I grew up in the Bible Belt, so almost everyone I knew was Christian—at least on the surface. Even if some of my friends seemingly never mentioned the Bible in casual conversation, there was at least the cultural expectation that they’d show up in the pews, beaming brightly in their Sunday best. I was already kind of a spiritual outsider in my small town, attending the only Catholic Church (and occasionally experiencing some playful “Virgin Mary” jokes). But I really felt out of place on a deeper level—I was very confused about my faith, including whether I had one at all.
Somewhere around middle school, I remember asking questions to adults about the Bible, trying to drill down on what I considered troubling inconsistencies. In high school, I spent hours reading articles other religions and belief systems. I found myself distracted, even disinterested, in the sermons. I begged my parents to let me sleep in on Sunday mornings. But any time I started to truly question, I felt a zap of guilt—one that I kept secret. I went through phases where I felt flutters of rejuvenation, mostly because I wanted to fit in. (In one case during college, I had a crush on a deeply religious girl and thought, “Maybe this path makes the most sense.”)
When I met my future wife, who was confident in her atheism, I discovered I wasn’t alone in my lack of belief. Then came a less pleasant thought: “I have to tell my parents now.” It was a painful conversation that happened almost by accident, while I was taking an afternoon walk with my mom. She casually asked about my then-girlfriend’s religion, and I told her the truth: She didn’t have one—and, frankly, neither did I. There were insults and tears and resentment, and I wasn’t prepared to process it. I also realize, looking back, that my mom probably wasn’t either—even if I struggled to understand it, I know this wasn’t the image of her adult son that she’d always pictured. (Not having kids probably didn’t help either. Sorry, mom!) But these days, most of that tension has softened, and I feel self-actualized in a way I didn’t as angsty college kid. Plus, I have plenty of religious friends. (Tolerance, ultimately, is a two-way street. We don’t have to agree on everything.)
Looking back, though, I realize that this “coming out” exchange was a big deal, and I wish I had a do-over to consider the moment more consciously. It’s a tricky and complex situation for anyone, especially if you want the recipient of this news to remain a part of your life. There are numerous factors to consider: the region, the particular faith, the broader cultural tolerance of non-religious beliefs, even the time period. (For example, according to a 2025 Pew Research Center report, “31% of U.S. adults said religion was gaining influence in American life,” marking the highest figure they’d seen in 15 years.) This isn’t a one-size-fits-all situation—everyone should approach their own tactfully, weighing the benefits and risks, potentially even consulting with a professional. (It’s obvious, but no one’s suggesting anyone should abandon their faith—we just want everyone to coexist peacefully. Life is a journey, and beliefs can evolve.) Still, it’s interesting to read about other people’s experiences.
One Redditor shared theirs in a thread titled “Coming out as an atheist!! what’s your story?” They wrote about telling their family at age 17, noting, “Most of them were supportive, but some said that this was a phase. I truly feel privileged to have a supportive family who did not let their beliefs affect mine.” One commenter shared that it was “more difficult coming out to friends and classmates,” given that they live in a predominantly Christian area. They wrote, “A lot of the time people thought I was crazy or started hating my mom for ‘leading my down the wrong path,’” but they wound up making new friends. Some people explained that had serious conversations, while others noted taking a more casual approach: “In a nutshell? ‘Dad, I’m an atheist,’” one user wrote. “‘Yeah, that doesn’t make you transparent—step aside, I wanna see the game.’”
If you look through enough responses, age emerges as a common theme. It’s likely way different having this conversation with your parents at 15, when you’re still living under the same roof, than as a financially independent adult. In the /exmormon subreddit, one user recalled their spouse having a relatively informal chat with his parents, mentioning that he “was taking a break.” But the Redditor also, crucially, emphasized that “every family is different.” Others in the thread stressed the importance of compassion and clear communication. In an /atheist thread, one ex-Muslim, then 32, wrote, “I don’t recommend telling your mom anything until you get a job and start being independent.” Again, there is no right way to take this step, if you even decide to take it at all.
In a 2015 study for the journal Secularism and Nonreligion, researchers studied the reactions of families when a member “comes out” as atheist, reporting the experiences of 80 people. They noted, broadly, that “atheists are often subjected to statements and behaviors that are unsupportive of familial relationships,” but they also aimed to determine which of three characteristics—”cohesion, adaptability, and communication”—was most crucial. While noting that each is important, they found that “kind and respectful communication seems to facilitate movement within the healthier realms of the cohesion and adaptability spectrums.” They also added, “[C]ommunication is often the element that individuals seem to be most aware of and most able to control. This is prescriptively important because it implies that, even when families have a pattern of rigidity or disengagement, being intentional about how one communicates can potentially soften the impact of disclosure.”
Eight years later, researchers for the journal Social Forces examined atheists’ “perceptions of hostility toward their identities and whether they conceal those identities.” They wrote, “Looking first at the results for perceived hostility toward individuals’ atheist identity, we do not find any statistically significant differences across racial or ethnic groups relative to atheists who identify as white.” Additionally, they did “find some evidence that women might report greater perception of stigma related to their atheist identity relative to men, although this difference is of borderline statistical significance.”
Despite my mild regrets, when I reflect back on that conversation with my mom, I ultimately feel proud that I didn’t hide part of myself—and, frankly, lucky that I didn’t have to.
