I recently asked our Midlife Collective community about the transitions they are navigating in midlife. One response surprised me: 60% of those who responded said they were navigating changes related to spirituality, faith, or religion.
Sixty percent.
I wasn't expecting that number, but perhaps I shouldn't have been. Midlife has a way of bringing questions to the surface that we may have spent decades avoiding, postponing, or simply not having the time or space to consider.
Questions like:
Do I still believe this?
Why do I believe this?
Is this something I chose, or something I inherited?
What actually feels true to me now?
And perhaps the biggest question of all: If what I believe changes, does that change who I am?
The freedom to be curious
Let's start by giving ourselves permission to be curious.
We don't have to know what we believe today, let alone what we will believe five years from now. We don't have to investigate every question that crosses our minds. We don't have to leave a religion, find a new one, become spiritual, or arrive at some neatly packaged conclusion.
We can simply wonder.
We can say, "Well, today I believe this." And leave room for the possibility that tomorrow we might think differently.
There is something incredibly freeing about allowing ourselves to evolve without treating every change in perspective as a crisis of identity.
Belief doesn't have to be binary. We can hold onto some traditions while questioning others. We can find meaning in spirituality without identifying with organized religion. We can appreciate the community and rituals of religion while disagreeing with its leadership or teachings. We can be deeply faithful and still have questions. We can also decide that religion and spirituality are no longer part of our lives.
All of those experiences deserve room.
It helps to distinguish between three words we often use interchangeably:
Religion is generally an organized system of beliefs, practices, traditions, teachings, and community. It often provides structure, shared rituals, and a framework for understanding the world.
Faith is trust or conviction in something beyond what we can necessarily prove or see. It may be rooted in a religious tradition, a relationship with God, or a broader sense of trust in life, humanity, or something greater than ourselves.
Spirituality is often a more personal exploration of meaning, connection, purpose, transcendence, and our relationship with ourselves, others, nature, or the sacred. It may exist within or outside organized religion.
These definitions overlap, and people experience them differently. There is no requirement that they all travel together.
Spiritual homesickness and the idea of homecoming
There is a concept I keep coming back to: spiritual homesickness.
Brené Brown captured this feeling beautifully:
Spiritual homesickness has been a constant in my life. It was not an everyday experience, but a predictable and always reoccurring desperation to find a sense of sacredness within me, not outside of me: my soul, my home, God in me.
I find myself drawn to the idea of finding home within rather than continually searching for it outside of ourselves.
For much of our lives, we may have looked for home in a particular church, community, marriage, belief system, family structure, or set of rules. These places can offer tremendous comfort, connection, and belonging. But what happens when they no longer feel like home? What happens when the beliefs that once grounded us begin to feel unfamiliar?
This is where I think the concept of Teshuvah offers an interesting perspective.
Teshuvah is a Hebrew word traditionally understood as return or turning back. In Jewish tradition, it is closely associated with repentance and returning to God. But I am particularly drawn to the idea of return as a metaphor for the ongoing journey of coming home to ourselves.
Not necessarily returning to who we once were, but returning to what is most essential and authentic within us.
It is a process of remembering, reconsidering, questioning, and reconnecting. Of noticing where we have lost ourselves in expectations, external authority, or the need to belong. Of finding our way back to our own voice.
Richard Rohr offers another beautiful reflection on this idea:
Now Odysseus can go home because he has, in fact, come home to his true and full self. He is free to stop his human doing and can at last enjoy his human being, at home in himself.
What if homecoming isn't about arriving at a final destination? What if it is about becoming more comfortable being ourselves, even as we continue to change?
There is no straight line. No final arrival. No moment when we graduate from questioning and suddenly have everything figured out.
We are continually returning, discovering, letting go, and becoming.
Why midlife? Why now?
Why does this questioning seem to emerge so powerfully in midlife?
I think there are several reasons.
1. We have lived enough life to recognize the gaps.
We have experience now. We have watched relationships unfold, raised children, navigated loss, experienced disappointment, and seen the world beyond the boundaries of our earlier understanding. Sometimes what we were taught and what we have experienced no longer line up.
2. Our identities are shifting.
The roles that once defined us may be changing. Children are growing up, marriages are evolving, careers are shifting, parents are aging, and our relationship with our bodies is changing. When the familiar markers of identity move, we naturally begin asking who we are underneath them.
3. We have less interest in performing.
Many women reach a point where the energy required to maintain appearances, meet expectations, or keep everyone comfortable becomes exhausting. We start asking whether the life we are living actually reflects the person we are.
4. We are reconsidering authority.
For some women, this includes questioning religious institutions and leadership structures that have historically placed men in positions of authority and women in positions of submission.
We may begin to question who gets to interpret sacred texts, determine morality, define marriage, or decide what women's roles should be.
For me, this has been an important part of my own journey. I began questioning a religious framework in which male authority was central to how women were expected to live. I wanted to understand what I believed apart from what I had been told I should believe.
And this questioning isn't happening in a vacuum.
We live in a culture where information is more accessible, diverse perspectives are easier to encounter, and conversations once considered taboo are increasingly public. Women are sharing experiences that were previously isolated or silenced.
Journalist Sarah Stankorb explores this in her article, Damned If She Does: Why Women Quit Church and What It Means for the Future of Religion. She examines why women are leaving organized religion and what their experiences reveal about gender, power, belonging, and the future of religious institutions.
Read Sarah Stankorb's article.
Perhaps midlife isn't necessarily when we lose our beliefs. Perhaps it is when we finally have the space, experience, and courage to examine them.
Oooof. The cost of changing your beliefs.
Let's acknowledge something important: evolving spiritually can be hard. Really hard.
Especially when our beliefs are closely tied to our community.
Think about how much of our lives can be organized around a faith community: friendships, marriage, parenting, holidays, traditions, social circles, volunteer work, and a shared understanding of the world.
Sometimes belonging requires a great deal of us. We adapt, conform, set aside questions, change our behavior, and make sacrifices to fit into a community.
And the more we give up to belong, the more difficult it can be to leave.
I think of it as high entry price, high exit price.
When the cost of entry into a community is high, the cost of leaving can be equally high. We aren't simply reconsidering a theological belief. We may be reconsidering our closest relationships, our identity, our support system, and the life we have built.
There can be grief in that.
We may miss the certainty we once felt. We may miss the rituals, the shared language, the friendships, and the sense of belonging. We may feel lonely when the people closest to us don't understand the questions we are asking.
And we may discover that changing our beliefs doesn't necessarily mean the people we love will change alongside us.
This is where compassion matters. We can respect someone else's journey without surrendering our own. We can have relationships with people whose beliefs differ from ours. We can establish boundaries when those differences become harmful or dismissive.
We don't have to convince everyone. And we don't have to have a finished explanation for who we are becoming.
It is possible to change your mind, change direction, and build a life that reflects who you are now. Even when the cost feels high.
You don't have to replace one certainty with another
One of the things I have learned through my own journey is that questioning a belief system can be much bigger than changing your mind about a particular teaching. It can involve untangling identity, belonging, relationships, and the stories we have told ourselves about who we are supposed to be.
My own experience involved stepping away from a high-control religious environment and questioning a framework that gave men significant authority over women's lives and roles.
It challenged assumptions I had carried for years and required me to reconsider what I believed, what I valued, and how I wanted to live.
Writing Cracked Open: A Journey to a Resilient and Independent Mindset became part of that process.
What I have learned is that freedom isn't necessarily about arriving at a new set of answers. Sometimes it is about becoming comfortable asking better questions.
It is about learning to trust ourselves, recognizing that two seemingly opposing things can both hold truth, and giving ourselves permission to change our minds.
I don't think we are ever finished becoming.
And perhaps that is one of the greatest gifts of midlife: realizing that we are allowed to keep becoming.
The courage to not know
We live in a world that rewards certainty. We want answers, explanations, labels, and a clear direction. We want to know where we stand and where we are going.
But what if not knowing is an important part of the process?
There is a book I would add to this conversation: How to Not Know: The Value of Uncertainty in a World that Demands Answers by Simone Stolzoff.
I love the premise because it challenges the idea that uncertainty is something we need to eliminate. What if we could become more comfortable with ambiguity? What if we could sit with a question without immediately rushing to resolve it?
When it comes to faith and spirituality, we can feel an enormous pressure to replace one set of answers with another. But perhaps we need to give ourselves permission to stay in the question for a while.
We can say:
"I don't know yet."
"I'm still figuring that out."
"That is what I believe today."
"I used to think differently."
"I'm curious about another perspective."
These aren't signs of weakness or a lack of conviction. They can be signs of growth.
Change takes time. Give yourself some.
One thing I want to emphasize is that change doesn't happen overnight.
We don't simply switch one day from believing something to no longer believing it. Our minds, bodies, relationships, and nervous systems need time to catch up. The patterns we have practiced for years are deeply embedded. Changing direction involves learning, repetition, and gradually developing new ways of thinking and responding.
Our brains are capable of neuroplasticity. We can develop new patterns, challenge old assumptions, and create different ways of relating to ourselves and the world. But it takes time and practice.
You might intellectually understand that you no longer believe something while still feeling fear, guilt, or anxiety when you act differently.
You might know that you are free to make your own choices but still hear the old internal messages telling you what you should do.
That doesn't mean you aren't making progress.
Give yourself room to catch up with yourself.
There is no deadline for figuring out what you believe. No requirement to announce a new identity or have a conversation before you are ready. No need to make a dramatic declaration.
Sometimes the most meaningful changes happen quietly, over time.
Begin with curiosity
So, where do you begin if you find yourself asking, "What do I believe now?"
My suggestion is to begin with curiosity rather than certainty.
Instead of immediately asking what you believe, ask yourself:
What am I interested in?
What piques my curiosity?
What would I like to know more about?
What ideas or perspectives have I never considered?
What feels meaningful to me?
Where do I experience a sense of connection, wonder, or sacredness?
What beliefs feel like mine, and which ones feel inherited?
What am I holding onto because I believe it, and what am I holding onto because I am afraid of what might happen if I let it go?
You might read something outside your usual perspective, talk with someone who has taken a different path, spend time in nature, journal, revisit a tradition, explore meditation, or simply sit quietly with a question.
You might also ask yourself what you want more of in your life: connection, meaning, wonder, community, ritual, purpose, or a relationship with something greater than yourself.
And remember, you don't have to investigate every question that arises. Curiosity is an invitation, not an obligation.
Coming home to yourself
I keep returning to the idea that perhaps this journey isn't about finding the right place to land. It is about developing a relationship with ourselves that allows us to keep exploring.
Maybe we will return to parts of our faith we once questioned. Maybe we will discover something entirely new. Maybe our understanding of God, spirituality, or the sacred will change several more times.
We can be certain about some things and uncertain about others. We can hold beliefs loosely without treating them as unimportant. We can honor the person we were while making room for the person we are becoming.
And we can find home in ourselves without needing to have everything figured out.
A thought to take with you:
You are allowed to outgrow an idea without dismissing the person you were when you believed it. You are allowed to change your mind, take your time, and sit with uncertainty. You are allowed to be a work in progress.
Perhaps homecoming isn't about finding your way back to who you used to be.
Perhaps it is about learning to feel at home in who you are becoming.
