One of the most alluring things about Christianity is the feeling of belonging, of being part of something bigger. Of knowing where you fit inside that insular bubble. Of knowing the answers to the fill-in-the-blank questions, knowing what verses to quote, knowing where to find things in the Bible.

And one of the loneliest places in the whole world is when you once fit in those circles but no longer do.

It’s been four years since I left my church of over 20 years. Honestly, I should have seen it coming. I felt the estrangement for years, but I think I was in denial. I was surrounded by people who believed differently, but I spent years trying to wrestle myself back into that space with them.

I eventually left, which helped in some ways (and brought all sorts of other trauma with it). But I’m going to be really vulnerable here and tell you that I’m still struggling.

Because over the years in my evangelical circles, I accumulated literally thousands of—if not friends, then at least social media followers. People would read prayers and articles I posted and connect with me online. I loved it. I thought it was inspiring and sweet, a testament to the power of the Almighty God to connect people.

But now I find myself surrounded by so many people, still, who see the world differently. It’s being expressed in their politics, their Facebook posts, the memes they share (and in full disclosure, my husband, who I love dearly, is also in that same camp). I entrenched myself in those Christian circles, which extended way outside the walls of my old church, and now I feel smothered by it. I am disheartened and saddened by all of it.

So if you are feeling similarly disconnected, I’m writing to you with some affirmation. I am not trying or expecting to change a single person’s mind but to encourage you if you’re feeling separate from the world you love.

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You can be a Christian and still vote for a Democrat.

You can vote differently than your pastor, or your best friend, or even your husband.

You can be against abortion and still vote for the right of a woman to choose (and believe in the possibility of decreasing the number of abortions not through regulations but by providing resources to help those who feel unable to have their babies otherwise, like healthcare and maternity leave).

You don’t have to accept a candidate’s atrocious, harmful, criminal behavior because someone shared a meme that claimed that this man was a sinner just like David. You would not allow someone with his history around your own children. You do not have to put him in the highest office in our land.

You don’t have to endorse behavior that goes against the morality taught to you in church—lying is still wrong. Hatred—and particularly stirring it up in others—is ungodly. Jesus would never support manipulative behavior, violence, rape, egotistical beliefs that one is beyond censure, or a blatant disregard for everything else he taught.

Your faith beliefs don’t have to be imposed on everyone else in order for you to be true to God; didn’t God give us ample opportunities to choose his way, with a free heart? True belief has never been about laws and regulations. God has called us to certain behaviors and standards, but at the deepest level he wants a heart change, not blind followers.

You don’t have to vote Republican to show your love for this country. Republicans do not own the American flag, and Democrats can believe in our Constitution. You don’t have to accept a candidate that has shown every sign that he will dismantle it all.

You don’t have to believe the misinformation people share. When something seems ridiculous, shocking, over the top, consider that maybe it was manufactured to elicit outrage. (For instance, Democrats do not support murdering babies that have been born, no matter how many times people claim otherwise.) Media outlets can put their own spin on things, so don’t just read the one you are used to. Read others too. Look for sources reporting the actual quotes, events, or whatnot, and decide for yourself. Often the things that are the most shocking are simply distorted claims about the facts.

You don’t have to defend one person’s behavior by bashing the other. There are unflattering things on both sides. It’s my opinion that the behavior of one side is potentially way more harmful to me, my children, and this world than the other, but I know most of those on the opposite side believe the same about my side, and think I’m completely deceived and misguided, too. And that’s something to remember:

A person’s political choices don’t necessarily indicate their character. I keep telling myself this. Some people close to me strongly disagree with this, and perhaps I’m being naive. It is so difficult to separate a person’s character from the views they support. Sometimes I do think it says a lot about a person to see what they will overlook or ignore, to see what they say they stand for. It boggles my mind. I cannot fathom the levels of support and the twisted logic some people share. But my husband and I are way apart politically and I know, know, know he is a good man.

And, lastly, you don’t have to tell a single person who you vote for.

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I’m sure I will officially lose hundreds of my readers now; this is such a loaded and divisive topic. But if you’re reading this far in spite of disagreeing with me, thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt enough to listen. I’m grateful, and sure, I wish I could convince you to change your mind, but I know I can’t. Besides, you are not my primary audience for this.

I’m writing this because it is incredibly lonely to see the world differently than those you love, and if that is you, I want you to know you’re not alone. I’m also writing for myself, as one of those who feels sad, discouraged, distraught, and very alone.

I’m watching the way the nonbelievers look at the loudest among us who profess Christianity, and I watch what doesn’t to me look like godly behavior, and I grieve for the state of the church. I want to remain true to what Christianity was meant to be, but I have a strong reluctance to be categorized as a Christian. What used to be a spiritual movement seems to have become instead a political movement. The priorities have flip-flopped. I want to speak out, defend the faith, defend the Church. But the Church has changed, and in spite of the depths of my faith, I often wonder if there is a place there for me any longer.

The way someone else practices their faith does not have to change my own faith. Nor does it have to change yours. But it’s naive to think it has no impact, which is why I’m so deeply sad. I’m seeing families and friendships being torn apart and I feel helpless to stop it. I draw some comfort from spending time with likeminded friends, but it’s hard not to feel like the world is out to get you. It’s hard to think that maybe this political stuff isn’t in fact as dire as it feels, because while that’s possible, it’s also possible that the consequences are more dire than we even imagine.

I’ve done all that I can do. Now, it’s in God’s hands: the election, the state of this country, the damaged relationships and broken spirits.

One of the deepest ironies of this season has been reading the prayers shared by those I vehemently disagree with politically—because we all want the same thing. To follow the will of God. We long for people to see the abundant goodness of God’s love. We pray for safety, and protection. For unity over division. To live in a state of peace and not one of strife.

Lord, help us to find our way. Help us to reimagine a country—and world—not divided by hatred but united in love. Protect us, guide us, be with us. In the most holy name of Jesus I pray. Amen.