Another Confession: How Jesus Rolls

Tonight I returned to Confession and again left feeling incredible.

Usually our parish Confession times are quite limited (20 minutes on Saturday, during Mass, or by appointment)– so I had to take advantage of the evening extended hours during Holy Week.

Different confessional this time, different priest.

Still amazing.

This time I switched it up and did use a list format: three specific sins, briefly described. I used the handy booklet available to peruse whilst I waited in line. It was a long time tonight– it was great to see so many and I even recognized a few people.

This time as he listened, I heard him going “Mmm-hmm,” and I pictured him nodding his head in empathy. I told him three things that have been bothering me the most– I was very honest.

And despite him being a priest– there was no chastising.

Instead, support.

He said that he hears that these things are causing me “suffering and struggle.” He understood I wasn’t trying to disobey God or not do the right thing, but that these were problems– things I wanted fix. Feelings that are bothering me, habits I feel stuck in and am not sure how to quit.

Father advised me to talk Jesus about it– but he said the most wonderful thing.

“I can’t promise he will fix these overnight, that’s not usually how Jesus rolls.”

But that regardless, Jesus wants to know what’s on my heart. He wants to comfort me.

“Offer it up to him,” Father said.

What I heard from Father was humility.

He did offer me absolution– he directly forgave those sins. He did give me a small Penance.

But he reminded me that if I want to pursue change, if I want to find true peace– Jesus is the man.

Like a basketball player passing the ball to a player who can land the three-point shot!

That’s Jesus.

It felt like I was on the same team with them– I didn’t feel less than. Like he’s a priest and I’m just a sinner. I felt like Father understood my pain.

I felt part of a community.

This Confession was quicker. No crying, no heavy emotion.

But I left with a giant smile.

I love this feeling.

Talking to your best friends is wonderful too.

But there’s something on another level about formally confessing to a priest.

I’ve been struggling with depression and anxiety a long time.

Maybe part of the relief I’m seeking is right there— I just have to be willing.

Confession asks you to not just be accountable– but vulnerable.

I trust these priests.

For months now, I’ve been feeling as if my struggles are a burden I need to keep to myself, that I don’t want to bother my family or friends with them. That what I felt was too much for them.

And literally, these priests have chosen a vocation to do just that: to hear confessions, to absolve sins. What strength it must take for them to quietly listen to us. I’m awe of how much they love God, Jesus, the Blessed Mother, and our parish– to commit to such deep service.

The best part is, you can do this anonymously. It gives you a freedom to speak your heart.

The Holy Spirit guided me into Confession– it’s a true gift. A gift I’m comprehending on a new level.

And by confessing to them, I’m getting to know THEM, too. Beyond the Homilies, beyond a quick at Mass.

Makes me want to serve my parish.

My soul is opening up, just like my heart.

Through Mass, the Rosary, Confession, Adoration, stewardship– I’m building a new relationship with Jesus. I’m not just demanding of him, “Fix this!” I’m showing Him that I care about him, too. That it’s reciprocal. That I want to spend time with him, that I know he’s busy. That I don’t expect him to always do what I want. That maybe He really does have wisdom and it’s worth my patience to seek that wisdom.

I want this kind of experience more than once or twice a year.

It’s a wonderful new thing to cultivate.

What a blessed Holy Week it’s been, indeed.

Confession and Absolution: Beauty and Healing

Tonight I took my soul to the cleaners: Confession!

I estimate it’s been about three years, maybe closer to four. I remember I had the hardest time finding this parish, I kept getting lost and going in circles because my GoogleMaps. It was when I had first moved bac to Wichita and was living with my parents and didn’t have a job yet. I was struggling, wanting to be independent and get going in this cool new life I uprooted myself to pursue, after 30 years of stability in Joliet, IL. I was also feeling sick and wasn’t in good health at that time. I just really needed the sacrament.

I tried to talk to the priest, who I had never met. I’m part of a large group of young Catholics and we were hosting a group Adoration for us that night. There was at least 20 of us there. He didn’t listen at all to my pain, and just cut me off and said, “You need to get a roommate.”

I was scandalized by his rudeness and total disinterest in my earnest attempt to find some meaning in that time of transition. I respect priests, but not unprofessional behavior in any industry– priests included. I might have offered a curt reply but most likely I just abruptly stood up and stormed out. Any jerk on the street could have told me that. In all my years– nearly 40– of Catholicism, no priest had ever talked to me like that. It permanently damaged the relationship I had with Confession, which I had always enjoyed and gone at least once a year if not twice. I was there to discuss my soul, not get life advice.

I’ve stayed away since, like you feel after a bad break-up and want to avoid dating for awhile. To recover.

But tonight, I felt ready. I’d heard through Altar Society that Confession was happening during Holy Week during the evening– usually it’s only during Mass and only for a short duration. It never seemed like enough time, like I hadn’t gone.

Tonight I was prepared. I brought my Rosary and my list of prayers. As I stood in line, I saw the Cross at the entry of the church, shrouded in the purple cloth to remind us of Christ’s crucifixion. It was somber.

My new parish– the church was dark, just a small light on to signify Confession was open and where.

As I waited, I began praying a Rosary casually as I stood. I got my new rose-scented and blessed one. I held each bead and softly whispered each prayer. I got through the first decade and a half and it was my turn.

I knelt inside, the bench was high! My feet were off the floor. I waited, but silence. I decided to relax. There seemed to be a booth on either side with the priest in the middle.

After a couple minutes, Father’s voice spoke to me. It wasn’t a screen, but a black felt cloth.

I began the routine. “Father, I have sinned…”

I don’t use a list when I confess. I just focus on one or two things that weigh heavy on my heart, things I need help with. Maybe three if there’s time. But I prefer to have a little talk rather than just read off a list. I want to connect. I want to be listened to, prayed over, reassured of God’s love and forgiveness. Told my Penance.

I spoke of my struggles learning to pray the Rosary, and how I’ve felt resistance toward it the past month because I wasn’t learning it the way I wanted. It had been my number one Lenten promise and I had failed. I felt shame.

I asked Father, “How do overcome this? I lose count with the Hail Mary’s. I don’t have The Apostle’s Creed and Hail, Holy Queen or Oh My Jesus prayers memorized. I need to read them off a card, and the print is too small. I told him how when I’ve tried to lead the Rosary for Altar Society, I’ve stumbled.

That I want to be a good daughter to God and my parents. That learning the Rosary is important to me, but activates my anxiety. I don’t want to do it wrong.

Basically, that I had set myself an impossible standard of perfection and given up. That I wanted to work through it and move forward, to keep learning.

And his response was amazing.

First he said, “Good confession.”

No priest has ever done that.

That simple validation meant so much to me, put me at ease.

He told me that God, Jesus and Mary are happy that I have this desire to pray the Rosary at all. That feeling called to lead it, even if it’s not perfect– that effort is seen and appreciated by them.

That really, it’s an act of devotion, an expression of LOVE.

I wish I had taken notes and quoted him, I loved his words so much. Next time I might.

That what I need to remember about the Hail Mary’s is that it’s just telling Mary, “I love you.”

I’m talking to her.

Not to think of it as a duty.
He made the analogy of how we want to tell our parents we love them, how it’s important for us to do that and it makes us feel better if we do. That he himself makes it a point with his own parents.

So just like I tell my parents I love them and it’s natural and easy, talk to Mary like that.

And immediately I felt unburdened.

I spoke to him about a couple other small things and we finished.

He reminded me that I am God’s perfect daughter, that I am loved.

I read my Act of Contrition, he issued a small penance that wasn’t harsh– but just right.

I cried, and I felt clean.

Like a child. Innocent, free.

I exited and went to the pews. I finished my Rosary.

Then I felt like I wanted more time with God, so I went upstairs to Adoration.

I stayed an hour. I did an intention for a friend.

Receiving this absolution tonight truly FELT like a sacrament.

I realized tonight too that Reconciliation is not just about being accountable to God by admitting our sins and our struggles out loud to a priest.

But it feels good to then be given a penance– something direct I can do to make reparations.

It’s not about attending because you’ve done something shameful and need to be chastised.

It’s about being honest with YOURSELF first– that something weighs on our soul.

The priest is the conduit, the vessel.

And in return, we receive grace.

I will definitely not wait another three years.

I want to experience this regularly.

And it makes all the difference that now it’s not just a stranger listening, but my pastor.

A man I know, trust, respect.

In hearing my Confession tonight, he made reparations for the bad experience I had three years ago.

I’m ready to trust again.

Myself, my priest, even Jesus.

The Crucible of My Writing: Loss and Trial as Gifts from the Almighty? A Weirdo’s Manifesto

I’ve been angry for decades. Feeling grief, cheated, afraid of what I’m going to lose next– because loss is a hallmark of my life. And I’m not being dramatic– from a young age I’ve been losing immediate family members, I’ve battled ongoing illness, and have felt misunderstood or unseen.

People may feel confused about this because most times, I present with a sunny personality. And I’m not faking that– I’m generally calm and when I feel joy I can radiate that happiness! I’m silly and easily engage with others. I often sing at work or even dance a little bit. I tell animated stories and often get a bit loud and gesticulate a lot. I’m pretty confident and can talk to and connect with pretty much anyone, which made me good at journalism and sales. But I don’t like superficial connections. I crave those deep friendships and relationships.

If you’re at all into astrology, you know that Eighth House placements (especially Scorpio Rising!) usually denote childhood trauma and a pattern of death/regeneration throughout your life. Scorpio is called the most powerful sign of all, mostly because despite enormous setbacks, they survive what would break the average person. This is what gives us depth and empathy. It means you will prevail, and is meant to be inspiring. It could mean you suffered the death or a parent/sibling/someone vital at a tender age. It could mean severe illness/injury, divorce, any major event that creates a schism in the foundation of your trust that the world is good and safe. Pluto rules the underworld and that’s known to bring strife in a chart. Mars is also the ruler of war and a need for confrontation, which co-rules Scorpio with Pluto. It’s a lot of chaos to weather in one lifetime. Scorpio’s ultimate symbol of actualization is the Phoenix rising from it’s own ashes.

Powerful, yes. But who wants to suffer all the burns necessary to be purified and emerge? Let me tell ya, it hurts the first time. It becomes exhausting when this is deemed the karmic pattern of your life.

Would that change if I stopped believing that was my fate? Quite possibly. It’s a good thing to challenge!

And that’s where it gets difficult. Having all these big feels limits how many people you are close with. Some consider you a breath of fresh air for your honesty, others find you obnoxious. Even though you’re willing to give as much as you get, they never seem to need that much. They don’t have those same high emotions and handle their feelings privately. Or they just pray once, and poof! Discomfort gone. So they may listen and support for you, but they feel drained by it after awhile. Or even your closest friends– the ones who DO see and love you in your dark moments– still only have limited time to talk and times they’re just not available. They have kids, marriages, your work schedules are different. There’s still huge gaps of time you have to console yourself.

And what I do then to cope? I write.

But the problem with being seen as “strong” is also that people are kinda dismissive when you’re hurting at times, because they know you “can” deal with it. It’s not really that I can– I just have to. We’re allowed boundaries– I need them too. I want my besties to take space for themselves when they need it! And I give that to them, because I trust and love them and they’re generous when they can be present. But when you need more than some can give, you have to find other ways than talking it out.

Therapy can be helpful but it can also be a waste of time and money. Some are just bad at it, and you have to pay. It’s like dating– it takes a lot of effort and time to find a compatible match.

Writing is free! And there’s no time limit.

I’ve spent my life blaming myself and resenting God, ultimately, for the burden of all these feelings.

But really, what if this “intensity” is are a gift?

I thought it was an obstacle– to my happiness, my goals, my relationships with others.

What if God gave me these strong feelings and this heavy life so that, to deal with feeling isolated, I would be forced to write? And further, to blog and read my poems and become a voice for others who feel disenfranchised, forgotten, stuck?

It’s funny to me that people can read the most traumatic things on a page or watch an upsetting movie and marvel about how genius it is– how brave, how artistic!

But those same people are often the first ones to want out of a conversation if you’re in real pain, in the moment with them. Be it in person or even on the phone or by text– they can’t handle it. They won’t answer, or they’ll barely say anything. They have no idea how to listen or comfort you. Even when all you want is to just be told what you’re feeling is okay, that they still love and respect you. That they care.

But if they think it’s fiction? Or if it’s someone they don’t know? Then they’re moved. Then it’s art!

My hearing-loss has a been a boon in this way. Because I can’t hear so many sounds, it’s easy to put myself in a bubble. Without my hearing-aids I can go somewhere with a journal or sit at my laptop easily for 45 mins or hours, to just channel what I’m feeling and thinking. I don’t overhear other conversations. I’m conscious of background noise like construction, but it doesn’t bother me. It’s kinda wonderful. Socially and for safety reasons it’s not good– but if I had to choose my hearing-loss again, I think I did pretty well. High frequency sounds are mainly annoying anyway- beeps, alarms, feedback. I can work around those and make adjustments. I do it every day.

Maybe another reason I’m single is so I have to the time to write. Is God keeping me single because I’m avoiding writing and he’s trying to light a fire under me? “Do your homework first! C work is not cutting it in your favorite class, COME ON AMEE. Stop procrastinating, you’re better than this. ” lol

Would I rather be happy and married with a family? Damn right I would.

I feel l could definitely manage both, and I’d happily give up writing if it meant I was understood and supported instead for a change. In a second. If I could feel seen that fully, maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to reflect on myself so much– because others would be that mirror. What is that like? I have no idea!

I’m never totally happy– although I radiate joy for amazing bursts of time! I’ve just lived too much, I don’t have that innocence. I know that even in the best moments, another curve-ball that will knock me on my ass is around the corner.

But I do get up, and I do keep swinging.

So maybe my hearing-loss and this “difficult” life are things I should just try and offer up to God.

I get it, this is my destiny.

Ironically I’ve avoided publishing my work for the past 20 years (since college) because I didn’t WANT my feelings out there. I wanted to keep my secrets. But the very pain I’m keeping hidden could help someone else who’s suffering– someone who can’t quite access their own feelings yet, who maybe isn’t a writer– but a reader. I can’t do math. That’s why I love calculators.

Maybe my writing can function as the calculator for someone who can’t deal with emotion well. Or even better, help them understand and support someone else.

There’s reason you read and hear over and over again that artists only become artists because we “have” to– it’s because the life of a creative person sucks! lol We know that. Some embrace it early in life, others hold out as long as possible trying to fit and “be normal.”

Until we realize that the effort required to hide ourselves that way isn’t worth it.

“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

~Anais Nin, an incredible erotica writer whose work I admire.

And truly, I am a first-class weirdo. I was not born to fit in.

Can I summon the will to just…. be Amee?

And invite the consequences– because there will also will be rewards!

To stop hiding? Because that’s a natural reaction when you’re afraid of more strife.

I want to accept that maybe one day, there were will be more light than darkness.

And that each time, I’m growing in power to navigate the crucibles of my life.

I’m not weak. If I was, I would be a people-pleaser.

I would not insist on being myself, even if people challenge that. I would just want to fit in.

What I’ve always wanted is not to fit in– but just to feel comfortable in *my choices.

People can choose to support me in that, or I choose to continue on without them.

That takes character, resilience and faith.

Just Lord, give me the strength!

Arm me well. Surround me with those who will fight by my side.

Give me water and rest. Heal my battle wounds.

Bilbo Baggins never wanted to leave his Hobbit Hole, but he became The Burgler and defeated Smaug! He befriend Gandalf, the wandering wizard. Dante Hicks whined about working shifts he wasn’t scheduled for, and Randal Graves got him into a lot of trouble. But he had some amazing adventures at work those days. Buffy Summers never wanted to be the Slayer, and resisted it for years until she accepted it. She died twice and saved the world 10 times. A ROUGH life, but pretty good average.

Sometimes destiny comes to you when you’re just trying to live quiet, unremarkable life.

A Beautiful Heart

I’ve met now with a new Spiritual Director three times, and she is wonderful.

As Catholics, we are encouraged to participate in Spiritual Direction. It can be a nun or priest or a lay person, but they act as a spiritual mentor. You can meet with them just once at a retreat, or on a continuing basis, one-on-one. They listen to where you’re at on your faith journey, and try to be a support for the things you’re struggling with and your goals to connect deeper. Sessions are about an hour.

It’s a legitimate business with fees, but I found someone who is looking for practice — so it’s free.

It’s not therapy, but it does mirror it in some ways. The focus in on your spiritual life, not mental health.

She is kind, and listens well. We’re getting to know each other and now have an easy rapport. She is single too, so we both relate to that.

My director is a good fit for me because she is accepting, supportive and positive! My family do their best, but they’re not emotional people. They don’t like to listen for very long and often think I’m over-thinking, feeling too much, impractical. They’re extremely conservative and I’m a liberal. Also on the anxious side and I have to reassure them. They’re business-oriented, I’m creative.

She is helping me so much! She asks me specific questions and makes observations that show that she’s truly learning who I am.

I told her that I often wear my wooden Catholic bracelet, with pictures of Mary and Jesus. Also my rose gold medal of The Blessed Mother, or a simple cross that’s gold or silver.

I asked her once if she thought I was over-doing it, if it seemed obnoxious?

“I think it’s an expression of you,” she said.

That made me feel seen.

During our first session, she said, “You have a beautiful heart!”

That was a balm to my soul, after always being told my heart is a weakness. Too big, too curious. I’m expecting too much, I’m should stop dreaming and just focus. That I’m just being silly.

Luckily I have some amazing friends who counter-balance this, who cherish my depth and thoughtfulness. And I’ve dated and loved some wonderful men who loved me and did admire and respect my heart!

She talked about my self-awareness and wisdom! That I’m at a point of discerning, and that’s wonderful.

When I expressed that I feel stuck in some lessons I can’t seem to learn, she asked me, do you ever just say to God, “What’s up with my life?!”

She said she’s hearing that I want Him to connect with me personally, in a concrete way.

That I should challenge him to show Himself to me.

I love that. Why not?

While some Bible verses talk about his grace, others make it sound as if we’re condemned if we don’t obey, if we ever doubt him or worry. I’m dealing with big spiritual dissonance here. I’ve been a stalwart Catholic all my life and the obedient daughter– both to God and to my parents.

I’ve sacrificed a lot for my religion. If I’m trying so hard, why am I still not getting it right?

I realized I have some anger with God and have been avoiding talking to him. I haven’t wanted to pray the Rosary.

Direct communication with God makes sense. Reciprocity.

I’m that way with my friendships and dating relationships. If it’s one-sided, I will back away.

But I don’t want to let go. I want this to work. I’ve invested 41 years in God and Catholicism.

The Bible makes God sound like a pretty angry father, but I’m still in the Old Testament.

I want to feel trust toward him.

And I’m beginning to trust myself.

Ash Wednesday 2022

I went to receive my ashes at Mass tonight, and it was so beautiful. I was so plugged in.

In 2020, Mass was canceled. In 2021, we received them sprinkled in our hair.

This year, back to tradition. I loved it.

And if I’m right, this is my third year attending Ash Wednesday at Blessed Sacrament.

Maybe because now I’m officially a parishioner (since June) it feels more special.

But also, now I’m making not just my faith a priority– but my Catholicism.

Today, I wore my prayer veil during Mass. It’s a rosy pink with embroidered flowers. It helped me focus, and it made Mass more special to be wearing it. I’ve always admired when I see women wearing them.

I’m attending a women’s Bible study and have formed a legit bond with those women in my group. I’ve stepped into a role on Altar Society Board, and leading the Rosary before meetings. I’m planning a retreat sometime this year, with my co-chair.

But I haven’t always been good about attending Mass and especially not participating in it. I would attend, but I wasn’t really there. Ashamed to admit this, but I brought my phone with my a lot. I would be there because I felt I *should go, but checked out– thinking about errands I need to run, what to eat.

I think because of my hearing-loss and tendency to arrive either just on time or a little late, meaning I get stuck in the back– where it’s impossible to hear. But tonight I was 15 minutes early. I left my phone in my car. I actually looked up the readings and songs and followed along.

It meant so much more, being able to read the words of the hymns– seeing how they reinforce the readings and the theme of this Holy Day. My parents always did, especially my step-mother, Diane. I’m not sure if I just gave up on it at an early age because it was too hard to follow it with my hearing, or I was just too lazy to pay close enough attention. It always seems like when I’ve tried, I can’t find the readings or songs fast enough.

But now I get it. Catholic Mass is usually about 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the priest and his Homily style. That’s a long time to stand, sit and kneel– and that alone keeps you busy! The readings and songs and responsorials and prayers are so key because they hold your attention and occupy your brain.

But even more, they connect with your heart.

Now that I’m studying Holy Scripture, listening to readings and the Gospel hits different.

It feels more familiar now.

I connected with a verse from Matthew 6: 16-18

¹⁶ “Moreover, when you fast, do not be like the ^[a]hypocrites, with a sad countenance. For they disfigure their faces that they may appear to men to be fasting. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward. ¹⁷ But you, when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, ¹⁸ so that you do not appear to men to be fasting, but to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you ^[b]openly.

Honestly, I don’t fast either.

Hey, I’m a flawed Catholic. None of us are perfect.

But I’ve never fasted in terms of eating smaller meals during Lent– only avoided eating meat on Ash Wednesday or Fridays. But I’ve been pretty lenient with myself on this matter.

But legit, I’m now Diabetic, and eating small meals at regular intervals is how I keep it well-controlled. I looked it up, and The Church exempts Diabetics from this practice of smaller meals and long intervals.

I love the part about taking care to look your best when fasting– take care of yourself. Don’t complain and neglect your appearance so that you look miserable and thus more pious– which is false. Instead, represent your faith and Our Father well by attracting positive attention in a humble way. He will notice your quiet discipline and your joy in this act of worship. That devotion will be rewarded with grace.

How beautiful is that?!

It takes true power to bear your struggles with strength and humility. It’s good to reach out for support when you need it, I want to emphasize that. Mental health is vital.

But what’s the point of doing something for prayer or a good deed if you’re just going to nag about it? No one enjoys that.

No one likes a Dante Hicks type, bemoaning, “I’m not even supposed to be here today!”

It’s not a sacrifice if you hate doing it and make sure everyone knows. It’s not genuine.

I actually started this very blog in 2011, because of a Lent promise. To hold myself accountable.

And here I am, still blogging. Sporadically, but still here.

I’ll end with my own Lenten promises, to hold myself accountable:

I will give up bubble tea, something I indulge in several times a week and truly enjoy.

I will stop swearing. Today I already blew that one– but tomorrow’s a new day!

And I will commit to praying the Rosary every day, for a specific person. Each time it will be someone different. If I want to pray a second Rosary or a decade for another person that day, I can. But each day, one person will be given my intentions to help me focus and also give weight and urgency.

If I commit to praying for 40 people, I won’t back out on that.

What are you feelings about Lent? What are your promises this year? Talk to me in the comments!

And bless all of you on your Lenten journey.

In the Immaculate Heart of Mary,

Amee

When Panic Attacks: It Sucks and then You Breathe

It’s now 12:43 a.m. and I’ve been writing this blog throughout the day.

It takes a lot of energy to process what you feel, to write.

And time. So this post is actually about March 29. I started it March 30. Now it’s March 31.

Please, read on:

Last night about 9 pm , I got triggered into a panic attack sitting outside a Dairy Queen close to my place. I was about to go in and get myself a Blizzard to help, and then the the tears.

The rapid, shallow breathing starts— the intense crying. I stayed in my car.

A few hours earlier, when I had been feeling uneasy but mostly fine, I had called a few people to check in on them. They hadn’t been able to answer. I had been doing my best.

I was texting my sister, Virginia. She was amazing, reassuring.

I was telling her that my Dad had just called. How much it helped to hear his voice. That when he tells me things will be okay, I believe him.

But I still struggle with anxiety.

How I wish I could be more like him.

“Listen to Dad! You’re strong and confident, too. That’s the blood that runs through your veins and don’t forget it.”

I had just posted something on facebook — nothing belying how intense I really felt. Just a short quip, “My anxiety really is a daily battle.” My best friend Leslie saw that and called to check on me.

She magically called just as my panic attack was starting.

She was exactly what I needed. Leslie cared, she was kind, she was patient. Not in a rush. She listened.

But to start, she asked me questions:

“What are you wearing today?”

“A black t-shirt and jeans that are too big.”

Small words with long silences… struggling to breathe. Trying to stop crying long enough to talk.

“What was the last thing you ate?”

“(breaths) a…… Taco………… Burger……… from Taco Shop.”

“That sounds amazing! What is a Taco Burger?”

Leslie wasn’t even bullshitting– she was genuinely excited and curious.

I laughed a little.

“What’s the last song you listened to?”

“Come On, Eileen,” on a CD in my car…”

“I love that song! What CD?”

“It’s an ’80s CD.”

I began to calm down a little. I started to tell her why I was upset.

Talking rapidly. Still crying.

She ever told me to stop crying, or “calm down.”

She just accepted my raw panic, as is— with patience. With calm.

For 39 minutes, I was mostly breathing fast and crying.

Apologizing.

Sorry for being upset, sorry for being intense,

“I’m trying to calm down, I’m sorry…”

And I told her how exhausting it was.

How grateful I am.

Because I know that it’s hard to listen to me like this. That it’s just too much for some people. But nonetheless, talking is what helps me the most in a panic attack.

She never got freaked out or uncomfortable.

She never made an excuse to go.

She never suggested I “get some help.”

She just showed me unconditional love.

When I was loud and erratic. When I might have scared her.

When I was not able to think or communicate well.

When I was irrational. Emotional. Desperate, needy.

What she DID do was stay with me. Validate me. Reassure me.

That it was okay to feel scared and angry.

That she was glad to be there for me.

And when I was breathing normally and quiet, she asked,

“Do you want to pray?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to start or should I ?”

“I will.”

And I said what was in my heart.

I asked God, Jesus, Mary, the Holy Spirit:

“Help me. Help me manage my anxiety. Please, help me sleep tonight.”

And several other things.

And then she prayed, and we said “I love you,” and goodnight.

And I didn’t want to be the weird girl who had been sitting in her car crying with a super splotchy face.

I texted back Virginia, thanking her and letting her know I had been on the phone. Told her goodnight, she works super early and goes to sleep early.

So I ordered a Fudge Raspberry Blizzard in the drive-thru.

Began to eat it, got home.

Then Johnny called me back. I told him what happened, and thank you, I’m winding down and going to bed.

He asked if I wanted to pray, too.

“Thank you for Amee,” he said, “And her light. Help her climb through the anxiety and be supported by friends, family and people who love her.”

I felt peace.

Two hours later, I was able to go to bed.

This morning, I was finally rested. For the first time in four days.

I hadn’t slept through the night for 72 hours when I broke down.

I texted Leslie and told her I had slept good, I was okay. Thank you.

My Dad called, bless him.

I called my therapist and let her know what happened.

She called me back and talked to me several minutes. We confirmed my next appointment.

And Johnny to check on me again today. He even texted me a prayer.

Johnny has always been so nurturing. He always sees the big picture. When I see myself as stuck, he sees growth.

He’s so incredibly giving.

And my brother, Ian.

He knows about panic attacks. Especially mine.

He’s witnessed about every range of emotion I have– in person and on the phone.

His gift is to make me laugh and re-frame situations in a creative, positive way that forever amuses me.

“It sucks,” he agreed. “And then you breathe.”

“Feelings are normal,” Ian said. “You should have them. I’d recommend feelings to anyone.”

And they made me laugh.

And feel loved.

I will have another panic attack, because they are a thing in my life.

Not all the time, but they happen more than they used to. Going through a lot of big adjustments right now.

And I’m learning to breathe, cry, and manage.

And always, pray.

And write.

Solitude and Sunshine: Palm Sunday 2021

As long as I can remember, I’ve spent Palm Sundays with my parents, and usually gone to Mass. At least, since I’ve been living in the same town as them post graduation minus college and when I lived in some other cities for jobs.

My Dad and I used to braid palms together.

Usually Palm Sunday, along with Ash Wednesday, is one of my highlights of the year. I see it as a time to feel connected to the Faithful, and also my family.

I remembered how *excited I was last year on Palm Sunday to participate in the drive-thru Blessed Sacrament organized, so we could still receive our palms. Impressed that the put it together to help us feel included. That while we couldn’t physically attend Mass at that point, as it had been cancelled by the Diocese, that we could continue our traditions at home.

But today I felt a need for space and quiet.

I’ve been feeling lethargic lately, especially in the mornings. I hadn’t slept much.

I realized that being around other people REQUIRES energy. Even if you’re only standing quietly. I wasn’t ready to get in a car and drive yet.

The idea of going to Mass just seemed too much– having to get dressed nice, find a seat, and remain standing or kneel for long periods of time. Being in the room with so many people. I just felt tired thinking of it. I was sad that now, I COULD go again, but that I knew it wasn’t a good idea for me today.

So I gave myself permission to stay home.

I’m secure enough in my faith that I don’t go out of a sense of guilt. I go to celebrate my faith– when I feel healthy.

I didn’t watch Mass online. I either go in person, or I don’t. Online participation is just not for me, especially as a hearing-impaired woman.

So instead I took my time, put on simple clothes. Ate a small breakfast, had some coffee. Did my skincare routine and simple make-up. Tied a bright red bandana in my hair like a Rockabilly queen. Just a black t-shirt and jeans.

I needed to get out my apartment, out of my head. Away from my lack of energy.

Two hours later, I took myself out for brunch, and wrote in my journal.

Then went outside after and sat in the sunshine on a park bench for a few hours, reading my own work. I had selected a few things ahead of time. A paper I wrote in college. Poems. Journal entries. Reflecting on my life and my relationship with words.

I thought about my parents, and I love them.

But I just felt that it was okay if we spent today apart. I see them multiple times a week.

My Dad called, and I told him I didn’t feel good and asked if it’s okay if I come by tomorrow, instead.

He knows that I often struggle with low energy and don’t sleep well, so he understood and was kind.

My Dad has always been wonderful and encouraging like that– reminding me to rest rather than push myself if needed. I’m on immunosuppressant medications for life and get sick easier than most people. He knows that I need more rest than the average person.

“Go to bed early,” he said.

It’s 9 p.m. and I’m about to do just that.

Jesus went through the Passion for us– to redeem us all. To spare us from pain and sin.

He wants us to cherish and value our own bodies and souls.

I’m past the point of feeling guilty if sometimes I don’t have the energy for Mass, or if I have to cancel plans.

I know when I need to listen to my body.

That Vitamin D on the park bench today was so healing. Just being quiet, observing people around me.

I felt so grateful for every aspect of my life.

For the ability to make this choice for myself.

Today I feel happy that I know what my needs are.

Blessed to have an ongoing relationship with Writing.

Lucky to live in such a beautiful city.

Humbled to have such an understanding and wonderful father.

Thank you, Lord, for all of this.

I Should Have Gone Dancing

Friday and Saturday night, my friend Erica invited me out to go two-stepping, as our friends like to do!

I said no, to stay home and work on a story I’m writing. Friday night I had other plans.

But Saturday, I could have.

Today, I missed Mass.

I’ve been holing myself up the past couple of weeks, trying to “focus” on all the things I needed to do in my apartment and with my personal papers, bills, etc. Kind of off the grid with my friends, just not texting anyone– “in the zone.”

I felt that I needed to keep my head clear.

But now I regret it. It’s Sunday night and I’m burned out and sad, because I feel lonely.

Don’t do this to yourself. I didn’t realize it was a form of with-holding from myself until Virginia pointed it out tonight.

I was trying to figure out how I can take care of myself to make this last push. I decided washing my sheets and cooking some pasta were a good idea. And yeah, it is.

But so is talking to your friends. Spending time with them.

I have two local friends who have been wanting to get together for a few weeks, and I’ve been putting them off. I thought I didn’t deserve to have “fun” until I got more things accomplished. Today I got some grocery shopping and errands done, bills paid– and I’m proud of that!

But it was also a beautiful sunny day. Why didn’t I allow myself to take a walk in it?

I need to remember, balance is key.

Thankfully some of my friends are still checking in with me by text, since it’s not like me to be out of touch for so long.

The hardest part of life is learning to juggle all the spinning plates.

Inevitably, some will fall and break. That’s normal.

And sometimes you gotta put the plates DOWN and dance.

With your friends.

Because FUN is vital to our health, too.

Stations of The Cross 2021: True Empathy

I attended Stations of the Cross at a new parish tonight, only my second visit there. It’s small, different.

Probably less than 20 of us. I loved it.

The booklets were stacked on the table coming in. It was nice having my choice of which pew to sit in again. Felt like old times.

Normal, even.

And on the Third Station, I lost it. Tears. Jesus falls the first time.

Crying, with a a mask on. A weird feeling.

An older couple behind me were leading the refrains and sang beautifully. With every genuflect, I felt connected.

And it was the Eleventh Station where I was truly overcome : Jesus is nailed the cross.

The words were so beautiful, so raw– such desperation felt by Jesus:

“All my bones are racked. My heart has become like wax melting away within my chest. My throat is dried up like baked clay, my tongue cleaves to my jaws; they have pierced my hands and feet; I can count all my bones.”

That naked despair, that feeling of utter exhaustion. I have never suffered like Jesus or been crucified. But that hit deep. I’ve been battling some depression, just feeling lost. Not knowing what my next step should be. How to advance when I don’t feel confident about where I’m going or what my purpose is. Sometimes that fear can be paralyzing.

I’ve attended many Stations of the Cross in my life. But I don’t think I ever truly FELT Christ’s suffering until tonight. And it is certainly cliche, as it’s been testified over centuries now. But tonight I really BELIEVED that any pain I’m struggling to walk through, Christ has endured on a scale I will never imagine. I merely struggle with existential fear, and sometimes mildly inconvenient bodily pain. I feel tired, unmotivated. I want to sleep rather than make decisions or complete my routine.

But Jesus was absolutely and relentlessly tortured– in every way possible. Emotionally, spiritually, bodily. He endured. He carried the Cross, the weapon of choice of the Romans— the device chosen to deliver upon him every humiliation and hurt. He did this, knowing it was not just happening– but his destiny. Knowing that his Father expected this of him, though he was terrified. He wanted to be a good Son. He wanted to be noble for his followers. But he felt abandoned, and he was praying for deliverance, too.

I finally understood the point of Christianity tonight– something I’ve been wrestling with. Jesus chose that pain. He didn’t hide. He had no strength, it wasn’t a good time, he was in no way “ready” to face it.

I understand now what it means to call Jesus our redeemer– and it happened in a parish called Holy Savior.

When I am weak, I can pray and release my pain. I’m not strong, but He is. His strength can deliver me.

There’s a lot of hateful people who brand themselves followers of Jesus: but I shouldn’t turn away from Him because they lie.

I’m grateful. It felt so good to cry. I’m crying now.

I’m okay. My depression is manageable and I have a lot of love in my life. Especially my parents. I am loved.

I’m glad to be Catholic. I love my Church, even if the Faithful are flawed.

I understand what it means to be One Body in Christ.

And I even ended the day without eating meat!

Thank you, Jesus. I am with you.

Rosary by Zoom Meeting: Bible Study Squad!

Yesterday my Tuesday night small group chicas and I “got together” courtesy of Zoom. Formally we gather for a bible study but this week we decided to just pray a Rosary and chat a bit, amidst all this COVID-19 insanity.

It was enormously calming for me. Usually we have six-seven members but it was just four of us last night. I’d never used Zoom before, so I enjoyed learning to use this new social media technology. A teacher friend of ours, Erica, took action and set this up since she is used to attending these meetings for work.

It was a bit of a twist because normally, I’m the one who has trouble hearing others; I have a severe hearing loss and wear hearing-aids in both ears. But they’re not magic.

For some reason, the mic in my pc must not have been functioning fully, and they all could barely hear me. I was annoyed to be the only person in the group who couldn’t figure this out, but they didn’t get annoyed with me. They were all good-natured and helpful and we even got some laughs out of it. There’s also a chat function and Erica pointed that out. If I wanted to say something, I would type it out! You even have options to address the whole group, or individual chats.

We all just talked about how we’re feeling and what’s happening with our jobs.

Being able to see video of my friends in their homes was so uplifting.

And then we got to business and prayed the Rosary with the Luminous Mysteries– because wanted to focus on the positive in this heavy time, especially considering the deep hit the economy is taking with so many businesses closing or reducing hours and services.

It was very well organized, and Jeanna gave us all a screen shot of the Rosary guide we should all follow, since there are different prayers used and small variances. There’s more than one way to pray a Rosary.

We all started praying together and I could hear them all so clearly. I felt emotional and almost cried as we began. Closing my eyes, it felt like we were all in the room together.

It was exactly what I needed.

I had laughed when I saw the screen shot Erica sent us of the Zoom invitation we would all be getting and the link we’d need to click in to join.

It was labeled, “Bible Study Squad.”

I laughed and felt so lucky! I have some faithful, innovative, hilarious girlfriends.