Floor of Failure

*This is a repost from a blog I had in 2012. It feels as real today as it did then.

Sometimes I look in the mirror

and you rear your ugly head

I try to pretend you aren’t there

that you don’t exist

Then I trip and fall flat on my face

You are ever-so present

and all I want to do is cry

give up and lie

on the floor of failure

Tonight I’m facing this

monster that paralyzes me

with fear with invisible power

I can’t put my finger on it

The intangible terror is

dancing with you in

my head

My mouth is dry and my

words are gone

What you don’t know, though

is that I just took my

first step

to no longer being under

your thumb.

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When Life Gives You Deconstruction: Some Thoughts on God, Music, and Hurt

When Life Gives You Deconstruction: Some Thoughts on God, Music, and Hurt

*TW: Spiritual Abuse

It’s 4am and I’ve been awake for a little over an hour. Maybe an hour and a half. While 5 hours of sleep isn’t historically enough for me, my brain is awake. My head is full of all the things but clear. Does that make sense? Probably not.

I’m not sure what woke me up this morning, but I was very quickly in deep thought around the deconstruction of my faith. I have many thoughts on it and lots of stories. Christians have said some really horrible things to me/around me while invoking the name of Christ. Looking back, I’m appalled. How is that okay? How is that justified? I don’t know. Humans can justify anything, I guess. It pains me to think about who I’ve alienated over the years because their faith, or absence of, didn’t align with mine. All for what? The sake of being right? There are some dear people in my life who I’ve been able to talk to regarding comments or ideologies from my past. What about those people who I didn’t know well and who felt that separation or exclusion in passing? I hate to think about it, honestly.

They say it’s all to save people. God doesn’t need us to save people. He wants us to love people. He wants us to love them for exactly who they are and exactly where they’re at. And we shouldn’t need God to do that – and many, many people don’t. What He truly desires is to know us and be known by us. Did I just write a worship song? Probably.

Oh, worship music. I used to love it so much. There’s plenty I didn’t like and definitely made fun of – I’m looking at you Matthew West. “Modest is Hottest”? What the fuck dude? Even as a supposed “parody”, it’s horribly unfunny. Anyway, I digress. There’s so much worship music that I truly loved, though. I’ll probably listen to it again at some point. It will have to be good, though. It has to be vetted to weed out the misogyny, guilt, and shame. Eh, maybe I won’t go back to it. That’s a lot of work. I could just spend that time on my own music. But, see, I’m a musician’s musician. I love other people’s work – their music, art, poetry, writing, etc. I guess that’s part of deconstructing. You tear it all down, examine it, and reconstruct it with what feels right and true to you.

My tie to God has always felt true. I’ve always felt drawn to something bigger – a Creator. Some being made of love and compassion. Someone who knew me, understood me, and stood by me. That part hasn’t changed. Surely His ways are mysterious because our universe is mysterious.

Something that really struck me when I left my church was their performative “love”. When I left, I remained friends with 2 people from the entire congregation. These are women who I can see at any given time and pick up right where we left off.

The two pastors who I looked up to so much and, then, who had that “intervention” with me? They never reached out a single time after I left. Not once. And neither did their wives. One of their wives was in the meeting where they confronted me and I bawled my eyes out. That was nearly 5 years ago. I worked closely with them every single week for nearly 7 years. I had been in their homes and eaten meals with their families. That part used to be very painful. It still is a bit.

Now, maybe they were embarrassed by their behavior or felt bad, but were too proud to reach out. Or maybe it was mostly bullshit. I really don’t know. Either way, it was wrong. I know that now. But, even now, when I let myself think about how much I let them into who I was and know some extremely personal parts of my life, I get angry and sad. I realize now how manipulative that was, but it still makes me angry at times.

If I really think about it, though, had they reached out or pretended like they cared, I may not have been able to see the church as clearly as I do today. Looking back, there were so many signs or things that never really sat right with me. It’s good to see the truth.

I don’t believe everything happens for a reason, but sometimes, when we take a second to look at the big picture, we realize that the hard experience, while painful, also healed other parts of our broken hearts. It shouldn’t have to be that way, but sometimes it is.

When Life Gives You Deconstruction: Thoughts Around Christmas

When Life Gives You Deconstruction: Thoughts Around Christmas

*TW: Spiritual abuse

*Note: Only respectful comments will be allowed and responded to. Telling someone who is deconstructing that “not all Christians/Churches” are like that, is invalidating to that person’s experience. It is not helpful or respectful.

Here’s the truth: the holidays are hard for a lot of people for a lot of different reasons. We struggle because of loss, Seasonal Affective Disorder, this Goddam Pandemic™ (going on two years strong), loneliness, estrangement (either by choice or not), and a million other reasons.

In the week leading up to Christmas, I’ve known 2 people to die from COVID-19. One person close to my family and her death will have a lasting impact on people whom I love very much. Another was someone my age, whom I’ve known most of my life. My heart aches over these people and their families. Wear your mask. Get vaccinated if you can. These losses have made Christmas extra hard this year.

On top of tragic loss and these expectations of magic and memories we put on ourselves, I’ve been deconstructing my faith. This has made Christmas feel very different this year. I know millions of people celebrate Christmas without any tie to faith at all. And that’s fine. Some use it to celebrate the origin of the Yule holiday, honoring the winter solstice and this time of change on earth. For me, I connect Christmas to the birth of Jesus. I know Jesus wasn’t actually born on December 25th and I know the traditions we have today around Christmas were based on Yule to help easily convert pagans to Christianity. Nevertheless, here I am, celebrating the birth of Jesus on December 25th.

My deconstruction journey started long before this Christmas season. The seeds were probably planted from the beginning, but my decision to really start to examine my faith came from what spurs most people to deconstruct from the church: Church Hurt. This is a story I’ve only told a few people I’m close with because I had so much hurt around it. There was shame for a while too, but that’s gone now. Shame is not an effective way to love thy neighbor, by the way.

I was part of a church and on their worship team for about 7 years. I loved it. I loved the church and many of the people there. I felt like I was part of a family – until I did something that was deemed “against God’s will.” I was moving in with my non-Christian boyfriend before we were married. I was immediately called into an intervention of sorts, where they tried to convince me that I was doing the wrong thing and that if I went through with this decision, then I would be removed from the worship team. They also tried to tell me that my boyfriend and I were “unequally yoked” – a phrase often weaponized in the church to shame an unmarried Christian into leaving their non-Christian partner. I think I attended one more Sunday service after that, and then promptly left. I stepped foot into that church 2 other times since then. Once to see if anything had changed. It hadn’t. And again to watch a friend be married. That was it.

I briefly attended another church, which I enjoyed. They were definitely more welcoming and honoring of their congregation. They loved people where they were and they were more charismatic, but the pandemic happened, which kept me home on Sundays. The 2020 election really fast-tracked my deconstruction for obvious reasons. Through this time, my beliefs were expanding. I realized that inclusive and affirming worship places were pertinent. God loves and honors all – gay, straight, trans, black, brown, white, atheist, agnostic, and everyone in between. He honors the things that make us who we are. I’ve learned that when people say “the Bible is very clear about x”, chances are, the Bible isn’t clear at all about that thing.

So I’ve stopped going to church altogether. I may never go back. I’m not sure. It would have to be a very open, welcoming, and affirming place. Where I live, that isn’t very prevalent. And that’s ok. The thing is, I’m not deconstructing from God. I’m deconstructing from the church. The church isn’t in alignment with God. I’m happy enjoying my life and building meaningful relationships elsewhere. There are people who stop believing in God altogether when they deconstruct. That’s ok, too. I respect that so much. I truly believe we all have a place in eternal goodness.

So where does that leave me this Christmas season? Honestly, I’m still stressed with present-buying and baking and holiday event hosting. I didn’t go to church for a candlelight service. I didn’t guilt myself into remembering the “reason for the season.” It is evident when I am with family and someone asks that I pray over the meal. It’s awkward when a very religious family member wants to “pray for/with me” or discuss theological ideas that I don’t subscribe to, which are many. With this being the second Pandemic Christmas™ in a row, though, it was much of the same. Do we get together with family? How do we stay safe? Is everyone healthy? Maybe it’ll be more evident when the Panorama is more controlled and things are more close to normal. Maybe. I guess we’ll see.

If you happen to be deconstructing and struggled through Christmas, please know that you are not alone. There are many of us out here trying to untangle the trauma we experienced from the church. We are unlearning the misogyny, racism, and patriarchal ideas that we taught with God’s supposed stamp of approval. We are healing from the trauma inflicted by people who we were supposed to be able to trust. We are learning to love ourselves again. You can love yourself again. You are worth it. You are loved.

How to Honor Your Mental Health

How to Honor Your Mental Health

With World Mental Health Day being this week, I’d like to share a story.

Exactly 4 years ago, on October 10th, I missed a cousin’s beautiful wedding to protect my mental health. Let me explain.

Four years ago, I was battling through my very painful divorce. During this specific time, in the 5 months between filing for divorce and our final court date, we had just tried to reconcile and it failed miserably. I was in a world of hurt – brokenhearted, angry, and just sad.

My little cousin was getting married and it was going to be a beautiful day of family, friends, and nuptials. I was looking forward to it and dreading it all at the same time. After talking to my mom, sisters, and best friend, we all came to the conclusion that I probably should not go to this wedding. As sad as I was to miss the wedding, it was also a huge relief.

Had I gone, I probably would have gotten drunk and made some poor life choices. I was pretty good at that during this time. Not like fall-onto-the-stage-and-give-a-slurred-and-sappy-speech-drunk. More like overshare-personal-details-of-my-life-and-maybe-makeout-with-a-random-family-friend-drunk. Either way, not pretty.

During that time, my mental health was fragile. My heart was broken and I made plenty of bad decisions. But thankfully I had a tribe who was looking out for me and gave me permission to sit this one out. In fact, Facebook reminded me of what I did end up doing that weekend. I went up north with my best friend to her cottage to get away, drink a little wine, and break bread with my person and her family.

Honoring my mental health
The view from my best friend’s cottage.

But that’s not the end of this story. Fast forward 4 years and I am happily divorced, in a loving relationship, my career is thriving, I own 2 businesses, and I’m pursuing things I love. My mental health is in a much better place. I no longer have nagging thoughts of self-harm, which is something I have a history with. I don’t immediately reach for alcohol to numb my feelings. And I truly have respect for myself and my body.

It also hasn’t all been unicorns and rainbows. I’ve had struggles just like anyone else. I made sure to take time after my divorce to heal. Healing has to be intentional – not rushed. Intentional. I chose to heal. I chose to face my pain, bad choices, and insecurities. There’s still healing that needs to occur, but I’m always working on that. If you choose to heal as you go, then it is so much less overwhelming.

Healing looks like therapy, reading, journaling, crying, laughing, self-care, exercise, self-awareness, prayer, acceptance, connection, forgiveness, and love. All of these lend to your healing. Healing takes work, but it is so worth it. You are so worth it. And your mental health will thank you.

Now I look back and my cousin has beautiful memories of her special day. No one even remembers that I wasn’t there or why. And no one especially remembers how I made a fool of myself after getting too drunk, because it didn’t happen.

Life goes on and gets better – mine did. Yours will too.

Mental Illness Doesn’t Always Look Like Suicide

Mental Illness Doesn’t Always Look Like Suicide

*Trigger warning: This post discusses difficult topics like drugs, alcohol, suicide, and self-harm.*

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Everyone has mental health. Just like we have physical health, like bone health and cardiovascular health, we have mental health.

Poor mental health runs in my family just like cancer, diabetes, or heart disease can run in one’s family. From the outside, that may not seem apparent. No one in my family has ever lost their battle with mental illness by suicide – at least none that we know of in recent generations. But plenty of people in my family have battled mental illness with food, drugs, alcohol, and work. As a result, many have died prematurely from heart attacks, complications from obesity, type 2 diabetes, stress, cancer, and what we like to call “hard living”.

We don’t talk about these things like mental health issues. We don’t say, “Oh, she really really struggled with mental illness, which ultimately took her life.” No, we don’t say that. We say, “Oh, she struggled with obesity her whole life, which led to a life-ending heart attack at age 60.” But what really happened is, she lived a hard life because she was raised feeling unworthy, which caused her mental health to break down. And because we don’t talk about the hard things in our life – the mistakes, broken dreams, the painful things done to us, and our lack of love for ourselves – it grows like a cancer inside of us. And because there’s a stigma around getting real help from therapy or just saying, “I’m not okay”, we medicate.

Food makes us feel better. Alcohol and drugs dull everything around us – the bad stuff and the good stuff. Work helps us ignore it. These medications aren’t initially seen as an issue because they are the things we would do in a healthy life too. No stigma.

We have to eat and work. These are essentials in our lives, so they can’t be that bad. Alcohol is something we use to socialize or unwind on occasion, but it’s not used every day or all day for the average person. They are socially acceptable.

But, the truth is, I come from a long line of people who use these things to feel better when our mental health is suffering. If left unchecked, we use them to the point of addiction – to the point of abuse. And I’m not alone.

Remember, mental illness doesn’t always mean suicide or self-harm. It’s not always that final or that obvious. In fact, it almost never starts there. It starts somewhere much smaller and less defined – in the gray areas.

This is why self-love is so important. You cannot pour from an empty cup. You must love yourself and take care of yourself. Take time for you. Take a walk, a bubble bath, a nap, a yoga class. Meditate, read, write. Visit a friend, take yourself out for coffee. Take a mental health day or a whole weekend! Tell people no.

And – encourage this behavior in others. Give people permission to tell you no, or to take a day off. Give them permission to have bad days and love them anyway.

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Let’s be advocates for self-love: for ourselves and for others.

How are you going to practice self-care this week? Let me know in the comments!