I was a member of this church. I was saved here. I was baptized here. This was once my spiritual home. I was pushed out—not by God, not for sin, and not for anything involving the church —but because a deacon at the time demanded that I publicly apologize before the church for something from my life before I was saved-something the church's own beliefs say was already forgiven. When I refused to submit to that humiliation, I was threatened. I was told that if I came back to the church, I would be arrested, despite having done nothing wrong. That intimidation followed me even in grief. When my father passed away, the family gathered at the church for a reception before his funeral service. I was told I was not allowed to be there. I was told that if I showed up, I would be arrested. That information was relayed to me by my own mother. The funeral itseif was held at a different location - but I was excluded from that final family gathering before we laid him to rest. In my deepest moment of loss, I was kept away —not by God, but by fear. That wasn't accountability. That was exclusion. Even my own parents had already left this church because of how I was treated. My father was disappointed by what was done to me. He saw it clearly. I do not believe he would have approved of his reception being held there. That decision was not his - and it was not mine. Ilive with a disability, and I am not ashamed of it. What is shameful is how people with disabilities are treated —spoken down to, dismissed, and pushed out instead of supported. I saw a pattern of people being quietly run off rather than cared for. That is not Christlike. Jesus moved toward the vulnerable. He didn't exile them. I deleted a previous review in September 2024 out of respect while I was grieving. But compassion does not erase the truth. People deserve to know what they're walking into. After I shared my experience publicly, I was blocked on Facebook rather than contacted or invited into any dialogue. That response reinforces everything I described. A church committed to accountability does not silence people — it listens. This is exactly why people are leaving churches— because power gets confused with righteousness. I stayed silent once out of grief and respect. I'm speaking now because silence only protects the wrong things. My faith did not fail me. My disability is not a flaw. And telling the truth about harm is not bitterness—it’s survival. And it’s honesty.