This is a response to The Hurtful Church.

Growing up, I participated in some form of youth ministry as far back as I can remember. My parents were devoted Catholics, and they enrolled me in vacation Bible school when I was as young as four or five years old. In middle and high school, I attended regular youth groups, volunteer opportunities, and weekend youth retreats.

Before I became a teenager, I remember finding these get-togethers fun. I would usually attend them with a cousin or close friend, and we'd get free snacks all weekend. We got to watch free performances of worship music, make arts and crafts, and meet new friends that went to the same church. I wasn't as into the spiritual aspect of things as some of my fellow attendees, but I still had a good time.

Once I hit high school, my experience changed. During that time, I was starting to question Catholicism and certain "facts," about the world that I'd always taken for granted. I wasn't sure if I liked the way the Church viewed certain issues like homosexuality, abortion, or women's sexuality in general. But every time I tried to have an open conversation with my family or peers, I was immediately shut down.

This made going to youth groups and retreats a much more stressful experience. In a see of apparently perfect Catholic devotees I felt like an imposter. No one else seemed concerned about the same social issues I was. In fact, a lot of people seemed to view those who supported those issues as the enemy.

I had my first panic attack at a youth retreat. A group of teenagers from my church had taken a bus from Texas to Louisiana, for the huge Steubenville on the Bayou youth conference. We stayed in small cabins, sharing bunk beds with other kids we didn't know very well. We woke up in the early hours of the morning, and were sometimes awoken in the night to attend night adoration, which left me feeling sleep deprived and disoriented.

I felt the anxiety start to creep in during a worship concert. The crowded auditorium was filled with teenagers screaming, crying, and waving their arms as the event organizers brought out the Eucharist for adoration. The deep bass drum played by the band seemed to reverberate in my chest. Just as everyone around me was diving deeper and deeper into a religious frenzy, I ran out of the room.

I ended up in the cold infirmary, shaking uncontrollably. The group leaders brought a priest to talk to me, in hopes he could help me calm down. I don't remember much of our conversation. I know I tried to discuss my concerns with him, and he advised that my straying thoughts may have been the influence of the Devil. Which, as you can imagine, didn't do much to help me calm down.

After that experience, I grew more and more distanced from the Catholic Church, before leaving it altogether at sixteen. I don't expect every Catholic or former Catholic to share my experiences. But it's always interesting to me that one of the services meant to draw teenagers in and foster their developing faith ended up pushing me away from religion for good.