There’s yet another stage in brainwashing that sounds almost beautiful on the surface — the moment of “rebirth.” It’s described as the point where you let go of your old identity and fully embrace the new one. You’re surrounded by people who welcome you with open arms. They make you feel seen, loved, and finally understood. For someone who’s been worn down by guilt and fear, that moment feels like salvation.
But it’s not. It’s the completion of the transformation. The point where you’ve surrendered your old self — your thinking, your questioning, your individuality — and replaced it with the version that serves the system.
That’s exactly how it happens in church. You raise your hand as a new member or visitor and are called to a side room. The pastors and leaders smile, ask about your life, and tell you how “God led you here.” You sit in a circle with other new members, everyone introducing themselves. There’s tea, maybe a snack, soft voices, and reassuring words. You feel like you’ve found home. And just like that, the bond begins to form.
Soon after, you’re given duties — helping with ushering, cleaning, welcoming others. You’re told it’s service to God, but really it’s about anchoring you to the group. You start to see the same faces every day, call them family, and before long, they become your only circle. It’s subtle but powerful — that feeling of belonging replaces your need to think critically. You don’t want to lose it, so you obey.
I remember how each church I joined made me feel special. In every one of them, the head pastor somehow called me personally to welcome me. Imagine what that does to a person — especially someone already searching for meaning. It’s intoxicating. You’re made to feel chosen.
And it’s true — I used to laugh with my friend who read this same book before me. She told me she didn’t want to spoil the experience, and now I understand why. Once you see it for what it is, it’s impossible to unsee. The manipulation hides behind kindness. The control hides behind care.
Back then, I didn’t even realize how small my world had become. My only friends were church friends. My entire sense of self was tied to that one identity — “believer.” I remember doing a self-assessment once and writing that 100% of my friends were from church. It didn’t even feel strange then. I was proud of it. Now I look back and just shake my head.
Since I left religion, I’ve been reading so much — books I would’ve once called “worldly.” And the more I read, the freer I feel. Because now, when I learn something new, it’s not filtered through doctrine or fear. It’s just me — thinking, discovering, choosing for myself.
It’s funny, in a bittersweet way. I used to believe I was born again when I joined the church. But in truth, I was reborn the day I left it.