Faith, Fiction, and Identity: Writing from a Place of Holy Tension
As a queer, neurodivergent writer, faith can feel like conflict. But it’s also a source of deep meaning. I write from the tension of belief and doubt. That’s where my truth lives. I’m often balancing grace with grief, hope with hurt.
I don't write Theist fiction. I write fiction as a Theist—with all the complexity that brings. Scripture, trauma, prayer, and queerness all show up in my work. Sometimes they clash. Sometimes they coexist. I’ve found that tension can be generative—it makes room for stories that don't pretend, that ask hard questions without needing to resolve them.
My faith isn't neat or performative. It's messy, intimate, lived. And writing from that place invites others to wrestle, too—to hold space for complexity and contradiction. To find holiness not in perfection, but in presence.
There’s a tension I carry into every story I write—a space between belief and becoming, between doctrine and doubt. For a long time, I didn’t know how to reconcile my creative voice with the version of faith I was taught to uphold. As a queer, neurodivergent, and trans person, faith didn’t always feel like a refuge. But over time, I began to explore that tension instead of trying to escape it—and my writing changed.
This post is for writers who feel caught between sacred language and lived reality, who wonder if their stories can hold space for both the divine and the deeply human. You're not alone. And yes, there is room for all of you.
The Personal is Theological: Writing From Lived Tension
Most of the stories we grow up with—especially in religious households—come with a prescribed moral arc. Characters are tested, punished, redeemed. There’s often a binary of good vs. evil, sinner vs. saint. But many of us live outside those binaries. Our lives don’t fit cleanly into “testimony” or “triumph.”
When I write now, I ask myself: what does faith look like when it’s wrestled with honestly? Not when it’s resolved, but when it’s lived in the in-between. I write characters who doubt and characters who pray. Characters who don’t have the words for God, but still ache for something bigger.
📖 If this resonates, check out Cole Arthur Riley's “This Here Flesh”. It’s a beautiful exploration of storytelling, Black spirituality, and embodiment.
Scripture, Symbolism, and Subversion
If you grew up immersed in religious tradition, you probably know how deeply language sticks to your bones. Phrases like “walk by faith” or “thorn in the flesh” don’t just show up in sermons—they echo in your inner narrative. I’ve found power in reclaiming that language and using it intentionally in fiction—not to preach, but to witness.
There’s room in fiction for sacred symbols, fractured gospels, altars built out of grief. I use metaphor and myth to explore themes of resurrection, exile, chosen family, and lament. Not as doctrine, but as possibility.
🎥 Recommended video: “Queer Theology: Reading the Bible with New Eyes” – This short but powerful video from the Queer Theology project explores how LGBTQ+ people can find themselves in sacred texts.
When Your Audience Is Both Sacred and Secular
One of the biggest challenges I’ve faced is not knowing who I’m writing “for.” Am I writing for Christians who affirm my identity? For queer readers who’ve left the church? For myself?
The answer is: all of the above.
Your audience may be fragmented. That’s okay. The act of writing from the intersection of faith and queerness is inherently radical. You don’t have to be a theologian or a literary critic to do it “right.” You just have to tell the truth in a way that’s real for you.
🧵 For more on writing at these intersections, I highly recommend this essay by Sarah Bessey: “Faith in the Margins”.
Creating Space for Sacred Ambiguity
So much of our creative tension comes from trying to resolve ambiguity too soon. But what if we let ourselves linger there? I’ve started giving myself permission to write stories that don’t end with perfect clarity—just honest complexity.
In one of my recent works-in-progress, a main character who is trans and deeply spiritual never quite finds a “church home,” but they build rituals of their own. They light candles, keep a prayer journal, write psalms in the margins of their sketchbooks. That’s holy, too.
If you’re a writer of faith wrestling with gender, grief, or justice—your voice is needed. Your questions are sacred. And your stories matter.
I also want to say I encourage those who may not share my views to consider the importance of creating inclusive spaces for LGBTQ individuals within churches. This isn't about reaching an agreement but rather about demonstrating that we can coexist peacefully. Such coexistence is a powerful expression of love, even amidst differing opinions. There is so much pain that you have to carry while being in the church as some one who is SSA so show some empathy.
Final Thoughts: Let Tension Be a Creative Tool
You don’t have to resolve the tension between faith and identity to write from it. You can use it as a lens, a compass, even a form of prayer. Stories born from contradiction are often the most alive.
If you want more resources for writing at the intersections of faith, queerness, and neurodivergence, check out:
Further Info:
Writingelite.wordpress.com- I post on the website once a month, take a look, I usually write on Neurodivergent children and other things alike this.
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