The day that I knew I needed to leave was after a large staff event. One of the pastors spoke during his sermon about how little “we” care about people once they leave their role in vocational ministry.

The entire room seemed so inspired. They took that comment as bold leadership. But it felt so uncomfortable to me. Many of them had spouses, or parents, or children who were no longer in vocational ministry. To hear that from a leader that they respect about people who had once given years of their life to serve this church that they no longer mattered was difficult to process.

The next week, our team had a debrief and everyone was praising the pastor. They felt so seen. It was almost as though they wanted not just the confirmation that they were more important than everyone else who had built the church, but that it was okay to stop caring about those who had walked away.

I could not shake it.
Not the words. Not the praise.
Not the realization that the culture I was a part of was actually a club with no room for grief, for questions, or for those who outgrew it.

That was the moment.
I didn’t walk away right then, but I knew that day that I would eventually.