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That’s Me In The Corner

I was born into a family of Catholics, on both sides. I was raised in a one square mile town that housed three Catholic churches and some notorious gangsters. But on any given Sunday, you’d see those gangsters sitting in the pews of those churches alongside everyone else. I went to Catholic school through high school. I said my prayers every night. I had some questions, but for the most part did what I was told.

A couple of years before I got married, a dynamic, progressive priest joined a parish in my town. He revived my faith. He married my husband and I. He was ultimately pushed out of the priesthood because he questioned how the church was dealing with pedophile priests, and also the church’s stance on homosexuality. That was it for my husband. He was out. I was so deeply embedded- I was not yet ready to cut the proverbial ties. But as the years went by, the ties loosened.

I tried for years to find a balance between the faith I was taught and my own growing system of beliefs. My first teaching job was at a Catholic school, where I had to fight to have my health insurance cover my birth control that happened to be treating a medical condition. A few years later, that medical condition would lead to a miscarriage and required medical procedures to ultimately get pregnant. You may be asking yourself, “why is she sharing these medical tidbits with us?” They become relevant a little later on in this essay.

My kids were baptized, made their first penance and first communion. We enrolled them in Catholic elementary school because that’s what my parents did. The church continued to shelter sex abusers. There were glimmers of hope on the love is love front, but not enough. Reports of LGBTQ+ people being fired from jobs related to the church increased. I continued to grapple with my faith.

And now here we are on the verge of Roe v. Wade being overturned. There are movements in this country to criminalize and ban abortion in all instances, to prohibit all contraception, to delegalize gay marriage, to outlaw infertility treatment, to not support queer students in school and more (Racism is rampant, but since this is about my own journey with religion, that’s a topic for another time). There are people who are using the “Bible” to support their sexism and bigotry. Passages are being manipulated to fit their abhorrent narratives. Religious zealots want women to shut up and just have babies. They want people to hide who they are and just be “normal.” If certain laws pass, women could be fined or arrested for miscarrying, like I did. Women won’t be able to receive medical interventions to assist in getting pregnant, like I did. Women will be forced to carry babies conceived through violence. Women will have no say over their own bodies and reproductive rights.

My daughter’s school is being mandated to teach an outdated, sexist, homophobic, anti-science religion curriculum. A curriculum that teaches girls to not dress a certain way, that life begins at conception not breath, that all contraception is bad because it blocks the creation of life, and that any time any heterosexual couple has protected sex, it is selfish sex because they aren’t being open to the creation of life. We knew the time would come when we wouldn’t always agree with the teachings, but this is on an entirely reckless level.

This country is taking a monumental, perilous step backwards, and the Catholic church is right there directing traffic so it can happen. I am no longer wrestling with my religion. I am a spiritual being. I believe in a higher power. But I no longer identify as Catholic. I simply cannot. I can no longer take what I believe while hypocritically ignoring the rest.

I will continue to stand for human rights and with that comes freedom of religion. I just hope that people come to understand that their religion is just that, theirs. Their religion cannot dictate how other people live their lives or surpass personal rights. As I continue my spiritual journey, I pray for universal acceptance and healing.

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The Tide Eventually Goes Out

There’s an old expression my family likes to say-“shoveling shit against the tide.”

Take a minute and think about that. Can you visualize how utterly maddening it would be to try to shovel shit against the tide?

There has been a lot of attention given to teacher burnout over the last two years. Teachers go from being superheroes to villains faster than Spider-Man can sling a web. I am fully aware that for some, there has always been and will always be a deep-rooted disdain for educators- “You only work 10 months out of the year, you have summers off, you have so much vacation time, all you have to do is babysit.” Of course more recently these comments have grown to include: “You union teachers don’t care about the kids, you just care about yourselves, you all just want to sit at home and teach over a computer, it’s safe to go to work, you’re making our kids wear masks, how dare you teach accurate American history, teachers should not be supportive of how their students’ identify….”

Public opinion has recently lead to the most idiotic, irrational and repulsive educational laws being proposed and actually passed. Laws that are going to trigger a mass exodus of the teachers who have been able to stick it out over the last two years. Laws that place ridiculous punitive demands on educators. Laws that deny actual historical truths. Laws that deny individuals to be their true selves. Laws dictated by ultra christian white conservatives, who are afraid their fragile hold on power will be disrupted or their archaic beliefs will be exposed to be just plain, gross racism and homophobia.

Last night after trying to explain my day in my substantially separate therapeutic program for elementary students with social/emotional/behavioral disorders, I just gave up speaking because the tears had started to fall too quickly. I couldn’t find the words to express how frustrated I was, not about my students, but about ignorance, poor decision making and my voice not being heard. All I could muster was, “I just feel like I’m shoveling shit against the tide.” Then I truly brokedown.

And my husband gently replied, “The tide eventually goes out.”

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Melancholia


You know when you first wake up after a deep sleep and that cloudiness is covering your eyes or you step outside early on a cool morning after a warm rain and there’s this gauzy veil covering everything? I’m perpetually in that state. I talk, drive, cook, clean, eat, work-all while in this melancholy mist.  I don’t know how to escape it or if I could even exist without it at this point. Maybe he’s right and I need the sadness or the chaos.

Sometimes when I breathe it in, it’s heavy and I’m left gasping. Other times I can navigate through the vapor seamlessly. 

It’s getting easier to pretend it’s not there when others are around. I can still feel it enveloping me like an old, scratchy, wool blanket. But I can force a smile and meaningless conversation and ignore the itch for a little while. 

It is not so easy to reject when I’m home and vulnerable. It seems to slide across me effortlessly like paint on a canvas. No smiles, no conversations. It’s easier to not engage. I want to protect them from the sadness and negativity. But it’s winning. I have caught each of them muddling through the vagueness. I allowed this to get too close to them.

I often find myself staring off. I think I’m trying to see through the blur and find some light. 

Just a spark, a flicker and maybe we’ll be okay. 

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Recent Miscellaneous Ramblings

11/14/20

I’m sitting in the front seat of your truck watching you. You’re meticulously exploring through bins of records in some shady, industrial warehouse. The loading gate is open allowing me a glimpse inside. Your gaze is fixed. You’re not looking for anything in particular, just anything that will make you smile, remember. With each gentle flick of your finger, memories materialize. Late night trips to Newbury Comics and Tower Records fade in and out. You have coupled music to every piece of our relationship and life; a beautiful, chaotic, tumultuous soundtrack of us. You hold your discoveries as gentle as you did our babies. You protect your music, and for the first time I understand why. Those songs and melodies are proof of your past or glimpses of your future. Almost an hour has passed. I don’t mind. You’re feeding your soul while I write, listen to Fleetwood Mac, sip tea and feed my own. When we return home later, you will play your music for me, for our kids, for our neighbors (whether they like it or not) and for yourself, adding to our bitter sweet symphony.

11/20/20


I’m the dusty, mismatched batteries you find in the back of the junk drawer on Christmas morning. I work just enough to make that new toy light up or turn on and bring a smile or two. Luckily attention wanes because my charge is weak. The lights dim and the sounds become low, jumbled  and drawn out.  I need recharging. I need to plug in and unplug from schedules,homework assignments, laundry, cooking, cleaning, sports sign-ups, practices, IEPs, meetings, lesson plans, Google meets, hydrating, eating healthy, moving more, arguments, emails, text messages, social media, politicians, Covid and worrying. Too much to maintain. My energy is almost gone. Maybe if someone takes me out, spins me around and puts me back in, I’ll work for a little longer.