You stopped believing a while ago. But you’re still going.

Still sitting in the pew. Still saying the words. Still smiling at the people who’d be heartbroken, or worse, if they knew what was actually happening inside you. There’s even a name for it, whispered across deconstruction communities: PIMO. Physically In, Mentally Out.

And you are so tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes. The bone-deep kind. The kind that comes from holding two whole lives at once, the one you perform and the one you actually live in, and never getting to set either of them down.

If that’s you, I want to start here: you are not a coward, and you are not a fraud. You’re doing something extraordinarily hard, for reasons that are usually about love. And your exhaustion makes complete sense.

Why living PIMO is so physically draining

Pretending isn’t a small thing. It’s a full-time job your nervous system never clocks out of.

Every meeting, every conversation, every family dinner, some part of you is monitoring: What can I say? What will give me away? How do I keep the peace and keep myself? That constant self-surveillance has a name in trauma circles, hypervigilance, and it burns an enormous amount of energy. Your body is bracing all day long, even when nothing visibly bad is happening.

This is one of the recognized signs of religious strain that practitioners describe: chronic hypervigilance, especially in group settings, alongside numbness, anxiety, and a kind of low, constant dread. It’s not in your head. It’s in your nervous system. You’re not imagining the weight. You’re carrying a real one.

You don’t have to make a decision today

Let me say something you might not hear anywhere else: you don’t have to leave to start healing. And you don’t have to stay, either. You don’t have to decide anything right now.

So much of the pressure PIMO people carry is the sense that they’re standing at a terrible fork, out themselves and risk losing their family, or stay silent and lose themselves. That’s a brutal place to live. But healing doesn’t actually require you to leap. It starts much smaller and much closer in: with helping your own body feel a little safer, today, exactly where you are.

When your nervous system has more ground under it, the fork stops feeling like a cliff. You think more clearly. You react less. And the decision, whatever it turns out to be, on whatever timeline is yours, gets to come from steadiness instead of panic.

Small ways to find ground while you’re still in

You can’t always change your circumstances right now. But you can begin, quietly, to change your relationship with your own body inside them. A few gentle places to start:

  • Find your exhale. When you notice the bracing, in a meeting, at dinner, let your out-breath get a little longer than your in-breath. A slow exhale is one of the few direct signals you can send your nervous system that says we’re okay right now.
  • Name it silently. “This is hypervigilance. My body is working hard to keep me safe.” Naming what’s happening, without judging it, takes some of its grip away.
  • Find one safe person or place. Even one, a friend, a forum, a circle, where you don’t have to perform. Your body needs at least one room where the monitoring can stop.
  • Let your body finish what the day couldn’t. A walk, a shake-out, a good cry, hands on your own chest. The tension you hold all day needs somewhere to go, or it stays.

None of this requires you to come out, leave, or change a single external thing. It’s just you, beginning to come home to yourself, privately, on your own terms.

I know this road from the inside

I’m not writing this from theory. Over ten years ago I left the LDS church, in the middle of a divorce and a pregnancy, after my own long season of doubt and dread. I know the exhaustion of holding a self together that no longer fit the life around it. I was in survival mode. Completely frozen.

What finally helped wasn’t forcing a decision. It was the body, breath, the nervous system, the slow relearning that I was safe. I’ve spent nineteen years in the healing arts since, and the work I do now, Rewild & Rise, is built for exactly this in-between place. Not to push you anywhere. To help you find ground, so that wherever you go next, you go from steadiness instead of fear.

You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to begin.

Living PIMO is one of the loneliest things there is, precisely because the people closest to you can’t know. But you don’t have to be alone in it.

A gentle note: I’m a somatic and energy practitioner and coach, not a licensed therapist. This work supports healing and isn’t a substitute for therapy or medical care. If you’re feeling unsafe or in crisis, please reach out to a licensed professional or a crisis line. I’m glad to walk alongside that care.

When you’re ready, there’s a quiet way to begin, no exposure, no pressure. You can book a free discovery call, twenty minutes just for you.

You’ve been holding so much, for so long, so quietly. You’re allowed to set a little of it down, starting now, starting here, starting with one long, slow breath.

Frequently asked questions

What does PIMO mean?

PIMO stands for “Physically In, Mentally Out”, someone who no longer believes their high-control religion but still participates, usually to protect relationships with believing family or community. It’s a common, painful in-between stage, and it can last months or years.

Why is being PIMO so exhausting?

Because maintaining two lives keeps your nervous system in constant hypervigilance, quietly monitoring what’s safe to say and how to avoid being found out. That ongoing bracing burns enormous energy and often shows up as deep fatigue, anxiety, numbness, and dread, even when nothing outwardly bad is happening.

Do I have to leave my religion to feel better?

No. Healing can begin while you’re still in, and it doesn’t require any decision about leaving or staying. Body-based practices help your nervous system feel safer right where you are. From that steadier place, any future choices can come from clarity rather than panic, on your own timeline.

What can I do to feel calmer while I’m still attending?

Start small and internal: lengthen your exhale when you notice yourself bracing, silently name the hypervigilance without judgment, find at least one safe person or space where you don’t have to perform, and let your body release tension through movement or rest. None of it requires changing your outward circumstances.