I was exhausted. From the beginning of December to the beginning of February, I had been in the fight of my life. After giving my resignation, a weight lifted but a deep sadness also started to take hold of me. That sadness clung to me for years and even now as a write this there are still remnants remaining in my heart. I loved working with young people. I loved watching them interact with their world in amazing and powerful ways. In an instant that world was gone. Not because I was horrible at my job, not because I had committed a crime, but because I had the courage to finally accept myself and live an honest, open life.
From my birth to the point I left my job, my faith had been the central identity in my life. Everything that I thought about myself and the world was in relation to my Christian faith. I was a Christian woman, a Christian lesbian, a Christian (fill in the blank). It was the core of my identity, my entire world was built upon that foundation. So the rejection I felt from the church was more than just losing my job. To me it was aimed at the very core of who I was and if other Christians felt that way, the rejection must therefore extend to the way God felt about me.
I had a few loose ends to tie after my resignation, there was a big program at the end of the month that I was committed to seeing through, but that was it. The Sunday after my resignation I did not want to be in church in Moscow, I didn't want to face a bunch of questions as to why I was leaving, so Aimee and I went to Spokane. We were still just really good friends at this point. I had poured my heart out to her for months, telling her how I felt about her and she always replied with I like you as a friend, but nothing more. So for me, leaving the church also meant I was potentially losing a friend. I had no intention of staying in Moscow after I resigned. My plan was to move back to Spokane and start a new chapter in my life. But that weekend in Spokane was amazing and changed everything. (Even if I didn't know it at the time). We hung out at my mom's house, I read Aimee children's books from my childhood, we stayed up late talking and we found our second home, Bethany Presbyterian Church.
We were a little nervous about going to church that Sunday, I wasn't sure if I was ready to step foot in another church so soon. My heart was still breaking and my wounds were so raw. I almost started crying in the parking lot. A sign out side the door read, "Black White, Gay Straight, Rich Poor, It's All Good." Those words were salve to my soul. Walking in the door, being met with joy and love was almost too much for me. We walked in an Paul, the pastor, immediately recognized me. He had known my family for years and as he gave me a gigantic, massive, wonderful hug, my world melted around me. Trust when I say there is nothing in this world like a hug from Paul Rodkey. Aimee and I sat in church that morning surrounded by love, surrounded by grace, and surrounded by amazing wonderful people. When the service ended we sat stunned at the awesomeness of Bethany.
That experience was the beginning of many, many wonderful friendships and a second family for us. Words are not adequate to describe my love for the Bethany congregation, we may be small, but we are mighty! But at the time, the awesomeness and the warmth was not enough to heal my heart. I had been wounded so deeply that I just could not let myself be vulnerable again in a church setting. We attended church when we were in Spokane, but I wouldn't let my guard down and fully engage with the community. After a while we just stopped going to church. We came up with plenty of superficial reasons for not going up to Bethany, but for me I had buried my anger, my hurt, my feelings of betrayal, and not dealt with the wounds so the simple act of going to church was painful. I just couldn't do it.
At the same time as we were venturing to church on a increasingly irregular basis, I had started my grad program in Anthropology and was heavily involved in the Gay Straight Alliance. I had always had a community around me, that was one of the things I loved about be in a church. So getting involved in the LGBT community in Moscow was very, very, important to me. It was through this community that I started to come into a full acceptance of my sexual orientation. I had a certain friend in the community that I hung out with a lot, we were always at her place, my place, or at the bar. Talking for hours about nothing and everything. She was also openly hostile toward Christianity and fueled my anger and frustration towards the institution. She could see no distinction between the type of Christianity that wholly rejected LGBT people and the type of Christianity that was open, supportive, and nurturing. The more time I spent with her, the less I could see that distinction and the more distant I grew away from my roots. There came a time when I didn't even call myself a Christian. I wanted nothing to do with the church and I was completely fine with the separation. At least that's what I told myself. I left it all behind and walked away.
This was a particularly dark period in my life. I used alcohol to numb my feelings and when that didn't help I returned to cutting as a means to get the trapped feelings out. I would not talk about what I was feeling with anyone. I packed on the pounds over this period as well. I had so much internalized self hatred that I just didn't care. I was lost without my safety net of the church. My life was by no means perfect when I was entrenched behind the walls of the church, but at least I had ways of pretending that it was. Outside of the church walls I had nothing to fall back on. My friends were all so new that they didn't really know me, or they only knew what I would allow them to see. I was dying on the inside and it was starting to take its toll on my health and well being.
No comments:
Post a Comment