I learned to pray in words my grandmother would not recognise

Dear Delyara, I grew up in a religious community where prayer had rules, approved language, and correct conclusions. After leaving, I stopped praying because every sentence sounded borrowed from people whose authority I no longer trusted. Years passed. A therapist suggested I write whatever I would say if nobody were grading it. My first attempt was mostly anger. Then grief. Then silence. Slowly, prayer became less like reporting to an institution and more like speaking honestly into uncertainty. This morning, I sat by the window and said, “I don’t know who is listening, but I am grateful I made it this far.” My grandmother would not have recognized that as proper prayer. She would have corrected the wording. I love her, and I no longer need her version of faith to validate mine. Spiritual growth has become the ability to remain open to something sacred without recreating the cage I left.