I used to believe those lines that sound so childishly naive now.

I used to be the one to say, “God challenges those he loves most” or “God won’t give you more than you can handle” when someone was going through a hard time.

It’s not comforting that in light of your friend jumping from the 10th floor balcony being told that it was “all part of God’s grand plan for the greater good.”

There’s no set of magic words that can make something horrific simply fade away, and believe me, trying to sugarcoat and put a pretty bow on it with empty platitudes only adds sting and insult to the rage, grief, hurt and confusion.

But of course, as a Christian, I must maintain appearances, keep the smile in place and the banalities poised at my lips, no matter what is said. Because of course even if someone’s life is a living hell, they wouldn’t tell, which is just as well, because I wouldn’t know what to say in the face of that bare honesty.

Now, I know what you’re thinking.

You’re thinking, great, another young, liberal and “progressive” person giving the big man upstairs the one-fingered salute.

This isn’t another adolescent's irritation at having to sacrifice her Sunday mornings to attend service.

This is simply exhaustion.

I'm so tired of being a Christian.

People say it's just a politically correct term, but to me, it's a set of heavy weights on my ankles, wrists and chest.

That “politically correct” term carries the weight of not only heinous acts carried out by ancient armies in “the name of God,” but it also bears the weight of something else. Something darker than I could have believed was possible.

I’m tired of the “righteousness” I have to wear on my breast like a shiny badge for the whole world to see.

That same “righteousness” has to bear the weight of teenager — children — kicked out of their homes by their Christian families because they happen to love someone of the same sex or because they passed a pregnancy test.

I don’t have all the answers, and I want to welcome my doubt and be able to say “I don’t know.”

If being Christian means having to argue every theological point made and defend every word of the Bible to death, then count me out.

If being Christian means I have to justify the abuse and rape of women and girls by saying they wouldn’t have been attacked if they dressed the the way the Bible instructs us to, then you can let me off at the next stop.

As a Christian, my future looks mighty bleak if I outright refuse to play the role of submissive housewife, no career or even degree, minding nothing but the half-dozen children I’m expected to bear like I’m little more than a breeding mare.

I’m done being Christian if I have to spout inspirational quotes like a bumper sticker when everything is ... well, shit. Call me unfaithful, but I refuse to tack on a trite little “God will surely work it out!” at the end of any statement I don’t sugarcoat just to ease the discomfort of my fellow Christians to show how strong my belief in redemption is.

I’m over the assumptions that I’m supposed to be some type of authority in morality and spiritual truths. Since when did me believing in Christ mean I know the most about leading a “spiritual” life?

I’m over policing my peers’ and friends’ spiritual welfare, which honestly comes off as pompous and instead of righteous, comes off as “I’m more right than you”-ness.

All of those silly platitudes and banalities can take a hike, because when you have to comfort someone whose spirit was broken in the name of Christianity, it really forces you to look.

Not just nod and smile with a “The Lord has his ways.”