Last year around this time, I was deep in religion — the kind where everything had to be prayed over, explained, or avoided if it didn’t seem “holy enough.” I remember posting Happy Halloween on my WhatsApp story without thinking much about it. A few minutes later, I watched it again and felt a sharp sting of shame. My heart dropped into my stomach.
Then a friend reached out — kindly, but with concern. She told me it was against the Bible to celebrate Halloween, that it was devilish and wrong for a Christian to say Happy Halloween. I remember reading her message and feeling that same wave of guilt wash over me. The kind that settles deep in your body, like you’ve done something unforgivable without even realizing it. My body still remembers that moment — the heaviness, the fear, the confusion over why such a small thing could feel like such a big sin.
But today, things are different. My cousin posted about a Halloween event at the hotel where she works, and instead of judgment, I felt excitement. I told my daughter, “You know what, tomorrow is Halloween,” and she lit up with joy. She said she wanted to be a spooky witch, and I told her I’d be a spooky doctor. She laughed so hard and ran off to ask our nanny what she’d be.
That moment hit me. Just a year ago, I would have told her not to even say the word Halloween. I’d have preached that being excited about it meant she loved the devil. Back then, I would have fasted and prayed for forgiveness — not only for myself but for everyone celebrating it. Because that’s what happens in many church communities.
There’s a lot of fear disguised as holiness. People are taught to separate themselves from anything unfamiliar, anything labeled “worldly.” Step out of line, and you risk being quietly judged or openly corrected. Sometimes members are even told to distance themselves from you “for your own good.” One week you’re part of the group, and the next you’re treated like someone who needs saving — from yourself.
It’s strange to look back and realize how normal that felt at the time. How much of my life I spent trying to be pure, obedient, safe.
And now? I’m sitting here with my daughter, scrolling through kids’ Halloween events, picking out costumes, and planning to eat candy and laugh. I’m not praying about it. I’m not fighting guilt. I’m just letting it be what it is — fun.
That, to me, is healing. The kind that doesn’t need an announcement. Just a quiet shift inside — from fear to freedom, from control to curiosity.
So this year, we’ll celebrate. Just because we can.
(Also, I still don’t know if Halloween is the 30th or 31st — you can remind me. Either way, we’re dressing up.)