Silent No More

This is the last part of the three part series on deconstruction I’ve been working on. In Part 1, I wrote about my own journey. In Part 2, I interviewed Jaime Herron. And in Part 3, I now interview Kayla Herron, Jaime’s daughter.

Kayla, thank you so much for agreeing to this interview. First, can you tell people who you are and what you do?

Thank you so much for inviting me to be a part of this! It’s truly an honor to contribute, knowing the profound impact you’re making by giving voice to so many people’s stories and experiences through your interviews.

To introduce myself, I am your niece and the daughter of Jaime and PJ Herron. I am also a social worker, specializing in supporting, training, and empowering individuals with disabilities. In my role, I advocate for, mentor, and teach these individuals, as well as the student leaders who assist in our program, while also working to shape policies at the university where I work to empower students with intellectual disabilities to build the confidence and competence to thrive on campus and in their daily lives. 

That’s incredible. And to say I’m proud of you is an understatement. In this series on deconstruction, both Jaime and I took people through our journeys. So what has yours been like? 

Great question, and thanks for asking! It’s been quite the roller coaster, honestly. A lot of my experience feels deeply personal, but the struggle also came from watching how the people I love most were treated—or not treated at all—by church leadership. This made me want to flee as fast as I could away from anything religious. I saw the victim pushed out while the perpetrator was protected. I have seen leadership take advantage of people’s pain. I have seen Christians be the first to point fingers. I sat alone wondering “I thought they were supposed to be different?” I’ve seen the LGBTQ+ community silenced, pushed away, and even mocked with terms like ‘alphabet people,’ yet somehow, racial slurs are considered unacceptable? It’s so inconsistent. And that phrase, ‘love the sinner, hate the sin’? Labeling someone as a ‘sinner’ automatically puts a divide between us, as if one person is morally superior, looking down on someone who just can’t seem to get it right. It carries the assumption that if they followed your lead, their life would improve. We’re all sinners. Singling someone out for what’s perceived as a ‘greater sin’ feels like we’ve forgotten that truth. 

One of the most hurtful things for me and my loved ones were those quick, easy comments people throw around, sometimes well-intentioned, but often without really considering the impact. A common one is, ‘Jesus didn’t hurt you, people did.’ While that might be technically true, it minimizes the pain someone’s carrying. It oversimplifies complex trauma, overlooks the deep layers of hurt, and comes across as shallow or unempathetic. It shuts down meaningful dialogue and dodges accountability. When someone in a religious role causes harm, they represent Jesus to that person, whether we like it or not. Comments like that deflect responsibility from the church or systems that enabled the hurt. Instead of providing a space to process the pain, they silence people. And for those already struggling with their faith or relationship with Jesus, hearing that ‘Jesus didn’t hurt you’ can just add to their confusion or guilt, especially if their trauma has made them feel distant from Him.

At the end of the day, I didn’t come to know Jesus because of what people told me. It wasn’t the platitudes or encouragements that drew me in. I fell in love with Jesus because He chased me down. When I questioned the church and people, He was there with me when I was alone, when I was suicidal, when I saw my family and loved ones hurt so deeply by the church, and no one came running to help. What drives me and who I am today is chasing people as Christ did—listening to them, asking real questions, showing them they are valued, not asking a question to answer in a specific way with an ulterior motive. That’s how I open conversations about Jesus. We don’t know the layers of someone’s heart the way Christ does, so why do we, as Christians, often act like we do? 

That’s a really profound answer. Your comments about “love the sinner, hate the sin” and “Jesus didn’t hurt you, people did” is something I’ve struggled with as well. And you’re right – it seems to shake off accountability and place the impetus on the hurting person to change, and essentially to stop feeling what they are feeling. It’s invalidating. Would you link your deconstruction with the type of career you’ve chosen? Was choosing to make advocacy your calling a process, or was it something that you just kind of fell into?

I’ve always been passionate about people, for as long as I can remember. But it wasn’t until I went through the process of deconstruction that I truly understood the depth of that passion. It became clear to me that I don’t just want to help people—I want to understand them. I want to work in a field where it’s not about trying to convert someone, but about meeting people where they are, learning how they process their experiences, and, if the door opens, sharing the gospel in a way that feels authentic and natural. I always ask myself, am I about to respond by sharing my own belief, or should I ask a question to better understand where their heart is in this moment?

Advocacy has always been a part of me, but it’s definitely been refined over time. My heart is drawn to care for those who feel too broken, too far gone, or even rejected by the church. Those are the people I’m passionate about pursuing because those are the people Christ chased after. For instance, when Jesus met the woman at the well, He didn’t begin by preaching; He started with a simple, human connection, a request for water. He listened to her story, acknowledged her pain, and loved her where she was. His willingness to meet her first as a person, to listen and understand her needs, allowed His message of salvation to reach her heart. That’s the model I want to follow, building real relationships with people, meeting them in their brokenness, and letting love and understanding lead the way.

Unfortunately, seeing how some Christians, and even church leaders, have treated others has really pushed me to rediscover who Christ truly is. It’s shaped how I approach my career and the work I do now. My goal is to live out that same love and compassion Jesus showed, especially to those who feel the most unseen. Over time, people will develop convictions and a passion for the Word of God as they grow in their faith and the Lord works in them. But before that can happen, they need to be met where they are. Not everything is about “proving” a point or “proving” what you believe in. 

I love that connection you just made – Jesus first making a human connection before meeting the spiritual need. He addressed one before the other so often, especially with those who were marginalized. And that’s what your work as a social worker so often does – meeting a real, human need and bringing in the spiritual if and when appropriate. And that word you used – acknowledged – carries so much weight. Can you parse that out a bit? Why is acknowledging someone’s need or pain so important to you?

I’d be happy to explain further. Let’s take deconstruction and why understanding the why is important. Acknowledging someone’s pain is deeply important to me because I’ve experienced what it’s like to carry those burdens in silence, to the point of attempting suicide due to feeling too far gone. When people don’t feel safe to share their struggles, they remain trapped in isolation, and their pain deepens. There are experiences I carry even now because I was afraid of how others might respond, or experienced the pain of being provided solutions or flippant comments. I was just crying out for help and wanting someone to just try to understand. 

I once heard it described in a way that resonated profoundly and explained exactly how I felt: “Imagine walking into a church, carrying silent suffering—feeling lost, lonely, and afraid. You hear the pastor, leaders, or even family say something that unintentionally wounds you, leaving you even more confused. You find yourself having to forgive the way they unknowingly, or knowingly, trample on your heart. Eventually, you start pretending their words are meant for someone else, distancing yourself from your own pain. You begin thinking of yourself in the third person, as if that makes it easier to endure. The hardest questions I’ve ever asked, I asked alone. My deepest sorrows were borne in silence, and my most painful tears fell unseen in the dark.” 

I learned the “right” answers Christians often want to hear, and that has been enough for them most of the time, but not for me. It’s not just about offering the “right” answers, it is about meeting people where they are at, not where you want them to be. When we’re unwilling to dig deeper and ask real, meaningful questions, people remain stuck, hidden behind the surface. 

I will go back to deconstruction. Deconstruction, in its true sense, is about breaking things down to understand their meaning, and while it can be used in harmful ways, it can also be an opportunity. Rather than fearing it, shying away, or defending, I believe it should be seen as an opportunity to pursue those who are hurting. Are we as Christians more concerned with maintaining theological accuracy than truly meeting people where they are? Christ’s heart goes beyond rules and formulas. He consistently challenged the religious leaders of his time, not to dismiss truth, but to emphasize the deeper, relational nature of God. Truth is vital, and I don’t want to be misunderstood on that point. However, when we become overly focused on maintaining the structure of our belief system, we risk becoming rigid, losing sight of the very grace and compassion that Christ embodied. Why would people want to follow the truth of someone they don’t know and love personally? This is the true “church pain” people are experiencing. 

I was speaking with a friend one time, as I tried to shift the conversation to something more uplifting and point toward Jesus, she stopped me mid-sentence and said, “Kayla, you’re not laying down a toy, you’re laying down a broken heart.” That moment of permission to just be where I was, without needing to fix anything, completely shifted my perspective. If my friend could make me feel this seen and understood, how much more must Christ, who knows me even deeper, invite me to run to him just as I am? If my friend had focused on the “right” theological response, I might’ve walked away feeling unheard or like I had to fix myself before coming to God. But instead, she gave me the freedom to simply be broken, uncertain, but still fully embraced. That’s the essence of Christ’s love, it’s in those moments of raw honesty and connection that people are truly drawn to the heart of God. 

This interview is an example of what it looks like when we listen to different viewpoints. When approached correctly, deconstruction isn’t about tearing down but about asking, “I didn’t live your experience, help me understand you better.” Because, in truth, it’s often in the depths of our brokenness that we discover the most profound beauty of who Christ is. Why? Because he meets us there. 

That was beautiful. Preach it! Thank you so much for agreeing to this interview. Your passion for Jesus and for other people is infectious. One last thing. If you could say one thing to your younger self struggling with your beliefs, what would you say?

I would tell my younger self, ‘I’m proud of you. You’ve fought a battle no one else could see, a fight that felt like it was tearing you apart. Yet here you are. You’ve shown immense courage in the quietest, darkest moments. One day, this strength you’ve forged in silence will become your greatest gift. You’ll spend your life and career fighting for those who feel alone, unseen, and scared for their own survival—because you know what it’s like to carry that weight. And you’ll help them see that they, too, are worth fighting for. One day you will learn Christ is one who understands the deepest parts of your heart more than you, he is the one who chases you the hardest.’ I would say to trust that it’s okay to have doubts and to not rush through the struggle. Those moments of questioning and pain are refining. Understanding people where they are is more important than always having the ‘right’ answers. I’ve learned that walking with people in their brokenness, even my own, is where true healing happens. Christ is not put off by our doubts; He’s drawn to them, meeting us in the midst of our struggle. He is not ashamed of you, he adores you. 

From Gentle and Lowly, this quote beautifully echoes that sentiment: “In our pain, Jesus is pained; in our suffering, He feels the suffering as His own, even though it isn’t—not that His invincible divinity is threatened, but in the sense that His heart is feelingly drawn into our distress.”

I’d add that embracing vulnerability and leaning into uncertainty is part of understanding the depths of grace, for yourself and for others. That’s something I’d want my younger self to hold onto.