Making Room for Faith: Spirituality as Part of the Human Experience

I debated for quite a while about whether to write this blog.

Faith can be one of those words that makes people uncomfortable almost as soon as it enters the conversation. Mention it and you can practically hear the assumptions forming. Religion. The God squad. Woo-woo thinking. Toxic positivity. Denial. Superstition. Depending on your own experiences, beliefs and history, the word itself might bring comfort or curiosity, but it might just as easily bring discomfort, scepticism or an immediate eye roll.

And I understand some of that hesitation.

But I also wonder whether, somewhere along the way, we have become so cautious about talking about faith and spirituality that we have started pushing aside something that has always been a deep part of the human experience.

The part that searches for meaning.

That looks for hope when life becomes difficult.

That stands beneath a starry night sky, beside an endless ocean or amongst great trees and feels, even for a moment, that perhaps we are part of something much larger than the small world of our everyday worries.

Let me make something clear from the beginning. When I talk about faith, I don't necessarily mean religion.

For some people, faith absolutely is religious, and that's okay. For others, it might be a belief in a higher power, a deep connection with nature, a spiritual practice, a personal philosophy, a commitment to personal growth, or simply a quiet sense that there is something more to life than what we can see and explain. There are many roads that can lead us towards meaning, connection and peace, and I don't believe one has to be more worthy than another.

You don't even have to know exactly what you believe, and that's part of the beauty of it.

Faith isn't about having all the answers. It's simply being open to the possibility that we don't understand everything. That there are things about life, love, loss and our existence that may always sit a little beyond our ability to explain. And rather than being something to fear or dismiss, perhaps there can be something comforting in allowing a little mystery to remain.

If there is one thing this decade in particular has driven home for many of us, it's that life can be beautiful and heartbreaking, predictable one moment and completely changed the next. We live in a world where there's no shortage of conflict, loss, fear and uncertainty, and none of us gets through a lifetime without experiencing some of it personally.

I think that's why human beings have always looked for something to hold onto.

Not necessarily to give us all the answers, but to help us keep going when we don't have them.

Maybe We Need a Broader Definition of Faith

Part of the difficulty may be the word faith itself.

We tend to associate it immediately with organised religion, yet human beings have searched for meaning in countless different ways throughout history.

Across cultures and generations, we have developed religions, philosophies, rituals, stories and traditions to help us understand some of life's biggest experiences: birth, love, suffering, loss and death.

We’ve prayed, meditated and gathered together in communities.

We’ve looked towards the stars, walked through forests, watched the ocean, created art, lit candles, told stories and wondered about our place in the universe.

The details may differ enormously but underneath many of these practices lies something remarkably similar: a desire to understand our lives, to find meaning within them and to feel connected to something beyond ourselves.

And perhaps that isn't something we need to explain away or feel embarrassed about.

It’s simply part of being human.

The Myth That Faith Means Ignoring Reality

There can sometimes be an assumption that having faith means looking at life through rose-coloured glasses. That if we believe strongly enough, think positively enough or trust that everything will work out, we somehow won't have to face the more painful parts of being human.

But I don't think that's what faith is about at all.

Having faith doesn't mean pretending everything is okay when it isn't. It doesn't mean searching for a positive lesson in every painful experience or trying to find a spiritual explanation for every loss. And it certainly doesn't mean that sadness, anger, fear or grief somehow represent a failure to believe strongly enough.

Sometimes life hurts.

Sometimes it is unfair. People we love become sick. Relationships end. Plans fall apart. We lose people before we’re ready to lose them and things happen that we didn't choose, don't understand and would never have wished for.

And as much as we might desperately want one, there isn't always an answer that suddenly makes any of it okay.

This is where I think we need to be careful about confusing faith with denial or forced positivity.

Telling someone who is grieving that “everything happens for a reason” may be well intentioned, but when they are barely holding themselves together, it can leave them feeling as though their pain is something they should quickly make sense of rather than something they’re allowed to feel. In the same way, telling someone facing genuine difficulties that they simply need to think positively, raise their vibration or manifest something better can unintentionally minimise what they are actually going through.

Faith can exist alongside difficult emotions.

You can believe deeply in something and still be angry.

You can pray and still seek medical treatment.

You can meditate and still see a psychologist.

You can have hope for tomorrow while admitting that today is incredibly hard.

And you can believe there may ultimately be meaning in your experiences without needing to find that meaning while you are still in the middle of them.

Faith doesn't take away our grief, solve our problems or make difficult experiences disappear. Its role is much gentler than that. It simply gives us something to hold onto while we find our way through.

Finding Meaning When Life Doesn't Make Sense

One of the most difficult parts of being human is learning to live with uncertainty.

I know this because, quite frankly, I hate it. I like things to be predictable. I like knowing what’s coming next, and I've never been a particularly enthusiastic fan of change. Which is slightly ironic given that I became a psychologist and have spent much of my working life helping people navigate exactly that. One of life's little practical jokes, I suppose.

My dream office

In fact, when I was applying for university, I applied for two very different degrees. One was psychology. The other was to become a park ranger.

I got into psychology.

So I like to think the universe had other plans for me. Although, given how much I love being amongst the trees, I sometimes think it found a way of giving me a little bit of both.

The truth is, most of us like some degree of certainty. We want answers. We want to know where we're going and what happens next. When something unexpected happens, we want to understand why.

Why did this person become ill?

Why did this relationship end?

Why did I lose someone I loved?

Why did the life I thought I was going to have suddenly change direction?

And most of all, we want someone to reassure us that everything is going to be okay.

Unfortunately, life doesn't always give us those answers or guarantees.

This is one of the places where faith, spirituality and our own personal philosophies can sometimes help. Not necessarily by explaining why something happened, but by helping us work out how we are going to live alongside what has happened.

And I think there is an important distinction here.

Finding meaning in something isn't the same as believing it had to happen.

We don't need to convince ourselves that every painful experience was part of some grand plan, or that something terrible occurred simply so we could learn a lesson from it. Sometimes things happen that we would gladly have chosen never to experience at all.

Meaning can come later.

It might emerge in discovering what truly matters to us. In becoming more compassionate because we now understand something we couldn't understand before. In changing the direction of our lives, appreciating something we once took for granted, or being able to sit beside someone going through a similar experience and genuinely say, I understand.

Sometimes meaning is quieter than that.

It might simply be looking back at something we once thought would break us and realising that, somehow, we found our way through.

Meaning doesn't erase what happened or make it smaller than it was. It doesn't magically turn something painful into something good.

But sometimes it helps us carry what we've been through a little differently.

And over time, it helps us weave even the difficult chapters back into the larger story of our lives.

The Gift of Being Part of Something Bigger Than Ourselves

I don't mean to be harsh here, but you are not the centre of the universe.

Neither am I.

And strangely enough, I think there can be something incredibly comforting about remembering that.

I don't mean it in a dismissive way, as though our lives, worries and experiences don't matter. They absolutely do. I mean those moments when something gently reminds us that our little corner of the world is part of something unimaginably bigger.

Looking up at an enormous night sky and trying to comprehend just how vast the universe really is.

Standing beside the ocean and watching waves that have been arriving on shores long before we were born and will continue long after we're gone.

Walking through an old forest and realising that some of the trees were standing there before our grandparents were even born.

There are experiences like these that remind us just how extraordinary, fragile and mysterious existence actually is. They can make us feel very small, but not insignificant. Instead, there can be something strangely reassuring about recognising that we belong to a world much larger than ourselves.

For some people, those moments reinforce a belief in God.

For others, they create a deep sense of connection with nature, humanity or the universe.

And for others, they simply create awe.

We don't necessarily need to agree on the explanation to recognise the experience.

Stepping outside our immediate worries and remembering that we are part of something much larger can bring perspective. It can create space around whatever is troubling us and even allow a quiet sense of gratitude to bloom. Gratitude not because everything in our lives is perfect, but simply because we are here to experience it.

That problem that completely consumed us five minutes earlier may still matter, it hasn't magically disappeared, but for a moment, we can see it differently, as one small part of a much bigger life.

I think we need more moments like that.

Moments that remind us to look beyond ourselves.

There should be room for curiosity in life.

Room for wonder.

Room for mystery.

And room for each of us to interpret those experiences in our own way.

Those differences don't have to divide us. They simply add another thread to the rich and varied tapestry of what it means to be human.

Psychology and Spirituality Don't Have to Compete

I know there may seem to be something slightly unusual about a psychologist writing a blog about faith.

There was certainly a time in my profession when spirituality wasn't something we spoke about very much. Psychology belonged in one corner, religion and spirituality in another. Spiritual or Christian counselling was largely considered the realm of clergy, pastoral counsellors or religious leaders rather than something that belonged in the psychologist's consulting room.

But human beings don't divide themselves quite so neatly.

Our beliefs, values, relationships, culture, experiences and understanding of the world all come into the room with us. For someone with a strong faith or spiritual connection, asking them to leave that part of themselves at the door would be asking them to separate themselves from something deeply woven into who they are.

Psychology and spirituality don't have to be mutually exclusive.

As a psychologist, I strongly value evidence, critical thinking and our continually growing understanding of the human mind and body. But I don't think understanding the psychological or biological aspects of an experience automatically removes its personal or spiritual meaning.

If sitting beneath a tree calms your nervous system, does understanding some of the biology behind that somehow make the experience less meaningful?

I don't think it does.

We can understand that meditation can influence attention and emotional regulation while someone also experiences it as a deeply spiritual practice.

We can recognise the psychological benefits of belonging and community while also appreciating the profound connection someone may experience through their religious or spiritual community.

We can understand how hope can help us cope during difficult times without reducing hope to nothing more than a psychological technique or a series of chemical reactions taking place inside the brain.

Sometimes knowing how something happens doesn't tell us everything about what that experience means to the person living it.

Science is extraordinarily good at helping us explore how our world works. Psychology can help us better understand our thoughts, emotions, behaviour and relationships. Spirituality often invites us to explore a different set of questions. Questions about meaning, purpose, connection, hope and how we want to live our lives.

They don't have to compete for space.

We can value evidence and still leave room for wonder. We can understand the workings of the mind and still be curious about the mysteries of being human. We can seek professional help while drawing strength from prayer, nature, meditation, ritual, community or whatever gives our lives meaning.

One doesn't necessarily diminish the other.

There’s room for both.

We Don't Have to Believe the Same Things

Perhaps one of the reasons conversations about faith can feel uncomfortable is because belief has sometimes been presented as something we need to defend, justify or convince other people to share.

But it doesn't have to be that way.

We’re never all going to believe the same things. Our beliefs are shaped by our families, cultures, experiences, relationships and the lives we have lived. They may change as we grow older. Something that once felt certain may become less so, while something we dismissed years ago may begin to hold meaning for us later in life.

And that's okay.

I can respect something that brings meaning, comfort or hope to your life without needing to believe it myself.

You can listen to someone talk about their faith without assuming they're trying to convert you.

Someone can believe deeply in God while respecting another person's choice not to.

Someone else can feel a profound spiritual connection through nature without needing to prove that their interpretation is the right one.

And someone can decide that they don't believe in anything beyond the physical world at all.

There should be room for all of those positions.

Because the important question isn't whether someone else's beliefs make sense to us, it's whether those beliefs help them live with greater compassion, kindness, meaning and connection, towards themselves, other people and the world around them.

Our differences shouldn't threaten us. In fact, I think there is something worth celebrating in them. The world is a far richer and more interesting place because we don't all see it in exactly the same way.

We can be curious about what someone believes without needing to challenge it. We can ask questions without trying to change their mind. We can share what gives our own lives meaning without expecting someone else to find meaning in exactly the same way.

There is something quite beautiful about being able to say, “I don't believe exactly what you believe, but I understand why it matters to you.”

Respect doesn't require agreement.

It simply means giving another person the dignity and freedom to make sense of this strange and complicated experience of being alive in their own way.

Faith Can Look Very Ordinary

Spirituality doesn't necessarily arrive through dramatic experiences or great moments of revelation.

Often, it looks incredibly ordinary.

It can be having a quiet cup of tea before everyone else wakes up and feeling grateful for another morning. Lighting a candle for someone you miss. Saying a prayer before bed.

Watching the sunrise. Meditating for five minutes or keeping something that once belonged to someone you loved because it still makes you feel connected to them.

For me, it often looks like walking around my garden.

I love nothing more than wandering barefoot amongst the trees, looking up at the sky, noticing what's flowering or simply standing quietly for a moment and listening to the world around me. Nature has a way of reminding me to slow down, to look beyond whatever has been occupying my thoughts and to remember that there is a much bigger world quietly carrying on around me and inviting me to notice it.

And sometimes it's simply silence.

We spend so much of our lives surrounded by noise. Conversations, televisions, phones, notifications, podcasts, music and the endless stream of information competing for our attention. There isn't always much room left for stillness.

Yet I think there is something important waiting for us there.

When everything becomes quiet enough, we have a chance to listen, not necessarily for some great answer or booming voice from above, but for those quiet whispers of wisdom that seem to come from somewhere deep within us. The thoughts we haven't had time to hear. The feelings we've been too busy to notice. The small inner nudges that gently remind us what matters, what doesn't, what we might need and perhaps where we need to go next.

Call that intuition. Inner wisdom, God, spirit, your higher self or simply the quieter part of your own mind.

I'm not sure we always need to give it a name.

Sometimes we just need to become quiet enough to hear it.

Spirituality can also appear in those strange little moments that seem to arrive at exactly the right time. Noticing a butterfly when you desperately needed some comfort. Hearing a song that reminds you of someone you loved. Looking up at the sky at precisely the moment the clouds part and the sunlight comes through.

Coincidence? Perhaps.

Something more? Maybe.

I don't think we always need to decide.

We can simply allow the moment to mean something to us.

Sometimes spirituality is nothing more complicated than stopping long enough to experience your own life.

In a culture that constantly encourages us to move faster, consume more and remain endlessly distracted, there is something powerful about creating moments where we stop and connect.

With ourselves.

With another person.

With nature.

With God.

With the universe.

Or simply with the moment we are standing in.

The Unrealised Gift of Faith

Faith isn't certainty. In fact, in many ways, it is almost the opposite.

Faith often becomes most important when certainty isn't available. When we don't know what happens next. When life hasn't gone according to plan. When the answers we desperately want simply aren't there.

It's trusting that tomorrow might feel different, even when today has been hard.

It's believing that our lives can still hold meaning during those times when we feel a little lost.

And sometimes it's simply being willing to accept that there may be more to this strange and extraordinary existence than we currently understand.

None of that requires us to abandon common sense, evidence or reality.

We can be practical and spiritual.

Sceptical and curious.

Grounded and hopeful.

We can ask difficult questions without demanding immediate answers and believe deeply while still leaving room for doubt.

Maybe we would understand each other a little better if we didn't feel the need to define faith quite so tightly. It doesn't need to fit neatly inside a church, temple, philosophy or belief system. It can also be found beneath an old tree, in a moment of silence, in the comfort of prayer, in the vastness of a night sky, in a butterfly appearing at just the right moment, or in that quiet inner voice that reminds us to keep going.

At the beginning of this article, I admitted that I wasn't entirely sure whether I should write it. Perhaps that hesitation says something about how uncomfortable we have become talking openly about this part of ourselves.

But I think there should be room for these conversations.

Room for faith.

Room for doubt.

Room for science.

Room for mystery.

Room for all the different ways human beings have found meaning, comfort, connection and hope throughout our lives.

We don't have to believe the same things, and we certainly don't have to have it all figured out.

We simply need to become a little less embarrassed about acknowledging that sometimes we need something to hold onto when life doesn't give us the answers.

Because our search for meaning, connection, hope and wonder isn't something separate from the human experience.

It's woven right through it.

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Written by Liz Anderson

Liz Anderson is a registered psychologist, author and creator of Slow Down with Liz. With almost 30 years' experience in psychology, she writes about stress, overwhelm, slowing down, midlife, personal growth and the everyday experiences that shape a meaningful life.

Her work blends practical psychology with a warm, down-to-earth approach to help people step back from the noise, reconnect with themselves and create a calmer, more intentional way of living.