Tonight, the curator of a beautiful online community I am a part of asked us this:
“What is the biggest struggle you have with your spiritual practice or identity to religion or faith-base?”
I started writing my response… at least 4 times. Maybe more. I lost count. Deleted it every time and not always for the same reason. Sometimes I was worried that what I had to say was going to be so long that I’d be that obnoxious responder who no one bothered to read. Sometimes I thought, “Well who am I to even offer my story? Would anyone care?” (Which, to be fair is a comment on my own insecurities as this group is nothing if not extremely supportive of everyone in its midst.) Sometimes I thought I couldn’t even write my story because there is just too much to unpack. Because this question… this question is the cornerstone of what ultimately led me to Dove and Blackbird. This question - this idea of identifying with religion has not only been a source of near-lifetime-long struggle for me, but still haunts me to this very day despite my constant work on the matter.
So I decided to write a blog post about it instead. 1. Because this space is supposed to be a safe space. Someone should set the tone for that, and who else could do that but me. 2. Because with D/B only being about a week and a half old, I’m not even sure I have a readership base yet so what better time to be raw and vulnerable than when you don’t know if you have an audience anyway? Lol. And 3. Because maybe my story can help someone else. I am a firm believer that we live through things so we can help others through them. Maybe sharing my story can make someone feel less alone. Maybe sharing my story can help another find the right path for them. And who knows… maybe sharing my story will finally help me overcome it once and for all…
I was born and raised Roman Catholic. I went to church every weekend, even attended Catholic school for 1st-6th grades. I was in the Children’s Choir, I cantored (means leading the congregation in song), I was even the first female altar server at the church I grew up in. When I was about 15 or so, I got a job (my 2nd or 3rd at the time) as a part-time accompanist at another local Catholic church. I kept it until I left for college. I met some truly remarkable people at that job - a few are still in my life even today. There was so much kindness in those years. That’s what I remember the most.
I also remember when cantoring one summer at my home parish… having to listen to a visiting priest spend 10-15 minutes of his homily gay bashing. I remember rebelling against my mother about going to confession because I didn’t understand what purpose it served to tell someone everything I did wrong when he simply had a different job than I did and how if I felt that badly about something, I could simply talk to God myself. I remember years later, the one time I chose to go - when something weighed so heavily on my heart that I was in tears in the confessional, the priest did not acknowledge my remorse or emotion, he acted bored and uncaring and simply sent me on my way with 3 Hail Marys. I remember when I was about 17, feeling called to start reading Tarot. I didn’t broadcast it too much - maybe mentioned it to a few of my friends. But I kept it mostly to myself because I was afraid someone would think I was worshiping the devil… which is not what I was doing at all. I felt a connection. An energy. A thing that no one in my immediate sphere could possibly understand… I remember wondering if there was another way.
When I left for college, I walked away from the church. Part of the freedom of being over 3 hours away from home meant that I could do and explore my spirituality however I wanted. I was no longer forced to go to mass, I didn’t have a church job where I was required to be. It was like an anchor had been freed from my neck. I made friends who didn’t think it was weird that I read Tarot. Or that I connected with nature. Or that I didn’t really think that God was a bearded old man sitting on a cloud watching the world and going “Poof” whenever he felt the need to help someone. In fact, my friends said that if I felt this way, and did these things, then I was probably Pagan.
Ok… then I guess I was Pagan. Right?
I didn’t know. That was a whole new world to me. I explored it. At the time, it…. seemed like it fit. It fit better than being Catholic anyway. It fit so well in fact that I felt like I should tell my family about it.
My mother didn’t speak to me for almost a month.
When I came home for Thanksgiving break, I was immediately shipped off to a meeting with the current pastor of my home church. What could I possibly talk to him about? I wasn’t about to tell a Catholic priest I thought I might be Pagan. So instead, I approached it by asking the questions that pulled me from the Catholic faith to begin with. He, of course, expertly deflected my every inquiry and all but laughed in my face about the Gnostic Gospels - something I had taken a deep interest in at the time. “The church in its infinite wisdom…” he began… and ended it with some bullshit write-off about how the church picked only the “best” books for the Bible and that the other historical writings that were found - some dating even earlier than a few of the books used for the new testament, by the way- were utter nonsense.
Great.
However, if my being Pagan was such an issue for my family, then it couldn’t be the right thing for me. So when I went back to school, I started becoming more active in Campus Ministry. I began attending mass voluntarily. The college mass experience was worlds away from what I had witnessed growing up. And with the fairly-liberal diocese of the city, it was welcoming to ALL walks of life. It embraced everyone. Just like Jesus would have done. I continued being open to Pagan possibilities, I still loved cards, was exploring the idea of past lives, and had a firm belief in the power of herbal healing, but started leaning more in the Catholic direction. I attempted to balance all sides.
It was about this time that I met my hyper-Christian first husband. A man who didn’t seem to have an issue with my interest in herbs and card-reading when we were dating, but who once we were married and the abuse began, insisted that all of “That stuff” that I did was evil. Pure evil. And could not be allowed in the house. He took a trash bag and held it open, and forced me to throw away every book, every deck, every herb, every statue, every cloth… he even forced me to throw away my replica Joan of Arc sword - a prized possession as I had identified a past life that was strongly connected to her. For that very reason, it had to go too. Everything did. I sobbed. I begged. It didn’t matter. It was evil. I was evil. It was done. I wish I could say that was the worst thing he ever did, but no. Simply one of the many reasons he is now called my “first” husband.
A few months after graduating college (and some time before the trashing incident), I heard about a job back home. Apparently the church I used to play for had need of a Music Director. The music ministry had disbanded shortly after my leaving (the choir director while I was there had left around the same time I had due to her husband accepting a job on the other side of the state). There was no choir, no Music Director, barely anyone to even play a mass. A few of my old friends had mentioned it to me and so I came home one weekend and went to speak to the pastor. He hired me on the spot. Didn’t even look at my resume. “I wouldn’t understand half of what’s on it anyway,” he’d said. At my first choir rehearsal, everyone came back. My entire choir from years earlier showed up for me. They were thrilled I was there. For the next 4 months, I came home every weekend, and my then-future husband and I made plans to move to NEPA.
I stayed in that job for 2.5 years. Church closures and combinations made it so that I was going to have my hours, and my salary, cut drastically. And I was going to lose the role of “Music Director” to a man who had virtually no musical qualifications, no formal musical education, couldn’t even keep simple time, had no concept of how to direct a choir, and was impossible for anyone to follow musically or directorially, but he’d been playing organ there for about 40 years, so they gave him the job.
I quickly found myself at a new church. The pastor there was the man who had hired me at 15. I began a new chapter. A new choir. Some of my folks from the old church actually traveled the 20 minutes so they could still come and sing with me, which just made my heart swell. There is no comparison to good, kind, caring people.
The job started out wonderfully. I was there for 8.5 years… through 3 pastors, many changes, births, deaths, and movings-on. Through my eventual divorce from my ex following years of abuse and his eventual descent into madness. Through my 5 years of rebuilding my life from practically nothing. Through reawakening who I was as a person. Through reconnecting with the Spiritual tools that had always brought me comfort. Through the day I purchased my first Tarot deck… again. Through my friendship and the romantic discovery of my now-husband. My forever husband. My best friend and the love of my life. The man who made me believe in love. The man who helped me believe in myself…
My religious swan song began shortly after my 8 year work-iversary. I was 3 months away from marriage and with the inevitable church gossip running rampant, my boss at the time finally overheard that I had been married before. He encouraged me to apply for an annulment - something I had actively avoided, curiously enough, following the suggestion from his predecessor who said that I had been through quite enough and did not need to go through with it at that point.
But now… a fresh start, a fresh life, a fresh love… I had had a student ask me to be her sponsor for Confirmation - something I could not do, by church law, once I had gotten remarried if I didn’t have an annulment. So I decided to pursue it.
Now, for those of you who are not familiar with Canon Law (the law of the Catholic church), where a divorce is the legal ending of a marriage, an annulment is the spiritual one. It states that God, for whatever reason, was not present at the time of matrimony and so the marital bond is void. It never happened. It was, essentially, never real.
The process for filing for annulment is paperwork… a lot of paperwork. The most intense of which is a 144-questionnaire that you are required to answer. 144 questions that dig into every corner, every shadow, every ache and pain of your relationship with this other person. 144 questions… some of which is really no one’s business but your own. But they ask. And you need to answer… “to the best of your ability.”
It took me over 3 weeks. I sobbed. I was an emotional wreck. I drug up every memory, every event that I had buried. Every attack. Every betrayal. I plunged my hands into the viscera and left it on 44 typewritten pages for who-knows-how-many-men to read and pass judgement upon. So they could determine if there was “cause” or “reason” to grant the annulment. Because there was a very real chance that my suffering was not enough for them.
Part of the agreement of requesting an annulment, however, was that the opposing party (my ex) had the right to argue his side. He too was required to submit a questionnaire. If he opted not to, I still had to wait for whatever they deemed was an “appropriate amount of time” to give him an opportunity to do so. I found out later that there was also a very real chance that he would have been allowed to read my own account of it.
I had not spoken or been in any contact with my ex for years at this point. Through whispers and mumblings, I learned he had moved out-of-state. He was remarried. He had 2 kids at the time - God help them. As far as I knew, he didn’t know where I was, what I was doing, even that I was to be remarried. I wanted nothing to do with him. I had fought for 5 years to recover from the damage he had done. I had finally gotten to a place of happiness and strength. The last thing that I wanted was for him to know ANYTHING about me or what I was doing. I was doing this for me. I was absolutely terrified of opening a door - ANY door - that led to letting him back into my life again. I was also afraid that he was going to lie. A quite reasonable fear considering the fact that he was a narcissistic sociopath - and no, I’m not just throwing labels around or being dramatic. This is completely legit. So, I asked my boss (who happened to be on the Tribunal that reviews the annulments by the way), “What if he lies?” “Excuse me?” “What if he lies? In his questionnaire. My ex-husband did some truly horrible things. I can’t imagine he’s going to be very forthcoming about that.” “Well, you’ll just have to trust in the wisdom of the Church to find the truth.”
The wisdom of the church. Again. Because it was so insightful the first time.
I asked him if there was any way to bypass contacting him. As a canon lawyer, I was sure he knew of a method or a loophole that would save me from having to contact my abuser. He suggested including a letter with my paperwork that briefly explained the situation and requesting that they waive spousal contact. Sounded reasonable to me. I crafted the letter “to the best of my ability” and handed in my manila envelope.
Less than 3 days later, it was handed back to me. Rejected. “Under no circumstances” could they waive spousal contact. My boss asked if I had had a PFA. I had not. I had left, moved out, shortly after things finally got physical, so I never filed one. I had never thought to apply for one prior to that even though there had been cause.
My boss then proceeded to tell me about a comment one of the priests had made that if there had been no PFA, and if we had not been involved with each other for so long, he “couldn’t understand what the big deal was” with contacting my ex…
I wish I was making this up.
I tried another angle reminding him that I didn’t even know where my ex was or how to contact him, even if I’d wanted to, (which I didn’t of course, but still, that made it no less true.) He continued insisting on different ways. If I had contact with his family (I didn’t - they too were abusive and awful people… it’s partly why he had been the way he was), if I had friends in touch with him. Anything he could think of to find a way for me to connect with him…
I wish I was making this up.
At the end of our exchange, I asked my boss what my options were. As I had plans to get married outside of the church, without an annulment, I - nor my new husband - would be allowed to receive Holy Communion, I could not stand as a sponsor for Confirmation as I would not be considered a member “in good standing” with the church. He had no problem with my continuing to work as Music Director even after my marriage, “However, if someone gets wind of the fact you were married outside the church and feels the need to pursue the issue with the Bishop, I have no control over the outcome.”
Translation: I either had to allow them to contact my abusive, non-Catholic, remarried, was-engaged-before-the-divorce-was-even-final ex-husband in order to have the annulment processed, and even THEN there was no guarantee how long it would take or if it would even be approved OR there was a very real chance that sometime down the road… I could lose my job.
I wish I was making this up.
My years of service made no difference. My near-lifetime of parish involvement made no difference.
My faith made no difference.
The church had abandoned me. The church was on the side of the man who destroyed me instead of supporting a loving, respectful, supportive relationship and upcoming marriage. The church, who had already forced me to relive my trauma via 144 questions was now trying to force me to let my abuser back into my life.
Fuck. That.
I started making my preparations and I quit a few months later.
In the time that followed, I opened myself up to my own Spirituality. I embraced the things I had learned and began exploring paths and educating myself on things that I had been called to do for most of my life. I began acknowledging qualities in myself that had been there since childhood and found parts of myself I never knew existed. Dove and Blackbird was conceived and began slowly changing my life. I finally found and welcomed Jesus into my practice and felt closer to him than I ever had in my years as a member of a church or religion. In fact, in growing closer to him, I found it even more difficult for me to want to participate in institutions that claim they work in his name and then openly reject his teachings. Instead of that, I incorporated him, the Blessed Mother, and St. Michael into my developing spirituality and found myself adding in elements of Buddhism and ancient traditions. I realized that I didn’t, that I COULDN’T, be 100% in agreement with any religion because to me, once man touches the Divine, it becomes corrupted. And I want to be part of the Divine. I AM part of the Divine in that we are ALL connected. That Spirit and life force and star stuff run through my veins just like yours, just like every human and every plant, every rock, every piece of wood, and every grain of sand. (How very Gospel of Thomas - one of those Gnostic Gospels that are “utter nonsense.” Lol.) My views of energy and life, Soul and Spirit were so far removed from any religion that I no longer felt I had a place there. I felt awakened to views I had never heard preached and I sought insight through myself and through study and meditation. I fought with identity. I fought with trying to find a label for myself, but I learned… labels don’t matter. It’s not important how someone else sees me, it’s only important how I see me. I know that I do respect how those close to me see me, but it is still my life, my soul, my spirituality… not theirs. And besides, especially after everything that has happened, it turns out those closest to me are extremely supportive of this new leg of my journey.
Awesome.
I realized I didn’t have to be Pagan to read cards, and that walking the Path was not really for me. I’m not a religious rule-follower and where Paganism is open to a lot of interpretation and self-constructed ways, there are still simply too many rules for me with ritual, I operate more from an intuitive space… and to be honest, it’s just never felt quite right. Not only that, but as it had been a source of trauma for me, multiple times in this life (and many more in past lives as I later learned), I simply could not, in my heart, be a part of it. I also couldn’t go back to Catholicism, even after my anger had cooled, because the Church, and her “wisdom” had betrayed me. Abandoned me in my time of need. Denied me the only time I had ever asked anything of her, even after serving her for decades.
So I chose, I CHOOSE, to be label-free. To walk my own path. To embrace the elements of spirituality, religion, and worship that fit best with what I have learned. My faith is strong… and it is not dictated by a man on a pulpit. It is faith in myself. It is faith in the Universe, in energy that is proven and the metaphysical that is still trying to be understood, but that I personally experience on a daily basis. I use my skills and talents to help others and it fulfills me more than anything else ever has. I know the “J-man” loves me even though I’m not taking Eucharist every Sunday. And we’re both okay with that.
So what is the biggest struggle I have with my spiritual practice or identity to religion or faith-base? Simply that I have had to find my identity. That I had to attempt and reject so many before finding it. That I had to try on each mask before realizing I preferred my own face. The struggle to understand and accept that you don’t need to fit into a box. Especially if that box was built by someone else. I admit there are days that are still tough - times when an event or an article or a passing remark may come up that poke at those wounds that, while healing, may never be healed. (Even if they do, there will still be scars. The deepest wounds are never gone forever - they become part of who we are.) There are days when I have to know that it’s okay if someone else doesn’t understand, that there may be people out there who think the absolutely wrong thing about me… but that that’s their issue. Their journey. It’s not mine. I know who I am. I know where I’ve come from. I have a direction for where I’m going. My spirituality, my FAITH, is my life. It has never ever been that way for me before.
And THAT faith, and my face, fit me more perfectly than any mask, or any religion, every could.
