I had an interesting conversation with my cousin yesterday. We were talking about why good girls actually finish last — and we both came to the same surprising conclusion. It’s religion.
For 34 years, I was the definition of a good Christian girl. I followed every rule, avoided anything remotely “worldly,” and did everything the Bible said a woman should do. I was all in. And everyone around me knew it. My cousin even laughed as she reminded me just how deep I was into it. But now, years later, standing outside of religion, I feel more authentic — more myself — than I ever did when I was “holy.”
We realized something during that conversation: most religious people aren’t necessarily happy or fulfilled. They’re just afraid. They live carefully, tightly wound, always trying to avoid sin, judgment, or hell. It’s not about joy or truth — it’s about survival.
I used to think being a “good woman” meant obedience. Be patient. Respectful. Keep your home. Pray for your man. Don’t question. Don’t talk. Don’t go out. Don’t be seen as one of those women. I thought being good would somehow guarantee love, marriage, and a peaceful life. But that goodness, that religious performance, landed me in the worst relationships — the kind that teach you just how cruel blind faith can be.
Because that’s what we were taught, right? That God changes people. That if he’s a liar, a drunk, a cheater — you just pray harder. Focus on his good sides. Leave the rest to God, Jesus, Holy Spirit, or whoever’s shift it was that day. We were told there’s nothing God can’t do. And so, you endure. You pray. You die a little inside every day believing that suffering is holy.
Meanwhile, the girls we used to judge — the ones who didn’t care about “church image,” who went out, had fun, lived honestly — are now in healthy, stable marriages. They weren’t pretending. They weren’t performing for heaven. They were just being real. And maybe that’s the difference.
I remember the first time I decided to do something “unholy.” It was a Thursday earlier this year. I called a friend and said, “Come, let’s go to a club.” Her first reaction was, “Pastor?! What are you telling me?!” We laughed. She came. We went. I was home by 10 p.m. It wasn’t wild or rebellious — it was freeing. Because I finally did something not out of fear or guilt or doctrine, but out of choice. I realized I just don’t like noise or crowds — not because they’re sinful, but because they’re not me.
That’s what religion steals from you — the ability to know yourself outside of rules. It makes you believe that goodness is something you earn through self-denial, through pain. But real goodness comes from self-awareness. From truth. From living in alignment with who you really are — not what you’ve been told you should be.
I don’t think religion ruined us. I think it hid us. Behind all that holiness, all that “pray about it” advice, we lost touch with our instincts. We learned to silence ourselves, to accept less, to keep believing things would change. But they didn’t. Because faith doesn’t fix what honesty can.
Now I see it so clearly. The “good girls” finish last not because they’re good — but because they’re pretending. Because they’re afraid to be seen. Because they confuse silence for virtue and endurance for love.
The truth is, authenticity attracts authenticity. When you stop performing, when you stop filtering your choices through guilt or fear, you start meeting people who are also true to themselves. That’s where real connection begins.
So maybe it’s not that the good girls finish last. Maybe it’s that the real girls — the ones who’ve stripped off the masks and the holiness and the fear — finally get to live.