Of Trads and Deconstructionists

A few years ago, I got a little bug to start a blog which highlighted all the negative things I've been experiencing in my traditional community. It was going to be sort of tongue-in-cheek, but focused on the many true reasons why the traditional communities sometimes get a bad rap. It was to be called, "Clutching My Pearls," after the silly phrase people use when they're making fun of us trads. 

Funny, right?

Well, I decided not to do it after all. I realized that if I did that, I might be tempted to fall into the same mindset as deconstructionists, because I was coming from a place of hurt. I have had trad friends hurt me. Trad priests, and higher leadership have also let me down. There have been trads who hurt my children, too, which, as a mother, is really a difficult kind of injustice to contend with. But I didn't want to align myself with all the many minds out there that deconstruct generally good things solely because they have been hurt by them. 

Here are just three reasons why:

1. In my experience, the main objective of the deconstructionist (in this sense), is to destroy stuff in order to make themselves feel better. It's the weaponizing of strong feelings in order to tear down someone else. When you're hurt by someone over and over, it's understandable to want to find a place where your feelings have a voice, but it's easy to fall into the false mindset that you're doing something about your pain by deconstructing that person or group. Trying to destroy someone isn't really productive in any sense; it is literally destructive. 

2. It's a dishonest and fruitless way to heal. It's not only a false narrative about an entire group of people, it's also not a genuine path to healing. Usually, people don't find healing when their MO is to deconstruct. They end up in an echo chamber, which illuminates their pain and magnifies the imperfections and sinfulness of other people. It also isn't healthy, and it certainly won't incite healing. If anything, it'll just perpetuate a cycle of anger and pain. I've noticed a rising theme of anger within the deconstructionists, and a lack of peace. This is not a healthy path to healing. Deconstructionists usually paint these dark pictures of what they perceive is the cause of their pain, when most of the time, the truth is that it's one person who happens to be such and such a way, or it's one small group, not the entire group of whatever category they fall under. For me, I could easily deconstruct the traditional Catholic world as a whole, but it wouldn't be productive, nor- most importantly- honest. It's important to not place blanket statements on a group of people, especially when you know for a fact that not every single one of "them" are that way. 

3. Aligning myself with the same mindset of deconstructionist would be to cut myself off from the truth, goodness, and beauty found within our faith. One example of what this looks like is their deconstruction of the lives of some saints. Like totally rewriting their story, spreading a false narrative about the reality of their saintly lives, perhaps in order to quell some growing guilt in their own life, perhaps to water down the faith, and spread doubt within the minds of those still searching or still unsure. I don't know the reasons. However, it's one thing to recognize that NONE of the saints were perfect, and many led sinful pasts before becoming saints. It's totally different to put a slant on their lives that questions their sainthood entirely, when we have so much in the way of proof, tradition, and teaching to honor the original belief about them. 

Listen, I'm somewhat of a "trad life refugee" myself, having experienced a well of hurt and pain, judgment, control, pretense, (and gosh, the unhappiness, what's with all the unhappiness?) coming specifically from some of the people (including priests!) who identify as trad Catholics.... I get it. I've been betrayed, abandoned, and let down by people I thought I could trust within the traditional community, because of radical beliefs or superior attitudes. Or just plain brokenness which, in trad communities is sometimes twisted into virtue, and weaponized. I just don't believe that "deconstruction" is the way to go, and I think I'd say this even if my trauma was deeper than it is.

To my fellow traditional Catholics who have suffered at the hands of their own trad community: 

Don't be a deconstructionist, tearing down the beauty of the traditional faith because of the ones who have hurt you, and painting it into some warped picture because of your trauma. It isn't everyone who aligns themselves with trad life who are that way! I'm still a trad in most ways (specifically, I am still in love with the TLM, my husband is still the head of our household, and we are still open to life), and I don't operate in that manner.

Also, PLEASE don't leave the faith! Especially for your children's sake. Sort out what is actually true (for instance, veils are NOT about keeping the guy creep behind you from being distracted by your uncovered hair), and find your ground within the actual teachings of the Church, the lives of the saints, and most importantly, Jesus Christ in the Eucharist- the source and summit of the faith. Yes, I'm aware that this process can also be somewhat of a deconstruction of its own making, but the goal is Truth (which you have in the Catholic Church, the fullness of God's Truth). It is not searching for an outlet for your pain. And it is honest and good.

Remember: Always view it from the humble lens of LOVE for Him Who is LOVE. The traditional Catholic life is very beautiful if you shut out all the noise and opinions of extremists and liars, and listen to the Holy Spirit within you as you search for the Truth.  

 And...if you have been hurt in this way, my inbox is always open. ❤️‍🩹  

Letting Go Of Our First-Born

 

Our oldest child has flown the nest. 

It's only been a day, and I'm sure in the days and weeks to follow, I will have more thoughts and feelings, but for now, I just have a few.

It's a strange phenomenon when you spend 18-20 short years angsting about raising your child well, and then all of the sudden, the time has come to set her free. Did I do everything right? No. Did I give her enough attention? Probably not. Did I love her enough? How do I answer this one? I remember writing in a journal to her when I was pregnant, wondering how I would ever be able to love her as much as she deserves. I am selfish, and imperfect, and fall so short of even being worthy to. I did spend the last almost-20 years of her existence trying to love her, and I know that the Lord has graciously filled in the many gaps where I've failed. She has grown into a very beautiful young lady, with a heart for our Lord, and she has reached adulthood, ready to go out into the world, but determined not to be of it. 

At her new place, I asked if I could make her bed. She obliged her old sentimental mother this task, which seemed so trivial to her, I'm sure. But to me, it meant the world. Together, her dad and I made up her new bed, each of us lost in our thoughts of how we got here because she was 4 years old just yesterday. We glanced at each other a few times, knowingly. Our daughter, the one who changed our life and set it on a trajectory toward much greater things than we ever could have imagined, is now no longer under our wings. 

This is the part of life where you really learn the art of letting go in a much more painful way than you did when she went off to Preschool. Or when she got her driver's license. Or when she got her first job out in the world. The letting go must allow for an ocean's-worth of trust in God, the depths of which you should never discover. She is His, after all. He has a plan for her life that we know nothing about. We can only pray she will be who God meant her to be.

When we made it back home yesterday, we pulled sheets and blankets from the dryer and once again, together, we made up her bed. A sense of finality seemed to sneak upon us; the closing of a chapter. We surveyed her empty room. Hangers dangled, purposeless, in the closet, where many beautiful and feminine clothes used to hang. Her time-worn dresser sat empty, as did her nightstand where she used to keep holy cards and an occasional glass of water. Her painting of La Vierge aux anges (The Virgin with Angels, or Song of Angels) which used to adorn her wall, is now at her new place. Almost everything was bare.

But my heart was full. Yes, there's an ache. But this is the start of a new, exciting chapter. My sweet, anxious daughter whom I've worried and fretted over for many years, has now proven to me that once again, God is faithful. He is the Master of turning even the things which pain and prick, into good and beautiful things. He has her under His wings, as He always has, and I know she will be okay, no matter what. I'm excited to see what He's written for her.

And I realize that my responsibility as her parent has changed some, but has not completely diminished. I'm still immersed in this longest labor. I'm still here to worry over her, to pray for her, to guide her on a moral path. 

And she knows that no matter what happens, she can always come back home.

Supporting Other Mothers, Even Post-Abortive Ones

Every year the media makes a grave mistake in ignoring or sugar-coating the mass of people who descend upon the Nation's capitol in peaceful protest of the 40+ year old decision which legalized abortion on demand. Every year.  They attempt to distract and redirect; utilizing the very tool of the Prince of Darkness which brought that decision about in the first place: LIES.  They do this and yet, it's like in Horton Hears a Who...the small rise up; we call out, "We are here! We are here! We are here!!"

I myself have never been to the March for Life.  Every year I think about how amazing it would be to go and have that experience; stand in solidarity with my fellow pro-lifers and pray the rosary as I walk, to meet new people and speak with them on this deep, difficult topic.  I think how amazing it would be to crest that hill and look back and take in the sight of the sea of people, moving together as one body; braving the cold and the anti-life protesters, joining together for the same righteous cause: sanctity of human life.  One of these days, I tell myself.   One year, I will have no needy babies whom I can't leave at home and I will be able to attend and immerse myself, and possibly my older children, in the experience.  Some say it's very emotional and spiritual. I don't doubt it. I don't doubt that when hundreds of thousands of people gather for a just cause, for the Lord, for mercy and opposition toward evil, that it isn't an amazing and rich experience. 

When I volunteered at a pregnancy center in Harrisburg a few years ago, my life was changed.  I thought I was there to help women, young girls, in situations where having a baby was less than ideal. I thought I was there to give out information, listen, encourage, teach.  But amidst all of that, something else took place.  I was encouraged.  I learned.  My eyes were opened.  I saw the hearts of some of these women who were just trying to make it alone.  I saw the dynamics between women and their partners, boyfriends, husbands who were just as scared as the women were to welcome another baby.  I saw the neediness of the "least of God's people," and my heart grew in compassion and understanding for them.  I spoke with women who had had abortions; women who deeply regretted them, but found themselves facing another pregnancy and wanting to do what was right, despite how hard it was for them. I saw their fear and their resolve.  I saw their strength to turn away from past behavior. It changed me indeed.

They say that if we want to know what life is really about; we just need to immerse ourselves in situations where we'll see it up close.  While I was with the center, I wrote this article on my other blog. It was my hope that people would read it and have some small understanding of what many post-abortive mothers feel.  That they could come to the same understanding I did when I worked at the center: that most women who seek abortions aren't doing it to be evil. They are broken, just like the rest of us, only maybe in a different way than most of us.  They are in need of love and support and forgiveness.  I hoped that other pro-lifers would understand that we shouldn't approach these women in anger, but surround them in peace and love and understanding instead.  Especially the women who do not feel remorse.  It's one thing to think these things in your head, to know them in your heart; it's an entirely different thing to put that into action, to actually face those women and let love do all the work.

Down here in the trenches of motherhood, we all need encouragement and support, even and especially post-abortive mothers.  Aborting a baby does not take away the title of Motherhood.  We become mothers the second our babies are conceived.  Nothing changes that. 

Today I pray not only that there will come an end to abortion, but that we as pro-lifers will seek out more ways in which we can move as one to support post-abortive mothers, to reach out to them and extend the Love of Christ, the forgiveness and compassion He so selflessly extended to us as He hung on that cross on Calvary.