Hi, I’m Jax and I’m still learning where I belong in the big wide world of spirituality. My beliefs shift and evolve—they’re fluid, if you’d like to call it that—and I think that’s part of the beauty of my discovery. I don’t have all the answers, but what I do know is that spirituality doesn’t have to come with guilt or shame. It can be a space to explore, to grow, and to connect with others – especially who feel lost or pushed out, like myself.
Why Did I Have Religious Guilt?
When I was a child, the world felt magical. Like most children I believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and due to living in England – the Christian representation of God. These beliefs were comforting, wrapping me in a sense of love and safety. But one day, when I was around seven years old, a friend told me something his aunt had said: “All gay people go to hell.”
I didn’t fully understand what “gay” meant at the time, but deep down, I knew there was something different about me—something that didn’t quite fit into the mold of what I saw around me. Hearing those words felt like a punch to the gut. I was in shock. I thought God loved everyone, including me. But suddenly, it felt like there was a condition attached to that love—one I might not be able to meet.
That day made me feel sick to my stomach. But even as a child, there was a little voice deep down inside me that didn’t believe it. The reason that small belief stayed with me was because I thought: If I was a god, and if my heart couldn’t possibly throw my dog, a person, or a child into a burning fire for being gay, naughty, or disobedient—then how could a creator bigger than us do so? My empathy wouldn’t allow me to burn someone just because they broke rules. And if my empathy says that, then surely a creator who is greater than us knows even more love?
Spiritual Loneliness
From that moment on, shame began to creep into my experience of church, and alas my religious guilt crept in. I felt like I didn’t belong, like there was a part of me that had to be hidden to avoid judgment or rejection. As I grew older and started to understand myself more, that feeling only deepened. I began reaching out for other religions and forms of spirituality—hoping to find a place where I could feel accepted and whole—but even in some spaces, cultural norms made it clear that my identity wasn’t fully embraced.
I’ve felt lost many times along the way, intrusive thoughts, OCD, night terrors and religious guilt. But through it all, one thing has remained constant: my intuition tells me we are all connected by something greater than ourselves. Whether you call it God, Source, or simply love—it’s vast and inclusive enough for everyone.
My Ancestors
Family legacy also plays a role in how I connect with divination. My great-great-grandmother was Romani and read tea leaves from the back of her vardo (traditional Romani wagon). Her intuitive gifts were passed down through generations until they reached me. While her methods may have been different from mine, her spirit of seeking wisdom through connection lives on in everything I do.
My spirituality became more personal when my nannie introduced me to tarot cards and showed me how the universe works in mysterious ways. She taught me about Louise Hay’s affirmations, the moon, and how spirituality can be an act of self-love and empowerment. My nannie gave me permission to explore spirituality on my own terms—to find magic in the everyday and power within myself. Her teachings planted the seed for my love of divination and self-discovery—a passion that has grown into something deeply meaningful for me today.
My Purpose
Now, what matters most to me is finding my people—whether you’re LGBTQ+, straight, or however you identify—and creating a space where we can explore spirituality together without fear or judgment. It doesn’t matter if your path involves numerology or tarot or astrology (like mine does) or something entirely different—we can start here together and support each other through the loneliness.
Spirituality doesn’t have to be scary; it can be fun! It can be playful! And most importantly—it can be ours.
No more spiritual loneliness or religious guilt,
You belong here,
Jax Jericho
