Church Depresses Me

It has been since last October that I have been a regular church attendee.  I have went a handful of times and each time I leave feeling drained and sad.  Sadness overwhelms me and it takes a few days to recover.  I think to myself 'that this is not how church should be, I should be encouraged and uplifted!'  But I am not.  I struggle with guilt and shame for not going, I struggle with depression when I do.

I label myself as a Christian and an ex-minister, and yet there are still times where every part of me has to struggle to get ready on Sunday morning, walk into the church building, sit down, actively engage in corporate worship, listen to the sermon, and socialize with others afterwards. 

I know I'm not alone in this struggle.  I think that church feels like a hostile environment for many people. 

There have been multiple times in my life where church has become a hostile environment for me to be in.

The first time I felt like this I was pregnant with my twins.  I was nineteen years old and had just come back from Bible college shamed.  I had once donned a pretty diamond ring on my finger, but that had been taken away.   Now I was a knocked up girl who had been caught in her sinful ways.  I attended church with my parents, until I started to show too much and then I wasn't allowed to go anymore.  We were keeping a secret and I wasn't allowed to tell anyone.  The only one who 'knew' was the senior pastor.  I remember one of the last Sundays I went; I was finally showing and I knew it would be one of my last Sundays at church.  I had my mother's long coat on to hide my bulging stomach.  I was standing in the middle of the worship service and I felt so lonely.  I wanted to cry, I wanted to have someone hold me, I wanted someone to tell me that it was okay, and that I would be okay.  But it didn't happen, and not too long after that I found myself home by myself while my parents went to church.  It was almost a relief not to go, not to have to dodge the truth. 

There have been other times where I felt like church was a horrible place to go, times where sitting in service put me on the verge of a panic attack.  As a minister I was relived that I was able to teach the children because I could embrace the sweetness of youth, love them, be present without worries about judgement. 

It's is almost amusing to me that almost every time I felt that church was hostile environment it had nothing to do with God, but everything to do with the people in it.  Sometimes people hurt others in a church environment intentionally, I have been on the receiving end of that multiple times.  Other times it was because I didn't let others in.  And sometimes it is just the situation that is overwhelming. 

I love my current church.  The first time we went there it felt like home.  It's not perfect, but it is a wonderful place for us.  So why have I been dodging it?  It seems so ridiculous when I type it out, when I say it out loud, but it is something that hurts to the deepest part of who I am.  In a choice that really wasn't a choice, I was denied my motherhood seventeen years ago in the shape giving up my twins for adoption.  After that my dream was to be a mother again, not to replace the boys that I had given up - that would never happen, but to fill my heart and home with children that I so desperately wanted.  I longed for motherhood.  It was a huge blow when we discovered that we couldn't have children.   In our first five years of marriage I struggled greatly and dodged questions of when we were going to have a family.  Looking back now I realize that I very likely had many early miscarriages.  Then I had two miracle babies, and yes I believe they were miracles.  Then the miscarriages started again. 

I was told that pregnancy was very dangerous for me, possibly life threatening, and yet we still tried and lost more babies.  One of those babies took, but she didn't make it and I held her tiny frame my hand.

Last March I had to choose between my health and the possibility of more children.   I was so sick that there was no question what I should do.  I had the surgery that destroyed every last bit of fragile fertility I had left in my body.  And so in a choice that wasn't really a choice I lost my ability to be a new mother once more, this time for good.

We go to a young church.  The preponderance of the people there are under thirty.  They are beautiful young people doing what young people do: date, get married, and start families.  When I go my church everywhere I look there are pregnant women glowing with radiance of early motherhood.  The church had to move the nursery because there were too many babies being born and they needed more space. 

I go to church and look at healthy glowing women and beautiful little newborns.  I was sick for all my pregnancies - either throwing up so much that I needed IV lines and hospitals or fighting preterm labor.  The last baby that came out of my body that I got to hold was a dead one.  I look at these lovely women and their babies and am truly happy for them.  But I am reminded at the same time of how my body betrayed me, how my motherhood was taken away at the beginning and at the end.  I am angry at my body, at myself, at my choices, at my life.  A woman's motherhood is not something to be taken lightly, is not something that is easily forgotten.  Even though I have two children that are (for the most part) healthy - I am still hurt and angry.  Having two children eases, but does not take away the pain and longing I feel.  It does not take away the betrayal I feel by my own body.  Being in that church only amplifies those feelings. 

I have gone back to church hoping that I could overcome these emotions, ignore them, compartmentalize them - but it never works.

I feel stuck.  And so I stay away.

I'm sure there are many others out there that can relate to me, whether it is because you just got divorced, are infertile, your sexual orientation does not match with traditional beliefs, or you have been betrayed... there are so many reasons to feel like church is a hostile environment and they are too many to list. 

So what do you do when your community, your support system feels hostile?  I'm still pondering that.  I hope that with time and counseling I'll feel like I can go back to my church and it can feel like home once again.

small moments

I was at a baby shower where we were asked to give advice about motherhood. After ten or so of the women went I just could not get up the nerve to talk. Although I force myself to be outgoing when I am in "ministry mode" at some time in the last few years I have become very reserved - almost shy.

I have been thinking about that question for the past couple days. What, in my almost 5 years of motherhood, would be my greatest advice?

When John and I started dating we had a long distance relationship. John would call me on the phone and ask me what the best part of my day was. This has continued through out our whole marriage. So often I think during the day of what my answer will be. This has been such a good thing for me with my children. Not only do I try to pick out good moments that I have had with them throughout the day but I have also learned to treasure a moment; a hug, a kiss, when they make me laugh. Sometimes it's something that I should get mad about, like when my daughter finds my some lipstick and decided she wants to be just like mommy. Other times it's when my son finally says a word that we have working on for a while. It can be a simple as my children showing each other affection or kindness.

My favorite moments are when my children fall asleep next to me or in my arms. I can watch their sweet little faces and remember all that I love about them. I can forget the discipline of the day and the frustrating moments and focus on them with all the love I have.

That is my advice M, treasure moments, love, and laugh. Motherhood is frustrating and wonderful all at the same time. We have to focus on those wonderful moments even if they come while our children are sleeping.

me, and only me

she just doesn't cry, she wails. She wants me. Only me. Annoyed that she is interrupting my hour of peace before I go to bed I put down the laptop and walk down the hall to get her. I look down at her tiny little frame in her crib, she is sitting up looking around for me, only me. And I am no longer annoyed at this small girl. I gently pick her up. I walk the four feet to my king sized bed and snuggle with her underneath the warm down duvet to protect us from the chill that always seems to linger in our room at night. I offer her my breast, but she doesn't want it. She snuggles into me calming down and her sobs turn into whimpers. She squirms a little as if she is too upset to calm herself down even though I responded to her within a minute of her initial cries. As her tiny frame finally conforms to my body, my arms wrap themselves around her to protect her from whatever woke her from her sweet slumber. Her breathing becomes peaceful as my body provides enough warmth to make a cozy spot for her to finally relax in complete surrender. It was me she wanted, not my milk, just me. And in this moment my heart is full. I am a mommy, a real mommy. And this little girl that has melted into me, who needed me and only me proves it. Her complete trust, her feeling safe only in my arms proves it. It is the most wonderful feeling in the entire world to be loved, to be needed, to be wanted like that. Nothing can compare.

There are small moments I feel complete. I feel normal. There are moments that I feel that it is okay to have the love of those two tiny children that call me mommy. That I am worth their love and affection, well maybe not worth, or even worthy, but it is okay that the world has allowed me to be a mother.

In those small moments I try desperately to push anything but my two children that are under our roof out of my mind. No hurt of - I missed this, or I didn't get to do this with them. But sometimes I can't help it, Sometimes my joy is ruined by my loss. And I am angry. Angry at myself, for letting a wonderful moment be ruined by my inability to cope with my past, with my loss. And I tell myself next time I am going to enjoy my children and not let this all consuming sadness that lingers in my heart also consume their childhood. I'm getting better, but as I get better I find myself building a wall against the past, against the pain that I can't seem to face. I build it against those two precious innocent boys that I haven’t seen in 9 years. I find solace in making them into something not so real, because they are so intangible to me that they are almost a dream.

The thought that entered my mind last night that ruined that wonderful moment? "I know that she isn't the kind of mom that would take my boys back to bed with her and snuggle until their sweet tiny bodies surrendered once again to sleep." And it kills me. My children, are they okay without that? The children under my roof need it - they need to be loved like that, need that affection. It hurts so much that my twins might have missed something only I could give them in order to gain something else that I thought was more important than me. Why couldn't God have worked it out so that I could have picked them up in the middle of the night and given them what they needed? Me and only me. Why couldn't I have been the One? Why couldn't I have been their mommy, their everything?
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I hope when my sweet little Princess wakes up tonight it is all about her. I just want to be her mommy and Bear's mommy too. Not a mommy that aches with longing arms for something that can never be. Because to the Bear and the Princess I am mommy, me and only me - that is real, that is now and I will continue to endeavor to cherish those moments for the rest of my life without the sadness that seems to haunt them.