Confessions of a Deacon's Wife

I grew up Catholic. I went to church every Sunday and religious education classes every week - except when I went to Catholic school, then I had religion class every day and said prayers before the start of most of my classes. Sr. Holmes was the best. She was my middle school math teacher and started every math class with a prayer before spewing out an oral multi-step math problem of the day. I was lucky, I guess. The nuns at my school never once used a ruler for punishment. 

Even though I've only been to Mass twice in the last ten years (I hope Sr. Holmes understands from wherever she is now), I can still recite the prayers on demand without a missile. 

"I confess to Almighty God and to you my brothers and sisters, that I have sinned. Through my thoughts and in my words. In what I have done and what I have failed to do . . . "

And then prior to Communion, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the words and I shall be healed."

At the end of the Hail Mary, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

So much emphasis on sin and blame. When I think about these words now, how they still reverberate in my mind and my heart, it finally makes sense why the shame I felt from my abortion almost killed me. If my thoughts and words weren't reason enough to be ashamed, how much worse was the sin I had committed by terminating a pregnancy?

I think that (straight) men must find these prayers have a different impact to them. They can actively participate in Church leadership, whereas women cannot (at least in the Catholic Church). That sets them up in a position of power that women in Catholic traditions don't have. My guess is that these prayers are humbling for them, but that they likely don't impact their psyche the way they do for me as a woman. I am not met in the same way in my religion as my male counterpart and so I am already starting at a less than place when I recite these prayers. 

The Catholic Church was thrilled with the recent decision by the Supreme Court overturning Roe vs. Wade. I suspect that this decision and the direction our country will take as a result will take an even bigger toll on the emotional psyche of women of Christian faith. We've repeated for decades the words "I am not worthy" and it's evidenced by the lack of women in the hierarchy that we are not equal. It has taken me decades of therapy and coaching to find my worthiness again. For anyone who is struggling, believe me, I understand. And remember this, Jesus made all of us in his image and we are all made with the same essence of Love and Divinity inside of us- female and male. The words we repeat in Church as words meant to keep us in our place. We are powerful beings, perfectly made. 

So repeat after me:

"I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy."

Rinse and repeat until you believe it. 

Namaste. 

My Miracle Baby (edited 10/8/14)

Have you heard the famous Eleanor Roosevelt phrase, “You must do the thing you think you cannot do?” There is one time in particular in my life when I felt that thought run through me in a terrifyingly “I can’t survive this” kind of way.

Well, let me tell you, there is a BIG upside to doing the thing you think you cannot do.


Before I share what that was, I need to give you a little history…


A month earlier I had had a miscarriage. It was my fourth pregnancy and would have been my third child. As if the miscarriage itself, which took over a week to complete, was not painful enough, when I woke up in the recovery room at the end of that long week, I was suddenly transported back in my mind to the clinic where I’d had an abortion eleven years earlier.

At that time of my miscarriage, my husband was going to seminary school at nights to become a Catholic deacon, and the pressure I felt from my religious upbringing and his new vocation created incredible tension and anxiety in me and between us, to keep my secret. Although I did not know it at the time, our abortion was a reason that could have precluded his ordination. He was disconnected from our marriage in every way. I was in overwhelm and alone in parenting our two young children and now I had two dead babies I needed to grieve for, but could not. When I left for a healing retreat a month after my miscarriage, my husband sent me off with very clear instructions – “Do whatever you need to do to fix yourself and pull this family back together.” I was breathing and barely alive, but spiritually and energetically I was close to dying. 

At that retreat, I had to acknowledge that if I was going to survive, I would need to tell my story. I would need to say what I did out loud. And then, when that was done, I would need to acknowledge my unborn children and bring closure in a ritual similar to a funeral.

I had to choose. It was my life or death. Could I do the thing that I thought I could not do? 


To my great surprise and utter relief, I discovered that releasing the story and its attendant emotions brought me peace, relief and a new support network I never knew existed. My shadow side was exposed; my dark side was bared for the other women at our retreat to see. This opened a door to a non-judgmental love I had not experienced in a long time. Contrary to my thinking, my vulnerability and full disclosure did not make them hate me – just the opposite. I was welcomed into a hospitable and loving community unlike any I had ever known.

Two and a half months later, after doing these things I did not think I could do, I found out I was pregnant with my third child. 

At age 41, he was my miracle baby and a symbol of healing for all the inner work I had done at that retreat. I learned that good things have room to grow when the toxic emotions are released. I had created space for a new beginning, for both of my baby and myself. 

That little guy was born on October 12, 2004. In five days, he will be ten years old. Thank you my “I love you more” guy for all the lessons you have brought to me. Mama Chop loves you to the moon and back again.


Namaste.

 

PS: Next Tuesday at 6 pm PST I have the honor and privilege of being interviewed by Mama Char on her show, The Quirky World of Mama Char on Blog Talk radio. I will post the link on when it will air.


And…my new website is almost complete! Hurray! I hope you will catch my blog next week at www.unborn angels.com/blog.


Thank you!

 

You Are Perfect

Ernest Holmes, New Thought leader and visionary, and the rock star, Pink, have something significant in common. Can you imagine? Both of them have an important message for those of us who might feel less than perfect - especially because of having had an abortion.

If you listen to pop radio or have teenagers, you have probably heard Pink’s hit single, “Pretty, Pretty Please.” It is a poignant song that flawlessly captures the struggles so many of us have in growing up and learning to be the person we were meant to be.

As I listen to her words and watch this video, I realize how seemingly insignificant events can impact who we are and how we react to our world. For the girl in the video, it wasn’t just about her teddy bear, it was a steady pattern in her life of being misjudged, misunderstood, and mistreated by those around her, people who did not see who she really was.((How Childhood Experiences Can Cause Us To Be Fearful). By the end of the story, now a young woman, the girl finds herself home, at peace in the perfection of her own being. She knows that she is perfect and she is ready to model that knowledge for her daughter.

Ernest Holmes teaches about this kind of perfection, a reflecion of the Divinity within each of us. Many of us believe in a power greater than ourselves, whether we call it God, Spirit, Universe, Divine Intelligence, or Creator. In The Science of Mind: A Philosophy, A Faith, A Way of Life, Ernest Holmes writes that “Healing is not creating a perfect idea or a perfect body; it is revealing an idea which is already perfect.”

Wow. Healing reveals to us the perfection that we already are.

I believe we are spiritual beings having a human experience. If that is true and we are made from a source that is God/Spirit/Universe, wouldn’t we have that perfection inside of us?

As a woman struggling with feelings of imperfection – manifesting in the form of guilt and shame – this idea was revelatory. Growing up Catholic, I was taught that I was born a sinner, and there was nothing perfect about me. But once I began to shift my perception and consider a different possibility, that perhaps I was not born with sin, but with a spark of my Creator, I found lasting healing. Like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, who discovered her way home inside herself, I discovered my way home, to the Divinity within my own being.

Today, as I listen to this song by Pink, I feel the transformation of my own soul from one born with original sin to one that is free and at peace knowing that I am whole, complete, and perfect as I am. I don’t know Pink’s spiritual philosophy, but based on the passion and truth of this song, she intuitively knows exactly who she is and who we all are. We are nothing less than perfect.


Namaste.

Manifesting Miracles

Twenty four years ago today, I married the man I thought I would love for the rest of my life. A cradle Catholic, it never ocurred to me at that time that one day we might not make it.

 

Only five years ago, as my third child turned four, I was a far cry away from that icy December day in 1989. I was in the midst of an extraordinarily contentious divorce, trapped in my job as a business owner, and taking multiple medications to cope with the stress. Life in every aspect weighed heavily on me, and I wondered if I would ever be happy again. It truly would take a miracle.

Yet miracles do happen, and I’ve come to believe in them like never before. This New Year I am divorced and living on the West Coast with my kids, three thousand miles away from the New England town I called home most of my adult life, I write a blog that is read across six continents, I’ve published my first book and I’m halfway finished with my second book. 

This has been the first Christmas in my life that I not only believe in miracles, but I feel blessed to have been on the receiving end of more of them with every passing year. 

Marci Shimoff, The New York Times bestselling author and Transformational Leader, has observed that miracles cannot happen if you do not believe in your own worthiness to receive them. Lights went off in my head when I heard that. Of course that would be true – if we do not believe in ourselves, why would the universe put miracles in our paths?

Ten years ago I was struggling to overcome the guilt, shame and sadness of an abortion. Catholic and living in a society that values life in all forms from conception until the end of life, the complexity of emotions I felt were difficult and confusing to navigate. Forgiving myself and finding my own worthiness despite the messages in the world around me that spoke otherwise, was a big job. 

I hope that my blog has helped women who have struggled in the past or are struggling now, as I was, to see not only their inherent worthiness, but also their inherent strength and beauty. If Marci is right — and based on my own experience, I believe that she is — as we heal what holds us back and rediscover our innate worthiness, beauty and strength, our world will be full of miracles in a way we have never seen before.

In the years to come, I believe we will see a world where women who have had abortions know in the core of their being - in their hearts and as well as in their heads - that they are whole and perfect just as they are. The world is filled with more miracles than you can possibly imagine and they are ready to happen as soon as you’re ready to receive.

Namaste.

Zoe, A Prayer Answered

Shortly after my husband and I separated in 2007, a close friend of my son’s gave us a priceless gift – a sweet little dog named Zoe.

We had lost our black lab of fourteen years months earlier and I felt like my heart would be broken forever after her passing. My children had been bucking for a new dog for some time, but knowing more change was coming and still feeling heartbroken over the loss of our dog, Allie, I stood firmly against it. 

And then Zoe came along. 

Zoe was a Christmas gift that year to my son’s friend’s family. They had never owned a dog before and with two active boys, found it difficult to be available for Zoe as much as she needed. They were contemplating the best solution for Zoe, while my family’s life was changing dramatically. 

Although she was a gift to my son, a second grader, Zoe quickly became “my” dog, following me everywhere and leaving behind her nights in a crate for the warmth of my bed. One of her places was burrowed under the covers at the bottom of the bed. And one of her favorite things to do when she got there was to lick my feet. 

I was just a little put off by this behavior. It felt weird. It tickled. I started to put socks on at night, to stop the licking. It worked.

Six-plus years later, Zoe still wants to “clean my feet.” I have been building a daily yoga practice, and she has been on the mat every morning with me, faithfully licking my feet whenever she can. This week, in a lightbulb moment, I realized, she has been licking my feet in answer to a prayer from many years ago.

When I was a practicing Catholic, one of the annual rituals involved our parish pastor washing the feet of twelve parishioners, a “reenactment” of the last supper, where Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. For many years, I wanted to be one of those twelve chosen to have my feet washed. In the beginning, the pastor invited people to serve this role, but as the years went by he began asking for volunteers. I wanted so badly to be one of those people! And yet every time I imagined being there and having him wash my feet, I saw myself dissolving into wrenching sobs. I did not understand why, but that certainly wasn’t the experience I wanted to have in front of my fellow parishioners!

I was taught since I was old enough to remember that I was born with something called “original sin.” Every week as we prepared for Communion, we were reminded of this with the words “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the words and I shall be healed.” This teaching that I was inherently sinful, separate and unworthy, combined with my experience of choosing to have an abortion, informed my subconscious mind week after week of my unworthiness. So even when my pastor asked for volunteers, and even though in my heart I desperately wanted that healing, I did not speak. The words “I am not worthy to receive you” reverberated over and again in my head. 

For many reasons, including this one, I no longer subscribe to the traditions of the Catholic Church. But the feeling I had, that desire to receive that healing gesture, remained. Just this week my sweet little Zoe reminded of the prayer I once felt so strongly in my body — the desire to have my feet washed by Jesus. And as I look at her now, persistent in her desire to wash my feet, I realize she is answering that prayer I made so many years ago. She tells me that I am loved and worthy. And now, I am finally ready to accept and allow that into my life.

Animals have so much to teach us. I am thankful to have received one of Zoe’s lessons this week. I hope you readers of this blog are content today in knowing that you, too, are worthy and you are loved, no matter what your past. I believe Jesus lived to teach us about love and forgiveness and would be the first person to remind us all that we are inherently good.

Namaste.

 

The Perfect Mother

The instant my daughter was born I made a promise to myself and to her that I would be the best mother ever. It didn’t take too much sleep deprivation to remind me I was human!

And yet, for years I continued on my mission to prove myself as a mother. I had to prove I was a good mom — to myself and to the world. I had such deep shame over the abortion I’d had years earlier that aspiring to sainthood seemed the best way to hide my secret. Afterall, if I was an impeccable mother, no questions would ever come up to suggest that an abortion was part of my past. I wondered, how could a “good” mother choose an abortion?

Shame is often referred to as the secret emotion because of the intense need the person feeling it has to conceal it. For me, the longer I buried the experience and tried to hide it from even myself, the harder it became to live my life authentically. I wasn’t living for me or for my daughter, I was living in fear and shame.

I have no doubt that my Catholic faith had a lot to do with these feelings of shame. Sermons about the evils of abortion, combined with teachings on original sin, reminded me regularly of what I had done and how mortally I had sinned. 

It took many years and many hurts to realize that my religion did not need to define my spirituality and that the Church was made up of human beings just like me. None of us, not even our priests, are exempt from the imperfections of humanity. I watched the clergy-abuse crisis unfold in my own backyard in Boston, and realized that my “sins” were no worse than many of the clergy who espoused a life’s vocation of following Jesus. 

As I learned to open up to other viewpoints, my spirituality evolved to where I could begin to think for myself, not simply as I was instructed to think by my religion. I began to see myself and my abortion in a whole different light. I wasn’t a sinner, I was a human being made in the image and likeness of God. And abortion wasn’t a sin, it was one possible answer in a world where both options were painful.  

Today, I strive to be the best mother I can be to my three kids. It isn’t easy to do as a single parent, but I no longer do it out of fear for being discovered, going to hell, or finding myself otherwise unworthy. I do it because I was chosen by them to be their mom for all the gifts I have to offer them. I make mistakes just like everyone, but I no longer berate myself afterwards for long periods of time. I take a deep breath, think about what I can do better next time, reminding myself this is where I was born to be and what I was born to do. 

For anyone still trying to reach sainthood, attain perfection in parenting or otherwise hide behind the mask of shame, I hope you find peace one day knowing that you are whole and perfect just the way you are.


Namaste.