God: An Attachment Figure

Let’s start here. In psychology, an attachment figure is someone we turn to for safety, comfort, and reassurance. When we’re scared, we reach for them. When we’re uncertain, we look to them for guidance. Ideally, that starts with a caregiver in childhood—but throughout our lives, we form these bonds with others too: a partner, a mentor, a friend.

For many, God becomes a primary attachment figure. This connection often forms in early childhood, especially in faith communities where God is described as loving, present, and attentive. We learn to talk to God when we’re scared. To find peace in prayer. To feel a divine presence walking with us when no one else seems to understand.

So when something disrupts that connection, or we begin to question everything we once held sacred, it can feel like losing our greatest caregiver, our lifeline. That kind of loss is emotional, psychological and we feel it physically, like heartbreak.

It doesn’t hurt less when we’ve chosen -  for whatever reason - to walk away. Attachment runs deeper than choice. You don’t decide to want your mom when you’re sick. You don’t logically plan to crave someone’s voice when you’re afraid. Attachment is instinct. If God filled that emotional presence in your life, especially during times of fear, trauma, or loneliness, then the loss cuts deep.

Currently, there is no cultural norm for addressing this grief, both for the people struggling and for those close to them watching the struggle. If you're no longer religious, people may assume you feel free now. If you’re still religious but questioning, you might feel caught between shame and isolation in your religious group or within your family. If you're in therapy, you may worry that bringing up God at all will get you labeled irrational or resistant.

When your connection to God shifts, it activates the same pain responses as other kinds of attachment loss, anxiety, numbness, disorientation, longing, and you may even find yourself vacillating between both relief and devastation.

You don’t need your therapist to share your beliefs, but they should treat those beliefs with care and not view losing faith as a natural step toward maturation. They should make room for your story without trimming it down to fit their framework.

Whether you’re still holding tightly to your faith, trying to rediscover it, or slowly letting it go, you deserve support that recognizes:

• God might have been your safe place, and that matters.

• Your beliefs shaped your identity, and losing them may shake your sense of self.

• Spiritual connection can be healing, and isn’t something that needs to be pathologized.

• It’s okay to feel confused, angry, grateful, heartbroken, or numb all at the same time.

A good therapist will never try to take God away from you,they won’t patronize you, they won’t ask you leading questions (How much better might you feel in a few months?), and they won’t shame you if you’ve already walked away. The work isn’t about deciding who’s right. It’s about creating a space where you can make sense of your pain and your truth.

If your relationship with God has been damaged, whether by trauma, betrayal, silence, or systems that claimed to speak for Him, you’ll need to move forward at your own pace. You're allowed to grieve. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to hope. If you want to reconnect with the sacred on your own terms, or you're not sure you ever want to go back, both are valid.

The point is: you get to decide how your spiritual life unfolds. No one else. Not a therapist. Not a priest. Not a parent. Not a past version of yourself. There are people who will walk with you and won’t treat your longing like superstition or your faith-crisis like a problem to be solved.

If that’s what you need and have found it yet, keep looking. Ask questions. Advocate for yourself. You’re allowed to say:

“My faith matters to me, even if I’m struggling with it right now.”

“I need space to talk about God, even if I don’t know where I stand.”

“Please don’t treat my beliefs like baggage.”

Your spiritual life is not a liability; it’s a part of your story, and it could still be part of your strength.