Although I can understand some of the criticism this book has received per prior reviews I read (such as not being as linearly organized as other memoirs or having a more academic/teaching vibe at times), I feel that 5 stars are deserved for the book doing what I believe it sets out to do: it addresses the author's spiritual trauma and healing from it while also letting others who have experienced spiritual trauma know that they are not alone and can also heal. I like that it ultimately questions various types of systems that harm us all, not just spiritual institutions. It also questions things like fatphobia/diet culture, gender roles, 12 Step programs, academia, the psychology field, and other things that try to fit people into molds. I like that the author shares how she came to accepting eclectic views because of being able to become true to herself and how they make no apologies for not fitting into a mold. I personally enjoyed the expressive arts reflections at the end of chapters, though I may be biased as a creative arts therapist myself. However, what is the point of writing a book if not to connect with other people, no? In this way I think the author does a great job of connecting with the reader and helping us all feel connected.

*I received an eARC in exchange for an honest review.

Jamie took what's tragic and made it into this beautiful work of art....she wrote with equal amounts of delicacy and power. Thank you netgalley for the chance to read this in advance

For people dealing with dissociative identities and survivors of spiritual abuse, "You Lied to Me About God" is a must-read. It provides a clinical perspective that has to be heard more, particularly in the field of dissociation psychotherapy. The book encourages readers to embrace the transformational power of authenticity and discover their genuine selves as a monument to resilience and self-discovery. When they relate their experiences with love, grief, faith, and finding their voice, Author JAmie Marich's vulnerability comes through. Growing up as a highly sensitive, queer child in a mixed Catholic and Evangelical home is described in this extraordinarily bold and honest book.

Jamie Marich is known as a brilliant writer and polymath. In this memoir she shows that she's also a troubled little girl, or rather a set of three troubled girls, From time to time she refers to them as "we" in this book.

She describes all the standard Generation X troubles: weight problems, body image problems, popularity problems, sex and drug problems, family relationship problems. She lays most of the blame on her parents' disagreements. Both grew up Catholic, but her father rebelled and joined a Protestant church; the parents divorced, and little Jamie and Paul were exposed to constant preaching about how their mother's source of order and comfort was leading the children into sin. Paul became a Catholic priest. Jamie became an addict, though productive, writing everything from songs to textbooks. Jamie's family were unusual, and her talent was probably unusual. So why did she have the same problems so many other kids her age were having in the 1980s and 1990s? "Daddy made me listen to Jimmy Swaggart! AND Rush Limbaugh!" might have gravelled a budding feminist soul, but I suspect that the constellation of "issues" little Jamie and Dr. Marish are describing here had its root cause in the physical environment.

But things parents say to children in anger have a way of sticking in the mind. Jamie's father was perceived as "the best Dad" in the neighborhood, and it wasn't as if he beat or molested his children privately, but...when Jamie's favorite teacher died, her father seized an utterly unsuitable moment for a little evangelism, suggesting that God took the teacher to punish Jamie for not adhering to all the disciplines of his church and God might take her mother or brother next. This naturally raised Jamie's crying to such a pitch that Paul came out and ordered their father, "You leave my sister alone!" And there young Jamie stuck, emotionally, while Dr. Marich was racking up achievements. She felt rejected by boys at school, then by most of the men she knew, blaming "fat" she probably didn't really have, while at least one of the boys, awestruck by her successes, grew up to tell her he didn't feel "good enough" to approach her either. Call Dr. Freud! We've seen it before: young people having problems with their opposite-sex parents just don't seem to click with the opposite sex in their own age group, however desirable they are.

So today Dr. Marich is religious, even in what might be called a Christian way since she still confesses faith in Jesus, but her religion is aggressively ecumenical. She liked the teaching of an American yogi who told his flock that only what the whole world agrees on is really true, that all the differences among world religions are details that aren't worth talking about. She still expresses anger at people who say things like "Jesus still loves you.." Mostly attracted to men, she learned to settle for women as bedmates, and to define her identity as "Queer" because sexuality is so important. She thinks St. Paul was a "sexual anorexic..." (She sounds so young, so unaware that hormones subside and people whose work makes marriage impractical can be glad they no longer crave sex as they used to do.)

Dr. Marich correctly says that what's often preached as "forgiveness," the idea that we should just sweep all wrongdoing under the rug and try to feel good about robberies, rapes, and murders, is not necessary or even helpful to the pursuit of happiness. I commend her for that. If it wasn't necessary for her to tell the world who did it, it was heroic for her to tell the world that "someone" preached at her when she was mourning someone's death, and she felt this blunder as a violation of the spirit. It was one. And Christians need to read young Jamie's story, to understand how much harm an inappropriate evangelical sermon can do.

Still, this is neither a happy nor a satisfactory memoir. It lacks the child's-eye, detailed memories that the best childhood memoirs have, the "yellow-walled room where the kindergarten class of five sang 'Jesus Loves Me'" sort of thing, that makes readers feel that they're time-travelling with an unusually articulate child. Memoirs can do without that. Readers don't need to know exactly what the playground bullies did to make an achiever like Jamie feel bullied at school. A memoir can simply affirm that school did not exactly provide an emotional escape from the turbulence of living with divorced parents, and let readers fill in their own memories. A memoir should, however, end with an older person having recovered from the damage done by the unpleasantness in childhood, and this one doesn't.

I think this is a draft Marich should have shared with her family in family counselling, to prod the process of repentance along so that the processes of forgiveness and reconciliation and healing can begin. The reconciliation would be the story worth publishing to the world.

Did not finish. I typically enjoy memoirs but I had a very hard time following this one. The timeline for stories was all over the place, the author's use of singular/plural pronouns, sometimes in the same sentence to refer to themselves made it difficult to read. Many times, I couldnt figure out the point the author was trying to make. I felt like I was reading various unfinished chapters with half thoughts. The author was very vulnerable, and for that I want to thank the author. Unfortunately, I don't think I was the target audience or I just had a hard time following what the author was trying to share or communicate.

Jamie Marich’s *You Lied to Me About God* is a compelling memoir that explores the complexities of faith, identity, and spiritual recovery. Raised by parents of differing faiths—Catholic and Evangelical—Marich recognized she was in a spiritual crisis as early as 9 years old, when she experienced suicidal ideation. This early crisis set her on a lifelong journey to understand and reclaim her faith, leading her to explore various other religions, only to find that they could be as exploitative and harmful as those she grew up with.

Marich’s exploration of her identity as a queer person and her experiences living with dissociation add profound depth to her story. She candidly discusses how organized religions, across different traditions, often alienate those who do not fit within their narrow definitions of morality. Her reflections provide a critical look at how spiritual exploitation can pervade different faith systems, leaving individuals with deep emotional and psychological scars.

Despite these challenges, Marich’s story is ultimately one of resilience and hope. Her memoir serves as both an account of the trauma inflicted by organized religion and a guide for others seeking to reclaim their faith on their own terms. *You Lied to Me About God* can be helpful to anyone on a path of spiritual self-discovery, particularly those who have experienced the darker side of religious institutions and are searching for an authentic connection in their own fairh journey.

You Lied to Me About God was an interesting read. I did find it difficult to follow along and keep track of things being said by different people as there seems to be a lot of run on sentences with very little punctuation. Getting to read about her experience with growing up in a household with 2 different religions and the trauma that developed was interesting but it's not what I had expected from the description of the book

Thank you NetGalley, the author, and publisher for an ARC in exchange for my honest review

Jamie Marich presents her very difficult upbringing with a Catholic mom, and Assembly of God dad. Caught in the middle of their "spiritual warfare", she navigated her Christian journey with pain and suffering. Unfortunately, I could not really relate to some of the general information that she presented, and I had to stop reading at 33%. I wish her all the best in her continued healing.

Thanks to NetGalley for the opportunity to read You Lied to Me About God.

This was an interesting read, the author grew up in a home with two different religions. Her father was very vocal and often times very loudly about his religions. The mother vocal and sometimes very vocal. So the parents caused a great deal of confusion for the author. Who later on life went through a lot of searching to find her way to God in her own rite.

This was a good book, the author is a great writer and made this book very easy to read.

Thank you NetGalley and North Atlantic Books for sending this book for review. All opinions are my own.

I recently reviewed and worked through the practices from the book You Lied To Me About God written by Dr. Jamie Marich. As a person with a physical disability, particularly one I was born with, who by nature has many barriers to accessing mental health support and a unique lived experience when it comes to Spiritual Trauma, I was excited to dive in and get to work. I wasn’t three, maybe five, pages into the first chapter when stuff around my spiritual trauma was popping up. I knew I would have to take it slow, which I did, but was also eager to continue working through the exercises and finishing the book. Several personal experiences shared within the book were close to my own, which created a sense of safety and relieved a lot of the lost and alone feelings I’ve been dealing with around my spiritual trauma. The most impactful part was the more painful shared experiences that offered a sense of understanding and empathy. I as the reader and she as the author understood each other’s pain. Even though the contexts were different many of the fallouts as a result of the experiences were the same. Due to the nature of our lived experiences being so unique and specific or unrelatable to the professionals we see are an extra layer and challenge we face in our healing journeys. The same things can be experienced by us as they can be by anyone, but oftentimes not in the same way as they are by someone else, or they are in direct connection to our disabilities that are not fixable or changeable. The last chapter of the book, I will admit, was difficult and left me in a place that one might identify as a dark night of the soul. I wasn’t prepared to confront my past suicidal ideation and attempts as something, in part, stemming from spiritual trauma, although in hindsight it makes sense. Albeit temporary, which I knew, the ending left me feeling completely shattered yet open to processing even more of my spiritual trauma. If those invitations to process weren’t at the end of every chapter I don’t think that would be the case nor would I have found the healing that I did from working through it.

I must admit that I had great difficulty in reading this book. It did not seem to know what it wanted to be and certainly seemed to be different from the blurb that interested me enough to request it.

I skipped over the beginning in the end as testimonial after testimonial followed so I was 18% in before I really began.

The author dips in and out of her life rather than giving a linear account and that would not normally be a problem except I ended up feeling I was being preached at. If I wanted a self help book then I would have got one rather than being told to write lists or a story or...You get the picture?

All in all I found it tedious and messy. A disappointment as I was looking forward to reading it.


Thank you to NetGalley, North Atlantic Books and the author for the ARC.

When I began to read Jamie's newest book, You Lied to Me About God, I found that I was unable to put it down. Their story resonated with the experiences of so many clients and congregants I have known over the decades. Religious abuse leads to deep wounding; and Spirit-centered practices lead to deep healing. Jamie's personal story is one eloquent illustration of the tenacity of survival to thriving from the lived experiences of religious and intergenerational trauma. Their story intersects with so many marginalized communities as a beacon of hope to the power of perseverance and tenacity to tell one's own story according to one's own terms. This is what liberation and healing can look like.

Rev. Karla Fleshman, LCSW, MDiv

This was a well=written and engaging memoir. I devoured it in just a few days. Despite delving into her experiences of religious trauma, I did not find it triggering as a fellow survivor--it was handled well. It gave a well-rounded picture of the many facets of damage that her adverse religious experiences did, while also painting an intriguing picture of how she has managed to reconstruct a faith experience that works for her. The book handled "taboo" topics gracefully, and was honest without being antagonistic. I think the book will be most helpful to religious trauma survivors, but it would be an excellent resource for those who have genuine questions about how religion can at times be harmful, when they have not experienced it as such. The book was deep, honest, and heartfelt, and I highly recommend it.

Parts of this read like an NPR devotee leading a workplace discussion -“my Black friends,” “many lovely Muslim people,” etc. And the transition to the Amrit Desai section was odd to say the least. They willingly (and repeatedly) attended the cult of man who they *knew* was a sex pest, if not criminal, because their philosophy encouraged “investigation prior to contempt”? WHAT?

The honesty and self-reflection and vulnerability at times are beautiful. Her analysis of herself and her experiences can be poignant and insightful.

Thank you to NetGalley, the author, and the publisher for an eARC in exchange for my honest review.

Thanks to NetGalley and North Atlantic Books for the ARC!

Dr. Jamie Marich’s "You Lied to Me About God" is a deeply frustrating read in that it is a good book buried in a bad memoir.

Decorated with taxonomies at every turn, this begins as something closer to "The Body Keeps the Score" for spiritual abuse than a memoir. That’s where it excels, as Marich weaves therapeutic language and concepts throughout common religious trauma. The book is so successful in this regard that, for a while, I wondered if it might be eventually be considered a seminal text on the subject.

Unfortunately, though, this approach quickly undermines the structure of the book, as Marich treats her personal history as a problem to be solved—a therapeutic object lesson. As a result, there’s endless signposting like, “the full story will unwind in other chapters of this memoir.” The author completely loses the specificity of her story because she’s preoccupied with its singularity, so her fairly standard spiritual journey is framed as novel and implicitly didactic. Additionally, this attitude makes some of Marich’s other structural decisions appear misjudged, such as each chapter’s concluding “Expressive Arts Invitation,” which is essentially a trauma-informed reflection exercise. Because they are supposed to exist in conversation with “memoir,” they feel self-indulgent more than anything else. As a reader, it feels bad to see a memoirist seemingly convinced that their life's main value is instructive.

Furthermore, like the recent "Kissing Girls on Shabbat," a book that might be considered a spiritual sister to this one, the memoir within "You Lied to Me About God" feels grossly underserved by Marich’s therapeutic impulses. She seems intent on analyzing or justifying every past belief, often to the book’s detriment. I think effective memoir recognizes that its author is just one of many past, present, and future selves, but this book feels desperate to cast the now-Marich as the definitive one, capable of handling every aspect of her life with an authoritative finality. It reads as defensive, a characteristic further compounded by countless performative, white liberal touchstones, such as discussions on race that ultimately feel self-serving.

Lest these critiques seem to be in bad faith, I write this as someone who largely shares the author’s politics and feelings about religion. I also just think Marich’s use of BIPOC scholarship seems patronizing and flippant, rather than rooted in a desire for robust alternative perspectives. Every look outward feels meant to attract the reader’s attention to Marich herself. By the end of the book, this insularity feels like its defining characteristic—a memoir so convinced that it will be “useful” to its readers that it seems completely disinterested in them and detached from its author.

I did not finish this book. It didn’t read as much like a memoir, as I expected, as a self-help psychology book.

I unfortunately had to DNF this around the 18% mark. I was interested in the basic premise, of religious extremism and how that can impact families and children.

Unfortunately there were two issues that kept me from connecting with this book. 1. The pace. It's one 40-word sentence after the next. 2. There were no really striking moments of personal connection. It's all just the author's personal musings about politics or the world. As a theologian, I understand that preaching is part of the deal. But it's not what I'm looking for in a first-person narrative.

Although a lot of this "memoir" /help manifesto was fascinating, it became almost impossible to follow because of her non-linear approach to telling this story.

Dr. Jamie Marich's upcoming release, "You Lied To Me About God," is an incredibly brave and honest memoir of her experiences growing up as a highly sensitive, queer child in a mixed Catholic and Evangelical household. In this deeply personal account, Dr. Marich details the impact of religious trauma on her life, the effects of spiritual abuse and the harmful influence of Christosupremacy.

Dr. Marich captivated me with her candid truths on the complexities of her upbringing. Her narrative skillfully weaves together the devout Catholicism of her mother and the anti-Catholic stance of her father, painting a vivid picture of the challenges faced in a household marked by religious diversity. The author recounts childhood prayers for the rapture, revealing how, as a trauma therapist, she now interprets those early experiences as desperate cries for help.

The book explores the concept of spiritual bypassing, eloquently explained by Marich through the lens of her own journey. Drawing on Buddhist teacher John Welwood's term, she articulates the pitfalls of relying on religion to evade the emotional work necessary for healing. The author's reflections on the film "Amistad" as a guiding force in writing the book add depth to the narrative, showcasing the interplay between personal experiences and the way the arts help us to process and understand our pain.

Dr. Marich's connection to her roots as a therapist with Croatian, Serbian, and Hungarian heritage enriches the memoir, drawing important parallels between historical contexts and contemporary spiritual bypassing. Her incisive commentary on the intricate relationship between church and state provides a crucial critical analysis of spiritual abuse, contributing to a macro lens conversation on these issues as well.

The author vulnerably shares her journey through substance abuse, offering readers a glimpse into the pain she sought to numb. "You Lied To Me About God" is ultimately a story of found family and healing. Marich honors the journey, her chosen family, and the transcending power of connection and support.

Readers will resonate with the complexities of love and societal expectations as Marich shares her experience falling in love with a seminarian, a relationship thwarted by institutional barriers. The inclusion of expressive arts invitations in the book offers readers moments of reflection, enhancing the reading experience.

Dr. Marich also fearlessly addresses problematic behaviors within 12-step meetings, creating a space for readers to confront and navigate the challenges of recovery. Her compassionate approach makes this book a valuable resource for anyone seeking to understand the profound impact of spiritual abuse and the journey toward healing.