A personal reflection for women unlearning inherited religion, reclaiming spiritual memory, and honoring the ancestors through reverence, gratitude, and connection.
There is a difference between remembrance and worship, and for me, that difference matters. Deeply. I grew up in the South. I experienced life in and around the familiar rhythms of Baptist church culture. This culture had all of its structure, conviction, and certainty. I sang in the choir as a teenager. I knew the language of reverence. I felt the weight of scripture. The old-school King James Version tone made everything feel absolute. And yet, even then, somewhere beneath the surface, I carried questions. I carried a quiet rebellion. I did not lack respect for my origins. Still, traditional religion so often left me feeling like there had to be more.
I have gotten older and allowed myself to walk a more spiritual path. Through this journey, I have come to understand that ancestral veneration is not the same thing as worship. It is not about making gods out of the dead. It is not about replacing the Divine. It is not about bowing down in blind devotion. For me, it is about remembrance. It is about love with memory attached to it. It is about honoring those whose blood, prayers, endurance, sacrifices, and survival helped make my life possible. It is about acknowledging that I did not arrive here alone.
The distinction can be difficult to grasp for many people. This is especially true if they were raised in religious environments. In such settings, anything outside of a narrow framework was instantly labeled wrong, dangerous, or forbidden. I know that world because I came from it. I know what it feels like to be taught to fear what was never fully explained. But remembrance is not rebellion against God. It is not spiritual confusion. If anything, it has brought me into a deeper sense of reverence. It has taught me that the sacred is not always found in separation. Sometimes it is found in connection. Sometimes it is found in speaking the names. It is also discovered in tending the altar. Offering the glass of water brings it to light. Refusing to let your people be erased is another way it manifests.
What I have learned is that ancestral veneration is less about performance and more about relationship. It is a living acknowledgment that those who came before me still matter. Their lives matter. Their stories matter. Their pain, their wisdom, their resilience, and even their silences matter. In a world that so often encourages spiritual disconnection, remembrance becomes its own holy act. It says, I honor what has been carried. I honor what has been survived. I honor the invisible threads that continue to shape me. That is not worship. That is witness.
So when I say my ancestral veneration is about remembrance, not worship, I say it with clarity and peace. I am not turning my back on reverence. I am redefining what reverence looks like in my life. I am allowing it to be rooted, honest, and expansive enough to hold both my questions and my knowing. For those of us who grew up with religion, this path can feel like coming home. We still felt the ache for something deeper. It feels like discovering a truth we always sensed but were never given permission to name. Maybe that is what remembrance really is: not just honoring those who came before us, but remembering ourselves too.
Have you ever felt called to remember something sacred that your upbringing taught you to fear?
My Life With Curves 