Faith

I know! Cringe-worthy topic, right? Don’t worry, I’m not here to convert you or tell you why I’m right and you’re wrong. That’s not how religion should be in my opinion. Everyone gets to believe what they want, and I’m living proof.

Both my parents were raised Christian, my mom’s family a little more strict and devout than my dad’s being as her family is Catholic. My mom did not buy into that sect of Christianity. Actually, she didn’t really buy into Christianity at all. She did go along with protestantism when she was I was a baby, but very shortly after my 4th birthday, she started taking the family to a Unitarian Universalist church. And that’s the “religion” I grew up with.

I spent my childhood learning about all the different faiths and celebrating all sorts of holidays while my mom realized that she belonged in the Wiccan tradition. I wasn’t raised to believe in God or the power of Jesus Christ or the prophet Moses or even that Ganesh (one of the many Hindu gods) would fix my problems if I prayed enough. I was raised with the understanding that many people had many different beliefs and the majority of them felt strengthened by their beliefs and god(s). This was something that I never had. As a kid, I always prided myself on being hyper-logical and “knowing” that there was no higher power that could solve all my problems and that if I wanted something changed, then I would have to do it myself. And for a long time, I was ok with that.

But recently I found myself thinking more and more about faith and what I believe and what I want to believe. I wanted that strength of conviction that everyone else seemed to have. I wanted that additional inner strength that religious people seemed to have, the kind that helped them get through addiction and mental disorders like anxiety and depression. I wanted to believe that there is a God looking over me. I wanted a God who could be like a father to me, the kind of father that my own dad never was.

And that’s where I am today. I have faith. I pray. I have a sense of someone watching over me and caring about me. I do believe in God. But I can’t tell my family because the “G-word” was worse than any swear word in my house. It was the basis for jokes and mockery. How could I tell my mom, the woman who bravely stood up to her family when she converted and who has spent numerous years mocking and making jokes at the expense of God, that I believe? That I believe in the religion she scorned and left? That while she believes in the power of the goddesses, I believe in their masculine counterpart? (No I don’t believe in goddesses, it just seemed to flow better than anything else I could come up with.) And my answer so far: I can’t. I can’t tell my mom, the woman who has been there for me forever and has always had my back and always held me when I cried and kissed all my booboos and told me that I was perfect just the way I was, I can’t tell her that I believe in God and that He has helped give me the strength I’ve needed to get through this past year. I can’t tell my (second) best friend what I believe, because it would hurt her more than I can comprehend.

I truly hope I didn’t make anyone uncomfortable or offend anyone, I guarantee that was not my intention. The last thing I want is to tell anyone that their faith is wrong, because it’s not. If you are happy with your beliefs, then your faith is perfect for you. If you don’t have faith and don’t need it, good for you. You are a stronger person than I am.

xo, M.