I have a vulnerability hangover after last week's post. It's odd what laying so many things out there did to my psyche for the week, though also completely expected, I guess. Reliving trauma is tough, even when you're doing it because your very heart of hearts has been telling you for years to just write about it, already.
I do feel like I have a couple of things to clear up, and so: a list!
1) Revenge grosses me out.
-- How many "r" words do you think I can juggle, people? Regret is enough for me. Revenge would be a bridge too far: antithetical to my faith, my sense of self, and also just a shitty thing to do. This whole Regretsville enterprise is about exploring how everything I've been through has changed me, for good or ill-- and about trying to understand the "stuff" behind wishing so badly that something didn't happen, when it did. What can I learn from it? What have I learned from it? And what do I need to learn that's only going to emerge in the processing? To that end, there's not going to be any naming of names or cyberstalking or doxxing or any other horrific pastime of the Internet age. You kids need other hobbies. Computers should be used for good, not evil!
2 ) Faith is going to be a topic here.
--I almost feel like I should apologize for this, though I hope to eventually get over that feeling. I know so many people who have been damaged by Christianity in ways that were unrecoverable, and walking away from belief is SUCH A VALID CHOICE in those cases. It's also a valid choice if you just wake up one morning, stretch, and think: "Nah." I'm not trying to evangelize or convert or convince or entice or any of those. The thing is, I have such a contentious relationship with my faith that the version of myself that I project into the world might be of a nonbeliever. It's just that: I'm not. And also, belief is so radically different and difficult and fraught after having gone through spiritual abuse. I've got a lot to process there, and so: I will write about it. Just skip over those parts if they're in any way wounding to you, and know I don't intend them to be. I'm trying to right my own inner ship and figure out if the sail can be rigged up again, though at the current moment I'm paddling with one arm and bailing with the other and spinning around in circles with half the stern underwater, so WE WILL SEE HOW THIS GOES. Send inflatables.
3) Church: it's what's for dinner.
-- What? No. Obviously it's not-- what are you, weird or something? Church is at least on the weekly menu, though, because I'm making a commitment to show up as many Sundays as possible. To make that more tenable, this week I'm joining the literal and actual choir, which is a big deal, if only because practice occurs on a weekday evening and I detest weekday evening commitments about as much as a suppurating rash. It helps that my lovely daughter (whose voice is actually choir-ready and whose enthusiasm for vocal discipline is active and admirable) is joining with me. I hate disappointing her even more than weeping pustules, so if nothing else, I'm going to make a commitment to showing up for her.
4) Church: I'm trying to make friends.
-- It's true: as much or more than I want to rekindle an active connection to God, I'd like to create flesh and blood connections to actual human people who know my name and with whom I can chat with when I see them. We've gone through two rebound churches since leaving the place where shit hit the fan, and in both of those I floated around the outside walls like a ghost in an Edward Gorey tableau. I sort of tried to meet people, but mostly I was trying to control the feelings of abject terror I felt when a) I met someone new and wondered how much a part of the Episcopal grapevine they were and whether they'd heard rumors about what I did and b) pretty much anything at all happened, because everything from the priest's vestments to certain parts of the liturgy to the church calendar itself was triggering. (I have an extremely rough time every year around Easter, because that's when it all went down.)
5) Lutherans! Good for Lake Woebegone* and GOOD FOR ME.
-- The two rebound churches were Episcopalian, and try as I did to stick with the denomination into which I was baptized, I just couldn't find a feeling of basic safety there. I knew something about Lutheranism from my uncle (a retired Lutheran pastor) and from doing some reading during my church nerd phase, and it was the obvious choice for a change. The family was on board, so we hopped on over. We're making the drive to a large, vibrant Lutheran church in the city, and now that I'm temporarily working part-time, I can even join a couple of things aside from the choir if I can get my nerve back up again. We'll see. Baby steps! It's all I can muster.
* I in no way, shape, or form condone Garrison Keillor because post #metoo we can all see the rot behind the folksy curtain, but at the same time, the whole Lake Woebegone ethos was pretty charming and I hold a special place in my heart for Prairie Home Companion (RIP, Garrison, I hope you're in therapy. You were trash to women but you made art.)
Image credit: Me. I took this picture on Sunday, when I was sitting in the nearly empty sanctuary trying to calm down and act normal and feel less panicked about trying to be a part of a church again.
Image description: The shot is from the view mid-way through a church sanctuary. Pews with prayerbooks and hymnals proceed in orderly rows up to a white marble altar. A large metal cross is suspended in front of a red curtain behind the altar. In the foreground of the picture you can kind of see my knee in my blue and white polka-dotted dress. I looked cute, if I do say so myself.
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