Church.
Such a loaded word.
I used to find such joy here – these were my people, this was my community. Now I dread Sunday mornings. Church is a place of vulnerability in and of itself and I’m so raw right now I just feel like if anyone looks at me and asks how I’m doing, I’m going to lose it. Which is exactly what I did last week.
I almost made it out the door when I was stopped and hugged by a friend.
They dared to ask how I was.
I opened my mouth to say, “Oh, I’m great, busy week at work, you know, the usual. How are you?” Only instead of saying any of that I promptly burst into tears. Now, you are probably romanticising my crying. You may be picturing sweet, gentle tears trickling down my face. A folded tissue dabbing at the corner of my eyes. You would be wrong.
First, I really work myself up into not crying. “Don’t cry, you fool! You don’t want to end up on anyone’s prayer chain email list. Focus! Get it together!” This inevitably leads to tears welling up and a few attempts at a deep, calming breath. Sometimes I can return from this, bringing myself back from the edge of a breakdown. It all depends on the breath. If I take a deep breath and force myself to look up, the tears retreat and my heart beat slows down. If, however, I take a deep breath and it catches in the back of my throat, it’s all over. My face turns hot with embarrassment as one single tear leads the charge, quickly followed by an army of fellow tears.
If this happens, I’ll usually try to cover up my crying by laughing at the same time. I hope to give off a, “I know, I can’t believe I’m crying right now either! I’m so ridiculous!” vibe. I don’t know why my default is self-depreciation – more therapy needed to dig into that treasure chest.
As you can imagine, instead of looking like I’m sweetly crying and dismissing my silly feminine emotions, I look downright hysterical. Laughing, snorting, and gasping for air as tears rain destruction on my make-up.
This happened 5 more times (one of them with the pastor’s wife, because I’m great at making first impressions) before I finally ran out the door and hid in the car till the parking lot thinned out and tears no longer blurred my vision.
As of this writing, I would describe my relationship with God about the same as my relationship with everyone else in my life, “aggressively apathetic.” It may teeter across the line into, “destructively dodging” from time to time. For the most part, though, I don’t have the energy to make small talk with co-workers, let alone talk to the God of the universe about shame spirals and childhood trauma and facing my own sin nature.
The thing is, God is the best part of church. Without Him, everything else is just… meaningless. At best, the services are superfluous, at worst they range from annoying and self-righteous to rage inducing. The church is, after all, a group of broken sinners who can only ever do one thing right: surrender to God. So you see, without a connection with God, we’re kind of a mess.
It’s too much. I’m too much. My coping strategy has been to show up late and make a beeline for the doors as soon as the pastor says the final Amen. Otherwise the battle simmering inside me all comes raging out.
How am I? Do you really want to know? I’m in anguish. And it’s mostly my fault, though some of it can be attributed to unresolved issues of past trauma mixed with unhealthy learned patterns of behavior. My depression wants me to lock myself in my room all day, curl up in a blanket, and watch 19 episodes of Will & Grace to numb the pain, but my anxiety is too concerned with what other people will think of me to allow that to happen. So I’m here, but I’m uncomfortable and hating every moment. And to top it all off, I’m carrying guilt around with me, slung over my shoulders like a 500-pound backpack. It literally makes it hard to breathe sometimes, which is why I often have to stop and remind myself to take full breaths throughout the day. I know other people have their own lives and stuff going on, and I feel like such a burden, and I don’t even know how to possibly express the existential crisis I’m on the verge of having at any given moment of the day, so instead of putting myself out there and being misunderstood, disappointed and dismissed, I’m just going to smile and nod and politely shut people out and then wonder why I feel so alone. Does that answer your question?
There it is; my ugly truth. It’s easier to type out and post online than to say it to someone’s face (again, more therapy needed on that front as well). But it’s a step. If I can put it into words on a screen, then maybe I will be able to find the courage to speak them out loud. I think the important thing is to keep talking. Keep typing. Keep going to church. Keep showing up. Even when it hurts. Even when it sucks.
Keep trying.
