In the confessional booth and other small miracles
I hadn't gone to confession in a long time and so I went last Saturday. I was timid, all right I was scared shitless. Priests are men. I don't talk to men, but when I do talk to men, they are priests, apparently. Now before we go further, I come and go out of that church like Tinkerbell. I don't go to church every week. I detest the politics of the church and most Christian churches really. The Bible, or more importantly, the Old Testament is just full of nonsense starting with Adam and Eve. Oddly enough, in the Catholic Bible there are three or more extra books that are poetic, inspiring and just plain beautiful.
So, there I was across from our parish Priest and lead Pastor of our Parish. My confession was fairly straight forward. "Bless me Father for I have sinned, It's been..... eehhhhm... YEARS since my last confession." This was awkward because there'a protocol here and I clearly didn't know it. My good friend, who had talked me into this, and who is honestly one of the saintliest people I know, had abandoned me to stand in line while she went to visit her parents. She told me she was coming to confession. I kept looking for her thinking she must have gone to another priest. But nope, she wasn't there for my protection. She was drinking coffee.
What I had on my heart that Saturday was that I couldn't make a go of it in Grad school. In April I gave the up the ghost, or holy ghost in this instance, and walked away from the potential of a steady pay check as a would-be therapist. The degree would take me three years with my mental health issues and I guess my heart wasn't in it. The thing is, I knew it. I knew it before I even started school.
Yet, months later, in the early days of September, I was beating myself up for not doing the work etc etc. And, sitting across from one of my favorite priests, I told him what was up, or not up in this case. He smiled at me, very casually, and said something like "Thank your professors and don't worry about it." I looked at him and suddenly the veil of guilt lifted. I was exonerated from something I had already walked away from in the physical sense. He also seemed to say, "It's going to be all right." The whole conversation took about five minutes.
And it took about a day for me to start doubting again. I learned a lot in the brief time I was in Grad school, and one of the things I learned was that I don't finish what I start. I don't do this out of complete laziness, I do it, I think out of fear. I also think I have ADHD and lose interest in what I do rather quickly. They won't treat my ADHD because the meds to take for it can cause my bipolar to become mania, and mania is scary. Even today, I am sitting here, questioning this choice I made. Did I go to grad school for the wrong reasons? I honestly was mostly thinking about the financial aspect of becoming a therapist and not thinking about much else. So, I don't know. Whenever I go to confession, I feel clearer about my choices. I think I will go tomorrow and try to understand myself a bit better.
Maybe this is more about me trusting myself than anything else. With Bipolar and ADHD, the world around me can get very murky. Somewhere along the line, I decided I couldn't trust my decisions. I know exactly when this happened. It was when I got married to the loser that nearly broke me, but that's another story. I quit trusting myself then. I get scared when I make life changing decisions because I made one really bad choice and it cost me a lot, body and soul. I paid for that choice everyday since then. And I really didn't need to. We all make at least one poor choice and most everyone dates and in some cases marries a smuck. It happens. What made me so special? Nothing is the answer.
Maybe I'll get comfortable with this choice and maybe I won't. A friend suggested that I just accept the fact that I don't know and it will iron itself out eventually. I like the idea of radical acceptance. It's not easy to do, but once applied to our lives, and the nuances of our lives, it's an amazing way to deal with what is uncomfortable. I accept that I don't know and that I can't control my life without the help of a higher power. Step one of Alcoholics Anonymous states that we are powerless and that our lives have become unmanageable. I used to hate that step because I had a real problem with powerlessness. Now, I know that the only behavior I can control is my own and that sometimes, even this is a stretch some days. And that's ok. I'm a fucking human for Christ's sake. I'd like to be a saint, but Saints make mistakes too. In fact, Robert Louis Stevenson said "The saints are the sinners who keep on trying." Maybe, we are all saints by right of being human. Maybe our call to sainthood is simply a call to our humanity. This doesn't mean we are perfect, it means, quite simply that we ARE and nothing more.
So, there I was across from our parish Priest and lead Pastor of our Parish. My confession was fairly straight forward. "Bless me Father for I have sinned, It's been..... eehhhhm... YEARS since my last confession." This was awkward because there'a protocol here and I clearly didn't know it. My good friend, who had talked me into this, and who is honestly one of the saintliest people I know, had abandoned me to stand in line while she went to visit her parents. She told me she was coming to confession. I kept looking for her thinking she must have gone to another priest. But nope, she wasn't there for my protection. She was drinking coffee.
What I had on my heart that Saturday was that I couldn't make a go of it in Grad school. In April I gave the up the ghost, or holy ghost in this instance, and walked away from the potential of a steady pay check as a would-be therapist. The degree would take me three years with my mental health issues and I guess my heart wasn't in it. The thing is, I knew it. I knew it before I even started school.
Yet, months later, in the early days of September, I was beating myself up for not doing the work etc etc. And, sitting across from one of my favorite priests, I told him what was up, or not up in this case. He smiled at me, very casually, and said something like "Thank your professors and don't worry about it." I looked at him and suddenly the veil of guilt lifted. I was exonerated from something I had already walked away from in the physical sense. He also seemed to say, "It's going to be all right." The whole conversation took about five minutes.
And it took about a day for me to start doubting again. I learned a lot in the brief time I was in Grad school, and one of the things I learned was that I don't finish what I start. I don't do this out of complete laziness, I do it, I think out of fear. I also think I have ADHD and lose interest in what I do rather quickly. They won't treat my ADHD because the meds to take for it can cause my bipolar to become mania, and mania is scary. Even today, I am sitting here, questioning this choice I made. Did I go to grad school for the wrong reasons? I honestly was mostly thinking about the financial aspect of becoming a therapist and not thinking about much else. So, I don't know. Whenever I go to confession, I feel clearer about my choices. I think I will go tomorrow and try to understand myself a bit better.
Maybe this is more about me trusting myself than anything else. With Bipolar and ADHD, the world around me can get very murky. Somewhere along the line, I decided I couldn't trust my decisions. I know exactly when this happened. It was when I got married to the loser that nearly broke me, but that's another story. I quit trusting myself then. I get scared when I make life changing decisions because I made one really bad choice and it cost me a lot, body and soul. I paid for that choice everyday since then. And I really didn't need to. We all make at least one poor choice and most everyone dates and in some cases marries a smuck. It happens. What made me so special? Nothing is the answer.
Maybe I'll get comfortable with this choice and maybe I won't. A friend suggested that I just accept the fact that I don't know and it will iron itself out eventually. I like the idea of radical acceptance. It's not easy to do, but once applied to our lives, and the nuances of our lives, it's an amazing way to deal with what is uncomfortable. I accept that I don't know and that I can't control my life without the help of a higher power. Step one of Alcoholics Anonymous states that we are powerless and that our lives have become unmanageable. I used to hate that step because I had a real problem with powerlessness. Now, I know that the only behavior I can control is my own and that sometimes, even this is a stretch some days. And that's ok. I'm a fucking human for Christ's sake. I'd like to be a saint, but Saints make mistakes too. In fact, Robert Louis Stevenson said "The saints are the sinners who keep on trying." Maybe, we are all saints by right of being human. Maybe our call to sainthood is simply a call to our humanity. This doesn't mean we are perfect, it means, quite simply that we ARE and nothing more.
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