Youth group was my kingdom for a while.

1990 to 1993, I was in deep: Bible studies, retreats, lock-ins, mission trips. Pastor Scott saw something in me and made space for it — I became an informal leader, the kid who’d pray out loud, organize games, stay late to help clean up.

For a while it felt good. Purposeful. Belonging.

Then hairline fractures started to appear.

Not in the kids — in the system. Favoritism. Bootlicking. The unspoken rewards for being the right kind of compliant. The “yes men” getting praised while other voices were quietly sidelined. The way doubt and complexity were smoothed over with the same three verses.

I didn’t have the language for it then. I only felt tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of nodding along. Tired of the subtle economy of approval.

Somewhere in that fatigue, a decision formed: I would not play this game.

I didn’t storm out. I didn’t denounce anyone. I just… stopped feeding that part of my life. Stopped showing up as much. Let my enthusiasm “peter out” as I began walking — very slowly, very quietly — away from Christianity.

It’s easy to dismiss that period as “wasted time” now that my beliefs have changed. But that would be dishonest. Youth group shaped me: • It gave me practice speaking in front of people • It showed me what leadership felt like • It taught me how systems can twist good intentions • It made me pay attention to who gets listened to

All of that still lives in me. So does the quiet revolt.