Disconnected Online

For the past few weeks I have been on my personal Facebook only a handful of times. I deleted all my public social media accounts and reduced my Facebook friends list tremendously. I deleted about 3/4 of my friends list.

A lot of things happened at once that caused me to make the choice to get off everything. The suicides of Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain set it off. Everyone was talking about suicide and a lot of the people talking have no idea what it is like to deal with a mentally ill person or what it is like being the mother of someone who dies by suicide, specifically, what it is like to be me. I know people have good intentions, but what really helps suicide survivors and people dealing with mental illness is to not be treated like we are all the same and to listen to us and our lived experiences instead of talking to “experts” or blogging your opinion on the subject if you have no personal experience with suicide loss. And even if you do have experience, do not speak for my experience.

Then there was the brutal murder of a young man in the Bronx that was captured on video. I was just scrolling through my Instagram when I came across the video. The entire thing shook me to my core even more than seeing my own son’s lifeless body in my garage. People literally just walked by and did nothing to help a boy yelling for his life. Men in the bodega just watched as he was dragged out of there by his jacket. He looked a lot like Anthony to me and watching that video fucked me up. After seeing it, I decided that I was done with social media.

In the weeks since I feel better in a lot of ways. I am not angry all the time, I don’t know what Trump had for breakfast today and why we are so pissed about it and I do not wonder why so and so comments on everyone’s status but mine and who has me hidden from their feed. I just live my life.

My brain isn’t used to it though and I have to stop myself from seeing every moment as a social media moment. I don’t have to take pictures of everything and come up with the perfect caption but my brain still does it because it thinks that is what we do. Also, I don’t have to type up every single thought in my head which actually helps me think more instead of just vomiting my thoughts on Facebook or Twitter. I am actually just existing and not working towards likes, zingers, retweets or getting more followers. I don’t know about anyone else, but for me, all of those things fed my pride, insecurities and my constant feeling of not being good enough. I didn’t even realize that until I logged out.

Another thing I’ve figured out in the last few weeks of social media withdrawal is how hard it is to maintain friendships without it. First of all, people get seriously mad when you delete them from Facebook. Which is weird. When did we all sign a social contract saying if we aren’t Facebook friends then we aren’t friends at all? Secondly, it is a lot of work to text, email and meet for lunch or coffee to maintain that friendship. More work than clicking a quick “like” or leaving an emoji on a picture.

It’s also a lot more work to maintain vulnerability without social media and to be authentically vulnerable. It is much easier to throw out one vulnerable status or tweet or IG caption and see who of your friends responds with love rather than reach out to one person and not have them respond. I have been left hanging in texts & emails a lot of times these past few weeks and that never happens on my social media. Someone will always respond to whatever I post, so it’s “safe”. No risk of feelings of rejection or abandonment that may or may not even be anywhere other than my own mind.

We make time for what we care for and I think that social media has made us all feel connected and made us think that we are building all these friendships but the truth is that we are actually more disconnected than ever. How many times have I told my kids “hang on” while I type away at my phone in some heated argument on social media? How many times have I swatted away real life and real connections so that i could make a perfect IG post with filters and pictures of moments to make it seem like I am living life with connections? Too many to count.

Now that I’m texting one person at a time, making one lunch/coffee date at a time and building one friendship at a time, I see how much time and energy it takes. And I also see how some people don’t think I am worth their time and energy. Which is ok because I don’t think we are made to have 100 close friends. Jesus only had 12. You can love someone, want the best for them, catch up with them here and there and pray for them without being their close friend. Social media has killed our ability to do that in real and authentic ways and instead we just reduce every relationship down to likes and retweets.

This has also taught me a lot about my relationship with God. How lazy I’ve been in it. How much I fail to cultivate and maintain it. I find it frustrating to spend time building my relationship with Him because I don’t take the time to build one with anybody. I don’t know how. And if I don’t know how to build one with God, I certainly do not know how to with anyone else which really explains so much about my life.

So that’s what I’m doing. Building relationships. First with God and then with everyone else around me. My husband, my kids and those who build me up because they truly love me and want the best for me. Whose friendships help me heal instead of feed the worst of me. I feel as if Anthony’s suicide was a fire that burnt my entire life down and now it is time to rebuild it one relationship at a time.


Inadaquecy, Changes and Life

My entire life I have felt like I am not good enough. It is probably rooted in the fact that nothing I did was ever good enough for my mother because she was a control freak. Her need to control things came from living a life of chaos and her life of chaos was rooted in my grandmother’s traumas. So there it is, trauma passed down and then passed down some more. Trauma that nobody talks about because it will make the family look bad. So there is that too: Image.

When I got old enough to understand my dad had left my mom knowing she was pregnant with me and left anyway to never return I began to believe that I was not worth staying for. There it was, the ugly truth I began to believe, I was not important to anyone.

I spent my entire childhood being bullied by other kids for not having the right kind of clothes, the right personality, the right sense of humor or whatever it was that they all considered being the “right way” to be. I was an only child so I didn’t even have siblings to have my back. I would lie on this painter’s scaffold that I had created into a “tree house” looking up at the stars and wondering why God would love me if nobody else did. My lifelong struggle with jealousy and envy began on that scaffold to the soundtrack of Bon Jovi, Belinda Carlisle and the soundtrack to Dirty Dancing.

When I became an adult, I friended some of those girls who made my life miserable because I still had this need for them to like me. I never expressed to them what they had done to me and how it had impacted my life. I didn’t have the guts to say “you hurt me” because I somehow still believe that I am not good enough and the problem is with me, not with how they acted towards me.

When I became Catholic I was seriously naive to the issues in the Church. I knew about the sex abuse scandal but from where I stood, it seemed to be something that was very important to everyone around me to end and to make reparation for. The priests that were in my parish were amazing priests who all sought to be holy and who helped me build a relationship with God and they loved me and my family. I thought all priests were like this and the opinion that priests were horrible was a lie “liberals” told to make the Church look bad. I believed that the Catholic Church was a safe place to be and that every Catholic’s goal was to live in relationship with Jesus Christ. I thought “the world” was worried about image and the Church was only worried about serving God in the people He created. But mostly, I believed that by virtue of my baptism and the story of my conversion, I was finally good enough.

I started blogging to tell my story. The story of changing my life when I encountered Jesus in the Catholic Church. The story of a lost girl coming home to Truth and Redemption. I got caught up in all the culture wars and dreamt of becoming a published author and a popular speaker. I saw person after person convert, tell their story and then do just that. People who converted after me would get their story published and then get hired for speaking jobs. I just assumed that I would too.

My story was not like theirs. For one thing, I am Hispanic. If you look at the shelves and shelves of conversion stories, you will see that there are not very many written by someone who is not white. Secondly, I was not from the suburbs. My story is one of someone coming from poverty, being raised by a single mother, I was sexually abused as a child, married a man I only knew for two weeks, had a late miscarriage, and had three kids in three years while my ex-husband started his drug addiction which led to a lot of domestic violence situations. That isn’t even including the teen pregnancy and the life of dating gang members after my divorce. It is not a boring story of someone who just felt “meh” about life and then found Jesus. When I began going to classes to get my Sacraments, I had NO PLANS on actually becoming Catholic. Like, at all. None. Yet, in nine months I was in love with Jesus and my life was flipped upside down.

Every single Catholic publisher that I have sent my book proposal to has rejected it.

I am going to tell you a little of my truth here. When Oprah was at some award show and talked about “your truth” and everyone went ballistic, I knew what she was talking about. Because no matter who you are, you know things that other people have no clue about. You know things as one way while they are portrayed to the world another way. Whatever that is. You work for a company that says their mission is X and you know that in meetings they think that X is the stupidest shit ever but that their customers/followers/or whoever they are “selling” think that X is the greatest thing ever so they act like they also believe that. Well, YOUR truth is that you know the bullshit that goes on behind the scenes.

Here is some of my truth when it comes to being Catholic.

There are two sides of Catholicism. For lack of better terms, I am going to say the “right” and the “left”. In order to be a part of the “right”, you have to be Republican, which means some kind of respect for Trump and all that comes with that, be totally against abortion and gay marriage with no nuance or room for common ground with anyone on the other side of these issues. In order to be on the “left”, you have to think that the Church is the patriarchy and just wants to control women and you have to want to burn effigies of Trump plus you have to think that women should be priests because power is everything and women don’t have it.  I don’t know why, but Trump being elected as president has made these two sides of Catholics even more enemies than ever it also made everyone insane. And if you do not choose a side, you are pushed aside. At the beginning, you would just get shit flung at you by both sides but now it is different. Now, you don’t get paid to write and you get no traffic unless you have declared a side and declared it loudly and you are a voice that riles up your side. And it is with every issue. Guns, school shootings, abortion, gay marriage, Pride parades, immigration, the end of life care for children on the other side of the ocean and on and on. Every single issue is now put in that lens of “right” or “left” and you are either an enemy of one of those sides or you are boring and might as well not even be a Catholic writer.

I have no respect at all for Trump or his policies. I do not make a secret about that at all and I have paid for that opinion. I am just as concerned for the unborn as I am for immigrant children. I am in awe and in love with the male priesthood, but I also know that the men who wear collars are human beings and have flaws, sometimes serious ones which need to be talked about and condemned. I don’t think that means women should be priests. I am against abortion but think women who make that choice do so for reasons that we can fix in our culture and we can do so side by side with people who support abortion. I understand that Sacramental Marriage is just that: a Sacrament, but I don’t think every American has to believe that and live by that belief. I have gay friends and not only would I bake them a cake, I would share that cake with the rest of our friends at their wedding. I have paid for every single one of these opinions.

Basically, I don’t fit in either box of left or right leaning Catholic. And anytime that I begin to go down the rabbit hole of culture wars, I lose my ever loving mind. It is like a tornado that I get caught up in. I am naturally a fighter so I take up a sword and just fight and fight until I am so lost and so far from anything that resembles who I am and I usually end up sacrificing a lot of my friendships and part of myself. This is mostly because I am not healed and I want to fit in and feel worthy of someone’s praise because of my lifelong wounds. I cannot do it. It’s a simple as that, I can not enlist in any single culture war for the sake of my own sanity. That means neither “side” can use me or my story to try and rile up their own side and prove how evil the other side is.

I know being objectified when I see it because I have been objectified most of my life, so when I sense that happening I usually put the brakes on it and that is when I get dropped like a hot potato because I am no longer useful. Which leaves me feeling alone, abandoned and like I am not good enough. In my life, that is square one.

I am finding myself there again for a lot of reasons. People who support my writing privately fail to do so publicly, I am not getting published or paid for any of my writing, I can’t get anything at all going (not even a charity in the memory of Anthony to help other families who lose someone to suicide in practical ways) and I am so heartbroken at the fact that my Church cares about image as much as the Kardashians, which has been proven to me time and time again in the last few years.

Before Anthony’s suicide, I knew what I wanted to do with my life and I knew what the purpose of it was. I wanted to go around and tell everyone what God had done in my life. I had 100% faith that God was going to take care of me and my family’s needs.

Right now, on June 27th, 2018, I do not even know if God is real. And if He is real then I am so damn mad that He has allowed this shitshow that is my life to happen, starting with my father abandoning me, a man raping me when I was five, losing two children in horrific ways and ending with the only man to take care of me dying in front of my eyes. I see other people complain about having to maintain their pools or “downsize” by buying a new house and I really want to just blow things up because if ONLY that was my problem in life instead of this crapfest that is my life which involves watering my son’s grave pretending that I still have something of him to care for.

I am not going to Mass anymore and I really don’t know if I ever will go again. I understand that believing in God does not relieve suffering in this life, I know this rationally and I understand the theology of it all but it still makes no sense on the ground. I don’t understand why someone eating something from a tree means that it is ok that my son hangs himself in my garage. What kind of God thinks that is a good plan? Or the plan that all of this heartbreak I am in is somehow going to bring some good in the world? Fuck that, I want my son back. He didn’t deserve to die alone in the garage thinking that his life didn’t matter. And the saddest and most depressing part is that he was kind of right. All kinds of people who wailed and sobbed at his funeral are now happily moving on with their lives. It is easy for them to ignore or forget that he even existed. Because people suck. And it makes me mad. It’s a horrible cycle and I do not have a clue on how to break it.

With all of this said, I am taking down all my Catholic social media. I need time to gather myself, to figure out what I believe without the influence of starry-eyed Catholics who get paid to say that God is so good and seeing new moms with no clue of what heartbreak can be waiting ahead in life even if their 6-month-old chooses a book about Jesus off the shelf. If God is real then He and I have some shit to work out and I can’t do it while also trying to prove that I am good enough for people who are fake AF. It’s that simple.

I don’t know what I will be writing publicly if I write at all. I have no idea what I am going to be doing. But I do know that I need a break. I need a break from all the PR and obsession with image and the culture wars. So I am walking away. Who knows what the future holds for me, but I can tell you that I need to stop trying to get the approval of people and pretending that X is the best thing ever just because that is protocol. Being Catholic hasn’t been the best thing ever. That is the honest truth. Catholics are just as fucked up as everyone else. That might not be anything that is said out loud and in public, but it is true and for all of you new Catholic bloggers, may the odds be ever in your favor. But I am out. If I stay Catholic and I keep writing, I will not be writing in the Catholic bubble.

The end.

Being Lost in the Fog

As I sit in my favorite coffee shop in my little suburb outside of Austin on the Feast of St. Anthony of Padua, I am thinking about my life and everything I’ve been through and every blessing God has bestowed on my life.

Last week was difficult. There were two high profile suicides in the news. Everyone was talking about suicide, suicide prevention and reaching out to one another.

I got several texts and messages from people asking how I was doing and a few of those people asked if I would like to meet for lunch or coffee. I’ll be honest with you, I didn’t. I wanted to stay at home and stare out the window as I ached for Anthony to walk in the front door even though I know that is not going to happen. But I said yes because these people are my favorite people and seeing them makes me happy.

One of them is my mentor Tammy. We disagree on everything political, that’s not an exaggeration either, we literally don’t agree on one single political issue. But we love each other. Not only does she love me, but she listens to me when I talk, she cares about my story. Whatever that story is right now. She has the best advice but it doesn’t come out as advice, it’s more of encouragement that you can use practically. I always leave her company feeling confident in myself and hopeful that things can and will be ok.

When I think about having people like Tammy in my life I can see how desperate God is to let me know I am loved. How He loves me and wants the best for me and the best is what He has created me for if only I pay attention to Him telling me which way to go.

Grief has made me deaf to His voice. I see Him all around me, I sense His prodding for me to do this or that. For instance, He has been prodding me to go to confession for two weeks now and today He has been insisting I go to Adoration. I know it is Him because the desire to encounter Him in those two things come from Him. He always moves first. But in my grief, I can’t really hear Him. I know it is Him and I know what I should do, but I just don’t do it.

This is a lot like depression when people you love “reach out” to you. It is how I felt when people reached out to me and asked me to lunch and coffee. I know they love me, I know they want to see me and I know they want to help. But the weight of grief, stress, constant crisis management at home and business all make me so tired that saying “yes” to those invites is not easy. Even when I know they will make me feel better.

As I think about how great seeing my mentor was, I realize that now I need to say “Yes” to God’s invite to go see Him.

What better day than the Feast of St. Anthony. The saint I named my son after and the Patron Saint of lost things. Boy do I feel lost in this fog of grief and heartache.

Please pray for me.