It’s not always loud. It’s not always dramatic. No big announcement. No angry goodbye post. Just… silence. One Sunday becomes two. Then three. Then it’s been six months, and you’re watching sermons in bed with a muted screen and your heart halfway out the door.
This is the quiet quitting that’s happening in churches today, and not just among the occasional churchgoers, but among women who once led small groups, served faithfully, gave generously, and showed up consistently. People who love Jesus deeply, but for one reason or another, don’t feel at home in church anymore.
Some have left because of burnout. They gave and gave until they felt invisible. Others left because of church hurt, the kind that doesn’t always make headlines, but leaves real bruises. Judgment dressed up as concern. Gossip behind the guise of accountability. Leadership that demanded loyalty but offered no real support. Moments where vulnerability was met with silence or worse, shame. And then some simply drifted. Life changed. Priorities shifted. And now they’re wondering if anyone even noticed they stopped coming.
But this isn’t about blame. This is about honesty.
Because underneath it all is a longing, a longing for connection, for truth that isn’t sugarcoated or performative. A desire to be seen, not just for what you can do, but for who you really are. A hunger for a church that doesn’t just preach community, but embodies it.
And what does all of this say about us?
It says that many of us are exhausted with religion that feels mechanical. We’re tired of the pressure to perform. We’re craving depth. We want sermons that speak to our real lives, mental health, questions, and disappointments. We want leaders who are honest about their own struggles. We want safe spaces, not just structured services.
But here’s the twist: many of us who’ve quietly stepped back still love Jesus. Still pray. Still worship. Still hope. We just don’t know where we fit anymore. And that’s the tension: loving God, but feeling distant from His people.
So what now?
If you’re the one who’s stepped back, know this: you’re not strange, or broken, or faithless. You’re human. And maybe this is your pause, but not your end. Don’t give up on the body of Christ. Maybe you just need to heal. Maybe you need something smaller, slower, more honest.
The church is not perfect, but God’s people are meant to support, uplift, and walk alongside each other. Scripture reminds us not to forsake the gathering of fellow believers (Hebrews 10:25), not out of obligation, but because community is one of the ways God heals, strengthens, and grows us.
If church hurt is what’s keeping you away, consider talking to someone you trust in the faith community or seeking counsel. Healing often begins with honest conversations, even with leaders you may feel betrayed by. Pray for restoration, ask God to give you the courage to confront the pain, and allow Him to guide you through it.
And if you’re still plugged in and wondering why people are drifting, check in. Reach out. Not to fix them, but to see them. Ask better questions. Make space for honest answers. Be the kind of church you wish you had when you were struggling.
Quiet quitting doesn’t have to be the last chapter. Maybe it’s just the part where we rewrite how we do community—less pressure, more presence. Less hype, more healing. Less perfect church girl energy. More grace.
