(RNS) Five years ago, I transitioned from believer to nonbeliever. The changeover opened my eyes to the skewed way in which believers perceive their counterparts.

When nonbelievers are painted as broken, they’re viewed in a different light, as people who need to be fixed. The resulting dynamic is damaging in general, but I contend that the God-shaped hole argument is particularly problematic.

Growing up, I regularly encountered Christians who claimed that humanity is fundamentally flawed, so sinners have holes in their hearts. When believers “accept Jesus into their hearts,” he fills that hole and makes them complete.

The narrative goes like this: Nonbelievers continue to suffer from emptiness and lack of fulfillment. They desperately attempt to stuff the hole with drinking, drugs, debauchery, etc., but the gap is size-specific, and only Jesus fits the unique mold.

The Christians I know aren’t deliberately manipulative in their use of the narrative. They genuinely assume nonbelievers are lacking in life because they lack Jesus; but, whether intentional or not, the assertion comes across as a scare tactic that can be very harmful, especially when impressed upon young children.

Personally, as a kid, I was terrified in imagining a literal hole in a critical organ. By the time I was old enough to understand metaphorical devices, I envisioned Jesus as a kind of plug. If I removed the cork, I expected a loss of vitality. I pictured a flood of pain and futile efforts to restore the fullness I felt with Jesus in control. Build a divinity dam or be damned.

My worries discouraged me from exploring the doubts I had about my own religion. The insinuation wasn’t lost on me: Nonbelievers lead miserable lives. If you position the alternative so starkly, there’s a strong impetus to stay on the Christian side of the fence. Fright about crossing over trumped my own pursuit of truth, justice and self-actualization.

Eventually, I concluded that a worthy Savior would want his followers to choose his path purposefully, instead of as a means to avoid despair. I recognized that in my own life, I bowed before Jesus out of fear rather than deference.

My Christianity was once grounded in theology that I passionately espoused. As I grew older, I no longer aligned with the church’s creed, but I retained my faith, because losing it meant reopening the alleged hole in my heart. The image of the unfulfilled unbeliever is so pervasive in Christian communities that it overpowered my longing to leave my religion.

Christianity is predicated on humanity’s immorality: We need Jesus because we need saving. Still, I’m optimistic that if I’m vocal about my status as a self-proclaimed unbroken unbeliever, I can serve as proof that not everyone outside of the faith is a lost, deprived soul. Certainly, in the period before I renounced my beliefs, I would have benefited from confident assurance that lack of faith is not inextricably linked with anguish and emptiness.

By no means is my life perfect; at times, I feel just as bewildered as any young woman, but ultimately I have an inner peace that resulted from an honest embrace of my agnosticism. Christians might call me delusional, but the truth of the matter is that I don’t feel hollow and I don’t wish to be treated as such.

Believers choose to follow Jesus and I respect that that relationship enriches them in many ways. As a nonbeliever, I choose to abstain from religion, which makes me different, not insufficient.

Judging my soul on the basis of the Bible is one thing, but demeaning my life by implying that without Jesus I’m incomplete is another.

The God-shaped hole argument deserves to die out for the sake of children, who might be confused; teens, who might clutch their beliefs simply out of fear; and adults, who might pursue abundant life in a multitude of ways.

(Lyndsay West is a freelance writer in New York City and a contributing blogger to The Huffington Post)