Mother's Day

Damn, Mother's Day was tough.  I'm still trying to process all my emotions from that day, so this may be a pretty rambling post.  Let's see, maybe a little back story to begin.  I was raised in an evangelical Christian family and I am not a Christian.  I've been open about it for about half of my life, but it hasn't been an easy ride.  It's not as simple as "let's agree to disagree" because evangelicals believe that if you're not a Christian, you go to hell.  My mom actually believes I'm going to hell.  She doesn't want to believe that, but she's convinced that it's true.  Some days I'm okay with that because I don't believe in hell, but other days I just want my mom's opinion of me to be that I'm wonderful and on the right track and if I died I wouldn't burn in eternal flame.  I want her to think that my relationship with my higher power is just as valid as hers.  Is that too much to ask?  That said, my mama is the actual sweetest person I know.  She's gentle and kind, and opens her heart and home to anyone and everyone, regardless of whether or not her religion agrees with their being.  There are very few people on earth with her ability to love, and I've yet to meet anyone with her patience.  She's my angel on earth and I thank the universe for her every second of every day.  But because we have such deep-rooted differences, we fight.  I so desperately want to have a connected and meaningful relationship with her, but there's tension there.  And she doesn't want to fight.  I don't think she even knows how to.  She shuts down quickly. And I'm relentless.  I want to get to the bottom of it, work out any kinks that remain, so we can get to the part where we just love each other for our differences.  But it never ends up that way.  We end up exhausted, in tears, and sick.  Fighting with my mama eats away at my soul.  The worst feeling ever.  After Trump was elected, our fights turned so toxic and I felt like I didn't even know her anymore.  How could someone so loving support someone so vile?  I couldn't understand.  And with lots of help from my therapist, I learned that I didn't have to.  

The first Mother's day after Trump's election was tough because the wounds were still so raw.  While I meant every word that I wrote in my mom's card, I still felt like a fraud.  I felt like I didn't deserve her because of my behavior over the past six months.  At that point, I decided that from now on, I would celebrate Mother's day with her each year by going to church with her.  I just didn't like the idea of her sitting alone in a church pew on Mother's day.  Last year, my mom and I attended church with my sister and, honestly, it wasn't bad.  Yes, I was a bit uncomfortable, but a woman spoke and gave a pretty feminist sermon about the importance of women in the bible.  I survived that one with ease.  This year, as Mother's day approached, I began to feel really anxious about attending church.  I said to my co-worker, "I have to wear a dress!"  She reminded me that I wear dresses almost every day.  That's true.  So why did this feel so foreign, so strange?  As we were planning the day, my mom very gracefully told me that I didn't have to go and she didn't want me to do anything I was uncomfortable with.  I wanted so badly to say thank you and not go.  But instead I said thank you and that I wanted to go so that I could be with her.  That's not true, but also not not true.  

Sitting in the church pews, I felt as though my skin was crawling.  I don't remember the last time I felt so uncomfortable.  The music, the demographic of attendees, the number of red shirts worn by the choir members.  (I'm not sure why I found red so offensive that day.  I assume because of Trump, but even I was wearing red glasses.)  As the church choir sang an embarrassingly uninspiring song, tears streamed down my cheeks.  I looked over at my mom and sister, and felt so lonely.  How was I even a part of this family?  I began to feel really claustrophobic.  Is my jacket shrinking?  I took deep breaths and did a few neck rolls.  The sermon was delivered by their pastor, a man.  Even on Mother's day, a woman's message wasn't heard.  Other than mentioning the holiday, the service was just a regular old sermon.  I kept zoning out, but came to when the pastor said something that sounded fucked up even in my day dream.  Internally I asked myself, "what did he say?" And then he literally said, "Let me repeat, I know in our culture, I'm supposed to say that you can find your own way, your own god.  But I can't do that.  Not if I love you."  I grabbed my pen out of my bag and jotted his words on the church bulletin.  My mom nudged my sister and pointed to me writing down that quote.  Within one second, I felt so many things.  I was angry at his words, annoyed at my mom's nudging, and a whole heap of sad.  I was sad for anyone in that room that may be of a different religion or who may be struggling with their prescribed faith.  I was sad for my younger self who struggled to grasp the idea of Christianity every single day.  No wonder I was scared, no wonder I was confused.  And no wonder my mom believes what she does.  She's being taught a binary message drenched in fear, and masked with love.  She's not a questioner, she's a believer.  I suddenly had so much compassion for her because I realized that she's been brainwashed.  She's been culturally conditioned to think inside the box, and here I've been shaming her for it.  The story that I made up in my head is that her nudging my sister was her saying, "well, there goes Mother's day.  We will definitely fight over this one."  I really do think that's what she was saying, and it broke my heart.  I don't want to fight.  I don't want to fight.  I don't want to fight.  But I do want to make change.  I felt a peace wash over me.  Let's handle this situation differently.  Let's not get angry.  Maybe I'm reading into this, but I feel like my mom actually saw me that day.  I think she saw my loneliness, my hurt, my sadness in my silence.  She saw me in a way that my angry words could never express.  She told me she loved me and I felt it in a way that I usually don't.  We didn't speak about our differences, but I felt her heart and I think we were truly connected that day through our stillness. 

I told her happy Mother's day and hugged her goodbye.  I couldn't get out of there quickly enough.  As I approached my car, I noticed the Human Right's Campaign equality sticker on the back of my car.  That faded blue and yellow sticker has symbolized my faith and love in humanity for a decade and a half.  I smiled as I climbed in, sighed and turned my music up.  Rilo Kiley tunes from my college days comforted my soul as the spring air blew through my hair.  This is how I worship.  This is my church.

In the week since Mother's day, I've found great solace in the Serenity prayer.  God (universe), grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.  There's no sense in trying to change my mom's beliefs anymore.  Just love her anyway.  And find comfort in knowing how safe I feel in my own beliefs.