I can’t speak on anything other than personal experience in this case, but I was what you’re referring to as "indoctrinated–"if I understand you to mean that my parents were Catholic Christians who made me go to Church every weekend, attend CCD classes which were sometimes a waste of time, and not really ever introduce me to any other worldview.
Unfortunately, I rebelled against that system, and decided that I wasn’t going to be something just because my parents were. This was no big outward thing; I hadn’t learned much about the faith being Catholic my entire life, so my mannerisms and lexicon didn’t change in the least. I just didn’t go to Mass my first year of college.
Perhaps on a related note, I fell into some pretty nasty sin; and I knew that it was bad for me. At first there was a lot of despair and hopelessness that I couldn’t break the habits, but then something happened. I found a rosary. I had been Catholic for 18 or so years and never learned how to say the darned thing, but someone along the way had given me one as a gift, and it had been packed away and forgotten.
I still couldn’t break away from the sin, but every time I did sin, I started saying the rosary. I had to use my phone to look up the prayers and the mysteries, but I said one every time. I can’t explain why I turned to the rosary and not some Buddhist prayer or asking Allah for help, but there was something about the rosary that just felt like home.
Finally, after a lot of rosaries, I went a week without committing the sin, and my world collapsed. My brain could not handle this state of being, so everything became dark. I was suicidal, I was ready to just give up, but that rosary was still there, and besides saying it, I just started talking, on my knees, at the foot of my bed, to anyone out in the cosmos who would listen, and all I heard was one thing…Confession.
Now I had thought about Confession before, but even as I was being comforted by my rosary, I had always thought of reasons not to go find a priest. I was being sentimental and stupid, I was still sinning and would go to confess once I finally quit, or some other excuse. So when confession came to mind, I didn’t think of the Sacrament first. I called a lot of people, in tears, and begged forgiveness for a lot of sins. I do feel like that was important. On a side note, my week without the sin had continued to grow into a month, and I found myself skipping classes in my desolation. Finally, I got the courage to go to the College Parish which was just three blocks from campus.
I had only gone to this Parish like three or four times while at college, so I didn’t know any of the clergy there. I knocked on the office door and said I wanted to see a priest. They said Fr. E was just about to leave to say noon Mass (something that a lot of the students attended during their lunch break), but he could talk to me afterwards. I went to Mass, sat in the back and mumbled through the prayers, but I was anxious and didn’t really focus.