Into the Mysterious Dark

In light of recent events, more horrifically awful and satanic and demoralizing than I can possibly comprehend, I wanted to pen a few words. They are regarding the flurry of activity in defending the Church and its precepts in the face of such an unbelievable and disgusting revelation of some of the worst kinds of violation on every level and idea. Now, I will say this: I am a Catholic. I am still a Catholic, and by the grace of God, despite losing my inner repose, my sleep, and my appetite in the face of these recent events, I will remain one, my heart, mind, soul, and body grafted onto the Eucharist so closely that leaving Him would kill me. But I am also the victim of a sexual assault; a violation that took place when I was a very young child, too young to understand its evil until I was much older and more ready to handle the pocket of Hell, self-hatred, and pain that came with it. My nausea is not just in the face of the details of these people's stories of trauma; it is als...

I'll cut straight to the chase today, not having the patience to write a hooking intro.  My decided topic today:  I'm sick of chastity talks, and the chastity movement.  Here's why.  Other than the obvious, that they are more concerned with preaching abstinence (the dry turkey sandwich of the teachings on sexuality going around right now), the biggest issue I have with the chastity movement is that it still addresses, much like its promiscuous adversary, the human person as an object for claiming--as fresh ground to be marked for one, and only one gardener (note that it's women who are always designated the untainted soil, because male virginity isn't a topic worthy of addressing, apparently) while completely missing the point of teaching healthy sexuality in the first place:  You are not an object, and you shouldn't treat yourself, or someone else, as one either.  "Think about your future spouse when you're out on a date with someo...

Speaking on the phone the other day with a friend of mine, one of the few who knows all the ins and outs of my current novel-writing adventures, she asked me, "Is this going to become a series of books, once you're done with this one?" The question took me aback, for more than one reason, and spawned enough introspection to justify a blog post. I mean, for years I was convinced I would never finish this story, and now that I'm SO close to its end, I felt the need to self-indulge in some writer-introspection. We've all heard it, whether you're a writer or not: "You're going to starve. Writers don't make anything." "That's nice. I'm sure you'll do well." (Insert a stifled gag at the obvious patronizing.) "You know, it's nearly impossible to get into writing now." "I could never do something like that. That's...great." The older I've gotten, and the more I've written, the more I...

As most of you have seen, a couple of days ago, I posted a blog about the issues of treating mental illness, suicidal tendencies/ideation, and depression by purely spiritual means. The response to this post was surprising, to say the least. When I posted it, it was more nervewracking because of how exposed I was willingly making myself, but I posted it anyway because I hoped in my heart of hearts that it would touch somebody else who had experienced the profound guilt and misery at not being healed of their torment by faith alone. There were responses of that nature, and they filled my heart with profound sadness and simultaneous love to know that my dark past can help someone, and I was glad I'd shared it. Other responses, however, were not so favorable. This post isn't to call those responders out, or to be petty or cruel and trash them. That is not, nor will ever be, my intention in posting ANYTHING on my blog. There are, however, several ideologies and lines of thinkin...

Let me start out by saying two things: one, I have been suicidal off and on from the time I was 6 years old; two, no, this post is not a cry for help or attention. I have dealt with my demons and wrestle them daily, and you don't need to worry about me. (Really; I use homeopathic anti-depressants and have been to therapy, and I have several emotional accountability partners who check on me constantly). But in the light of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade's passing, and the horrible things people are saying about them (from a supposedly "Christian" standpoint), I cannot in good conscience sit back and not share my own heart in the midst of these things. As you small group of my readers know well, so many of my posts are fueled by anger or outrage, or both. This post is not an exception. You may be wondering, what pissed me off this time? Why, the homily a deacon at my church gave this past weekend. Let me give you a brief glimpse into what he said, verbatim: "I ...

Here you have it. A handy-dandy list of what NOT to do when someone confesses body image issues. 1.) Don't gasp, shout, wail, or sob. Alright, I know these sound dramatic, but let me tell you, coming from someone with severe body image issues myself, this rings true across the board. Be EXTREMELY sensitive of how you react to someone who is vulnerable enough with you to tell you about their insecurities with anything, but most especially with body image issues. The smallest overt reaction of any kind, be it horror, shock, or dismay, will come across to the person as a reaction to themselves, not what they're saying. It takes a special kind of strength to be able to confess these issues out loud, especially for someone who has lived with these incessant lies in their ears day in and day out. Your reaction of shock may be a legitimate one, being that you could never imagine this person thinking of themselves as ugly. I completely understand that. But YOU need to understand...

I spent most of yesterday afternoon seething in anger, pounding my steering wheel in rage and biting my lip until my whole mouth ached. Why I was angry doesn't matter. Once I calmed down enough to think clearly, I reminded myself that it didn't matter why. I was angry, and that that was okay, and that as long as I didn't decide to plow into the wrong direction of traffic because of my anger, there was nothing wrong with letting that fire pound through me in my emotion.  It's sad how often I have to remind myself that anger, in and of itself, isn't a sin.  It's also sad how often I have to remind myself that this isn't my fault, my aversion to the natural inclination of anger.  I can hear your inner questions now, dying with curiosity to know why I was angry. Is that just because I'm female? I know that sounds trite, but really think about it. If I were a man writing this, and I wrote about the subject of anger, how would you react to his ...