better. Love gets simpler. You realize faith was never about control—it was about compassion.

That’s right. I’ve had so many parents cry in my office, full of regret. I always tell them: you did the best you could with what you had. You were doing your best to love. That’s enough.

Practically, how do we teach kids without fear or indoctrination?

Model it. Live it. Show them what love looks like. Stop teaching abstract stories they can’t process. Teach through relationships.

When I learned Genesis was written as poetry, it changed everything. Adults can wrestle with that. Kids can’t. They take everything literally. We have to meet them developmentally.

When you find teachers who aren’t afraid of questions, faith becomes relational. It’s not “don’t ask”—it’s “tell me more.” For many of us, that was unheard of. We were told doubt meant disobedience. But curiosity is holy.

If we really believe everyone’s welcome, that has to include kids, neurodivergent people, people with disabilities—everyone. Yet so many spaces exclude them, often without realizing it.

In fact, church environments can physically harm children with sensory sensitivities—loud music, bright walls, flashing lights. For neurotypical kids it’s exciting; for others, it’s pain. If we took science seriously, church would look very different.

What would it look like if churches consulted child development experts?

They’d have to throw out most of what they’re doing. The fog machines, the overstimulation, the shame-based curriculum—it all has to go. They’d build smaller, calmer, inclusive spaces. They’d serve outside their walls. They’d model love in community.

Because that’s where the real work happens—hand in hand, eye to eye, in proximity to the marginalized. That’s how kids learn love. That’s how we all do.

Your wisdom and experience will help so many people. Thank you for sharing your story.

Thank you for having me.

This week, I also wanted to share an anonymous submission from our website, and remind everyone that if you’d like to share anonymously, you can do so at www.anonymous.church.

The submission reads:

For years I was a church camp counselor after being a camper myself. I eventually left both the church and the camp after two incidents broke my spirit. Before camp began, from the pulpit, politics were preached openly, followed by a blatantly hateful sermon about homosexuality. The second came when the camp’s owner told a preteen camper that their sibling was going to burn in hell for being gay. That child hadn’t asked for the conversation. Their sibling wasn’t even at camp. I watched other kids come to me afterward, carrying pain and confusion, searching for someone to love them instead of preaching hate.

That week, I did my best to shield children from harm. I reminded them that the greatest commandment is to love—to love one another always. It’s not our place to judge. We’re called to be a positive influence and embody compassion.

Later, I learned how camps like these use psychological tactics to wear kids down—keeping them exhausted until they’re vulnerable, then pushing them into emotional moments meant to “break them open.” What I once thought was spiritual transformation now just looks like manipulation.

I’ll never feel the same about churches again, but I carry with me the lessons of that first small-town church where they taught me that love comes before anything else. I’ll spend the rest of my days living in that love, offering compassion, and hoping others will one day see the light of that grace too.

Thanks for listening to Anonymous Church. When you’re ready to share your story, you can do so at www.anonymous.church.