QOTD

“A word, after a word, after a word is power.” 

Margaret Atwood

Catholic Innocence

I have happily been a practicing Episcopalian for almost ten years. But I was raised Roman Catholic. 

Growing up in a small town, our church was the church most of my classmates attended. We attended CCD, sang in the choir, made our sacraments like, First Holy Communion and Confirmation together, and took part in Youth Ministry. 

I was very invested in being a good Catholic from an early age. I was fascinated by the stories of the saints, had my own prayer book that included a typical mass in it, and memorized all my prayers. I would play “holy communion” with my friends using potato chips as the host, and attended church with my mother, who was also raised in a devout Catholic family, each Saturday night. 

If some of these religious terms seem foreign to you, that’s okay. The Roman Catholic church is full of  “mysteries”. I was taught from an early age not to question anything, to just accept the teachings of the church, and to do as I was told.

Although, as I grew older, I did sometimes question the ways of the church, I was strong in my faith and proud to be a Catholic. When I was 15 years old, and approaching Confirmation, I swore to my friends that I was saving myself (read: virginity) for marriage. 

After Confirmation, two things happened. I joined Youth Ministry (which is basically a high school youth group) and I fell in love for the first time. 

My boyfriend was a handsome, dark haired, hockey player of Sicilian descent. He was smart, and that is why we were introduced. I struggled with math, and it came easily to him. We were in study hall together and the teacher suggested that I ask Mike for help with Algebra. We quickly realized we went to the same church, among other common values and interests. 

One big difference, however, was Mike had already been sexually active. And he was surprised to learn that I didn’t intend to have sex before marriage. 

Mike and I talked on the phone, hung out after school, and increasingly spent more and more time together. Eventually, his parents invited mine to dinner so they could get to know each other. It turned out they were all from the same city and got along famously. I started to worry that maybe this was more serious than I was prepared for. I was, after all, only sixteen years old, and a junior in high school.

Mike was a senior at our school, also active in Youth Ministry and one week he was hosting a meeting at his house. I had mixed feelings about Youth Ministry. I had attended a few times and got a bad vibe from the priest in charge of the youth. He really seemed to dislike me. I was sensitive to this. I considered my self a good person and a good Catholic. What could he possibly have against me? Mike thought I was misreading the priest. So, I decided to go to the meeting at Mike’s house. 

The other kids were friendly and included me. Still, I felt a distinct negativity from the priest. He would ignore me in conversations, avoid me, and walk away when I tried to talk to him. Discouraged, after that night I decided Youth Ministry was not for me. 

Admittedly, this was strange. It should have been a red flag. But I was sensitive, and I think my mom, and Mike figured I was overreacting. I continued to go to church but my mom did not push me to go to YM. My best friend Michelle didn’t feel particularly included either. I don’t remember if she continued much after I quit. I would occasionally attend an outing with Mike, but that was it for me. 

My senior year was about to begin, and Mike moved about two hours away to college. I had begun to consider that since we were in a committed relationship for a year, that I might consider sharing my first time with him. We were young and in love, and he had stayed with me despite his frustration with my decision to wait for marriage. Well, let’s just say we managed to enjoy each other physically, very much while I clung to the technicality of remaining chaste. As I was the last virgin standing among my friends, and acquaintances, and most of my classmates (even the other Catholics) I began to lighten up on my decision to wait until my wedding night. I shared with Mike that I thought I was ready. He was excited, as you can imagine. But two proms and a night in a hot tub later, and all I managed to do was chicken out. 

I was still attending church regularly but was a bit disappointed that Youth Ministry had not worked out. My senior year of high school was otherwise off to a good start. I was captain of the majorette squad (the baton twirlers in marching band), had good classes, some other clubs I was involved with and began applying to colleges. I was excited to be a senior and had the most wonderful friends. 

Columbus day weekend came with our first marching band competition for the year. After practicing I had to go home and change into my uniform. I dropped off one of the girls and told her I would pick her up again in 30 minutes. As I rounded the corner to my house I realized I was going way too fast and laid on the brakes. As I neared my street, a pack of motorcycles was heading towards me. The man driving on my side of the road wasn’t even looking ahead, his head was turned and he was looking at his friends. I honked and pulled over as far as I could. But any further and I would hit a tree. If I pulled left, I would have hit 3 motorcycles. The biker never saw me. He hit me head on, he and his motorcycle flipped over my 1973 Plymouth Volare Duster and landed on the asphalt. I hit the steering wheel hard (I was not wearing my seat belt, a mistake I would never again make, but was okay and got out of the car. The motorcyclist ripped off his helmet and said, “what happened?” Neighbors came rushing out. Someone called the police. I was so upset when they arrived because my brother, who was on the town police force was on vacation with his wife in Costa Rica. My parents were 45 minutes away visiting my aunt. My friends were back at the high school getting on the bus for the marching band competition.  I quickly remembered that Mike was home from college for the long weekend and called his house. He came over right away. 

Later in the evening, my parents came home and gave Mike cash to take me to dinner. At dinner I felt like I could not breathe. He took me straight to the ER. We didn’t even tell my parents. It was getting late and they were already so worried and upset when they learned of my accident. The doctor determined that I was fine, just some inflammation and bruising on my chest from hitting the steering wheel. 

At home, my parents were upstairs in bed, and Mike and I were watching tv. I changed into a nightshirt. It was late. The house was quiet. The accident had shaken me and Mike was by my side, comforting me all evening. We were making out and without a word I let him know I was ready. “Are you sure?” he asked. I was. I didn’t want to die a virgin. I was seventeen years old and I held on to my convictions as long as I could. But something had shifted in me that day. The reality of life’s fragility. And I let go. 

The next day Mike and I attended a Youth Ministry outing together at the science museum. I felt different. Not in a bad way, not in a good way. Just more adult. More so from the accident than the sex, I think. Either way, that was a lot of life experience for one day. 

Over the next few months our relationship floundered. I was having trouble adjusting to both the physical distance of Mike’s college life, and the physical demands of now having a sex life. I finally broke it off in February. 

The next Saturday my mom and I attended 5:00 PM mass, as we always did. Sitting in the front row like we did every week,  the priest, who happened to be the youth leader of our church, came down from the altar to deliver the homily, or sermon. This was not unheard of, but a bit unusual as he usually spoke from the pulpit. 

What happened next is the reason I left the Roman Catholic church. Before the sex abuse scandal. Before the articles, and books, documentaries and films that exposed the many inappropriate acts of Catholic priests, I had my own falling out with a church I was devoted to, loved and respected for my entire childhood. 

Standing right in front of me, looking directly at me, the priest, Father Picardi, delivered a very specific homily. 

I do not remember all of his exact words. His tone was harsh. His message was anything but Christian. 

Father Picardi, our youth minister, spoke about a young man from our parish who returned home from college for the weekend and paid him a visit. He spoke about how broken-hearted the young man was and how hurt, because his girlfriend of almost two years had broken up with him that week. He asked Father Picardi for advice. The gist of the advice given was that anyone who would hurt this young man, in any way, was a bad person. He went on and on about how bad this person was: cold, mean, ignorant to pass up on this relationship. He talked about not forgiving someone who could be so unkind. He talked about opportunities to meet someone better who would not treat him so badly. I quickly realized he was using his sermon to cut me down to my face. I was utterly paralyzed with shock. Not only did this sermon go against all of our learning as good Catholic’s, but it was about me personally and being delivered to me in a manner where I was trapped. Seated in the front row of a full church, if I got up, everyone in the church would know that I was the evil harlot who broke someone’s heart. My mother reached over and grabbed my hand. She too had realized Father Picardi was speaking about me. I glanced over at her. She stared straight ahead at him. My mother, raised in a large, Portuguese, Catholic family, who took church seriously and raised me to do the same. You didn’t question the priest. You did not challenge him. We sat there and took the abuse. He went on and on. I was devastated. I was angry. Here was my priest, putting my ex-boyfriend upon a pedastal, exaulting him to sainthood, while ripping me to shreds before our entire parish. Cannonizing someone who pressured me into sex for over a year, and vilifying me, hard on myself alreday for giving in and erasing a core value I held dear, a girl who was serious and true to this church my entire seventeen years. 

When the service was over we rushed out of church. I turned around and faced the place that up until that evening was holy to me. “See that building?” I said to my mother. “I will never set foot in that building again,” 

I don’t blame you” she replied. 

In the months that followed my life went from good to bad in a rapid series of unrelated events. If I believed Catholic priests actually had any power at all, I would say I had been cursed. As a reaction, I turned my back on my church, and then turned my back on God. 

A couple of years later, when I was in a new city at a university I had transferred to, I attended mass twice at beautiful church near my school. But the damage was done. This was no longer my home. I turned back towards God, but it would be about fifteen years before I found a new home in the Episcopal church. Which I love. The priests, church leaders, my church family are truly nourishment to my soul. 

In the meantime, the secret of sexual violence against children among the priesthood came to light. “Mark my words,” I told my mother, “Father Picardi’s name will be on that list”. And it was. 

I don’t know what the relationship was between my high school boyfriend and our youth minister. But I have reasons to believe there was something going on, at the very least Father Picardi had some sorg of feelings for Mike and complete disdain for me the whole while we were dating and then vengeance when I ended the relationship. Mike didn’t even react that poorly. Sadly, Father Picardi was not the only priest from my childhood parish whose name ended up on the list of priests accused. 

Some of my friends were able to continue practicing Catholicism, rectifying their beliefs with the small number (overall) of bad priests. I was not. I am happy to be Godmother to two friends’ sons though. This is special to me and their boys, Nico and Adam, hold a special place in my heart and in my own prayers. I even set foot back in my childhood church for one of the baptisms and other friends’ religious celebrations. 

I heard something on a television once, from a character in a drama. He said that everyone should be outraged, and if every Catholic was as angry and outraged as they should be, the Catholic church would shut down, and cease to exist. He said we would expect as much of any other institution that had committed these horrendous crimes. That soliloquy struck true for me. Without guilt, I agree. 

Take Two

Well, here we are. Over five years since I became “The Written Mom” and this is only my 15th post.
What’s new? My son is 15 and finishing his freshman year of high school. My daughter is about to be 13 and in the yucky middle of middle school, 7th grade. I am engaged to my boyfriend of 8 years and completing my 17th year as a middle school guidance counselor. Middle school all day, middle school all night, as if I wasn’t already crazy enough. We are blessed to spend much of the spring, summer, fall at a small cabin on a large New England lake. I have no excuse to not write like it’s my job. So that is the plan. Before signing off I should mention that my fiancé and I are still the proud parents of our love child, fur-baby, son with 🐾 paws, Chase. He is 8 or 9 now, he was a rescue so we are not entirely sure. You can follow him on Instagram @veryhandsomechase.
Talk at ya soon folks.

Bragging Rights

I came out of the divorce gate and hit the ground running. I don't know if it was the new-found freedom, the sense of self I had unburied or some sort of rebirth, but after the initial shock and tears I was all, "I am woman hear me roar"!  Here is a list of some of the cool things I did. 

1.  I joined a church. I visited a UU church towards the end of my marriage but it didn't feel like a good fit for me. About 6 weeks after my divorce I walked uphill to the church on my street. It is an Episcopal church. I grew up Roman Catholic and the service is almost identical. The people there were so warm. The reverened was a love. This quickly becamey second home andy church family. The following spring I had my kids baptized there and I was received. Best. Decision. Ever. 

2. I coached my son's soccer team. It was only kindergarten soccer, but I have zero experience with soccer. I never participated in sports growing up and I hated PE. In the fall I was assistant coach and in spring I was co-head coach. It was a blast!

3. I wrote a book. Okay, it was actually a part of a chapter in a textbook. I submitted 25 pages and it was edited down to 2. But I was published!!!

4. I wrote for the local paper. I covered committee meetings and school events. Fun, easy, good experience and it was paid work!

5. I bought a house. My ex and I actually continued to live together for exactly 2 weeks post-divorce until I closed on my house. Then I got my keys and sweet freedom! I have since sold it, but am happy to have had the experience. Including mowing the lawn which I had never done, fixing stuff with my pink tool kit, and decorating without compromise. 

6. I dated. Many adventures. It was terribly nerve wracking at first, but them it was great fun!

7. I went to Vegas. 

8. I tried some new things: zumba, volunteer work, teaching Sunday school, cooking. More recently knitting and running...even my first 5K!

Okay, brag time over! Despite the many challenges that follow divorce, I am proud to have reinvented, challenged, and pushed myself to pursue new things!

What is a single parent, anyway?

 Recently, I had dinner with a good friend. During our conversation I referred to myself as a "single mother". 

"Are you a single mother anymore?" my friend asked. "Honestly, I don't know." was my reply. 

We were referring to the fact that I live with my boyfriend of four years and he contributes to our household finances. But, is that all "single parenting" is about? Money? He has no kids of his own. I am responsible for all of my kids needs. I have the benefit of being able to run an errand after dinner while he is home with them, and our financial situation is improved. So, am I not a single mother? What does that even mean?

Shortly after my divorce, I was venting with a friend and she said something profound on the matter: "we are all single mothers in a way". She is married and has a son. I was not offended at all, as you might expect a newly minted divorcée to be. She was right. And this does not just apply to mothers, there are all sorts of single parents out there:

The married mother who has a husband that does not participate in any hands-on parenting. The single dad who lives with his parents and they are actively involved grandparents. The mother who

Is stateside raising her children while her husband is deployed. The father who stays home so his wife can fulfill her career dreams. The mom of small children who has a husband who works long hours and travels for work. The dad who shares custody of his kids. The grandparents, aunts and uncles raising children whose parents are addicted, in jail or dead. The mom who is divorced and juggling school and work. The teen mom. The teen dad. The widowed. The homeless. 

 There are all kinds of single parents with varying levels of support, be it financial, emotional, or hands on. There is no reason to resent the parents who are married. Maybe it is a terrible marriage. Maybe someone looks like they have it all but what they really have is a mountain of debt. Maybe one single parent is financially poor but wealthy in faith. Another might be just the opposite. 

The important thing to remember is there are all kinds of healthy support systems available.  You just have to keep looking, don't be afraid to ask and work with what you have. At the end of the day, your child or children need to

know that you love them no matter what.  Regardless of your marital status, financial situation or family, it truly takes a village. So surround yourself with the best you can find, count your blessings and just breathe. 

Our Way

During my divorce I was on the receiving end of many comments. These comments varied widely, and generally said more about the speaker than me, or my situation, as comments often do.

"You mean you won't see your kids EVERY SINGLE DAY?"  Nope. "I would never allow that to happen". Okay. 

"But, won't you miss them?" Yup. 

"What kind of a mother doesn't have her kids ALL the time?" This one. "Even sharing custody with their father is unacceptable."  Actually, studies show that is the best arrangement for the kids. 

"Don't you want to be home with your babies?" Well, they are 3 and 5, in preschool and kindergarten. As a working mom with a career, and now a single mother, It would probably be irresponsible to quit my job and attempt to live off child support and state aid. Not a very good example for my kids either. 

"Maybe you can work it out".  Wow. What a great idea. I guess the last 2 years of both couples and individual therapy was just for giggles. 

People are judgey. We all are. We look at the world through our experience, knowledge and belief filled lenses. When something doesn't fit, we pass judgement. Sometimes in words, sometimes in actions. 

On the soccer field I was the only mom coaching boys kindergarten soccer, AND I was a divorcee. I say divorcee because it sounds sexy. Really I was chubby, hair pulled back, in fleece with a whistle. Still, I felt a little judged being out there, 3 year old on my hip, teaching the boys to kick with the side of their foot not toes, and to spread out for Christmas sake! I

Got some looks. 

Now my kids are 8 and 10. Life is still very challenging. Being a single mom is not easy. I co-parent with someone I would prefer not have as a regular part of my life. I struggle financially. I am

always in a hurry. With all that stress I try to be patient but often fail. If I lose my temper on a walk with my kids, judgey mcjudgerton is sure to walk by with words of wisdom, at the exact moment I DO NOT want to hear them. 

On the upside, I have found love again. For real this time. In it for the long haul. No, we aren't getting married. We are a family. Try explaining that. 

"You're not getting married?" No. "What are you doing". Being in a relationship forever. "Is that a new thing?" Nope. 

"Why don't you get married?"  Been there, done that. 

"What about major healthcare decisions? Death benefits". We will cross that bridge when we get closer to it. 

Domestic partners. Partners for life. Spiritual partners. Lovers. Best friends. Shacking up. Living in sin. Blended family. Call it whatever you want. Give us the stink eye. Support us. Love us. Hate us. 

We are a family. My family. And I would not have it any other way. 

True Confessions

While I have spent the past month downsizing, freeing my life of excess and renouncing materialism, I have one secret. I can not downsize my purses. 

I have a lot of purses. Quite possibly somewhere around 50. I can not be sure because an entire bin of "winter" purses is in storage. Right now I just have my "summer" purses out. 

Not long ago I started sharing. If I get a new bag (or two) I give one of my old purses to my friend, Lee. Reduce/Reuse/Recycle. Well, techically I am not reducing. Now Lee has a lot of purses too!

I have consigned at least six bags of clothing, 2 coats and some shoes in the past month. But no purses. 

Bags are my thing, I guess. No matter what size I am they always fit. They can be functional, a fabulous accessory, or both. As far as collections go they are useable, don't collect dust, and sometimes I get lucky and find cash in them!

So, the purses get to stay. I may be downsizing. I may be releasing myself and my family from the burden of "stuff". But I have some great handbags!  Or as we say in olde timey Boston...pock-ah-books!

Our Cottage

Downsizing is fun. Surprisingly therapeutic. I feel like I am "living my truth" as the big O would say. (Oprah, for all you non-followers). I have happily given away one dining set, 2 bookcases, 2 desks, and (soon to be picked up) a computer armoire and file cabinet. We sold our futon. I brought FIVE car loads of home goods and clothing to the thrift sale at my church. 3 trash bags to the charity bin in town. One car load to Goodwill. I even donated old glasses to the box at the library!

My mom will be storing 9 bins, a bassinet, and a faux Christmas tree in her basement. I will deal with those next winter. Some toys and the dollhouse my dad made me will go to my kids' room there. 

My brother will take the 65 inch tv and the glider with ottoman for his finished basement. I can't part with the glider. I nursed my babies in it. 

The rest will go with us. I anticipate getting rid of even more when I clean out the kitchen and, again when I unpack. 

Our new house is more like a cottage. We have not named her yet. The fact that she is on a lake fills us with so much joy that all other homes pale in comparison. Being on water is the new standard for this family. 

Catharsis and Keys

Shortly after I wrote my February post, the "The Bitter Taste of Divorce" I finally figured out how to forgive my ex and move on. I just did. Sure, he can still be annoying, challenging, passive aggressive, a bit narcissistic. But at least I am not married to him. 

It was pretty cathartic figuring out this forgiveness. A downright epiphany. Let the trumpets sound! And, then...I realized I was not living the life I want. 

Like, not at all. I have the man, the kids, the dog, the education, the career. But not the life. 

I want vacations. I want date nights. I don't care if I own a home. I am enjoying renting. If something breaks, I call the landlord. 

I want to be debt free. I want to save money. For trips. To Paris. Milan. NYC. LA. Hawaii. 

I have cut every corner, but my life is still too expensive. My upper-middle-class, suburban, Boston community is sucking me dry. 

The good news is, my lease is up. So I can move. And we found it!!! A house on a lake!!!! Only one mile from the town where my kids will continue to attend school. 

Our new house is tiny. TINY. We may as well be camping. And we are all thrilled. There will be fishing, kayaking, ice skating!

This was no small decision. Friends were surprised. They thought we loved our house. We do. But not for the price. And not in any sort of attached way. We like the design. The hardwood floors and real mouldings. We like the idea of being able to hop on the bus to Boston. But we never do it. We never did at the lat house either. 

Some friends were a sounding board for this decision. They were divided as to whether or not this is move is a good idea. 

It wasn't their words of wisdom that guided me to knowing this is right for us. It was my reaction to their advice that led me to my truth. Let's face it, that is where the truth always lay...not on the heads or tails of the coin but rather in how we feel when we realize on which side the coin landed. 

My truth? There it was all along. I don't want all this STUFF. I don't want any more than we need. I want more time. I want more money for travel and fun. I will never get jazzed about being a homeowner. I will never be excited about renovations. If I get psyched for new appliances it will be because the landlord bought them. 

Maybe financial experts would say this is not the best long term investment. Renting. Saving for the trip to Paris I have wanted since I was 12 years old. I have come to realize though that I am not really. looking for financial advice. I was looking to unlock the secrets of a happy life. I finally found a key. Now to see if it is the right one. 

Our adventure has already begun. We are cleaning out, purging, selling, donating. 

We get the key to our new house on July 1. A new chapter. A new day. 

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