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Fear, Prayer

This weekend I drove into Naples, to a parish I’d never been to before, for an intentionally anonymous confession. I knew it would be a rough confession, and I preferred to seek out the comfort of strangers rather than the well-meaning concern of friends and neighbors here in Ave Maria.

It was indeed comforting to walk into a church and not feel obligated to say hello or make small talk. I found my way to the confession line and began to complete the examination of conscience I had begun on the drive over, and was immediately grateful that I had made the drive. Instead of soberly examining my conscience, all I could do in the line was hold back tears. And more than a few escaped, leaving those obvious trails down my face. The ones that say, “no, I’m not just here for a routine confession…I’m desperate, and a sinner, and miserable, and only here at last because it was this or pulling a Thelma and Louise.”

I thought maybe I could pull it together in the confessional, but all I managed to do was stop sobbing long enough to sketch out for the priest the general reason for my tears. I didn’t even make it to the list of sins I had collected in my mind in the car. As soon as I had given him a rough outline of my general state of mind, I resumed crying loudly while the poor priest, in a mercifully soothing Irish accent, reminded me that God loves me and hasn’t abandoned me, asked me to come see him some time when he didn’t have ten other people in line behind me, and gave me absolution.

I’ve never broken down like that in a confessional before. I’ve cried, sure, but I’ve never been sobbing so hard that I couldn’t even give a coherent confession. The priest asked me to pray for peace for my penance, and while I’ve been doing it, I’ve also been more aware than ever of just how elusive peace is for me.

There are a million reasons for it. A million reasons why I’m not at peace with my life as a wife, mother, homemaker. I’ve explored a lot of them here, on my blog. But I’m starting to realize that it wasn’t as if I had this great, peaceful life and then BAM! children ruined it for me. Actually I was a drug addict before I was a mother so no, not so peaceful. And before I was a drug addict, there wasn’t much peace there either, in my hard-studying, hard-partying college days. Or in high school, when I was a studious, disciplined head cheerleader. Or in middle school, when I was a nerd, the butt of jokes, vulnerable and insecure. Or really as far back as I can remember.

I don’t know why I’ve always been so unsatisfied, so unhappy with my life right now, no matter when that “right now” was. I do know that I’ve never, ever wanted to be like this.

Toward the end of my pregnancy with Sienna, I was starting to feel excited, even a little giddy to meet this new little person, this stranger, my daughter. It must have showed, because once in Target while I was browsing through the tiny pink onesies and impossibly small hats, a woman with three kids hanging off the sides of her cart stopped and snapped, “You won’t be nearly that happy when that kid is on the outside, I promise.” She practically spat the words at me, glaring hatefully, as if my happiness personally offended her. Then she stomped off, barking irritably at her children to shut up, already, and don’t touch that, and leave your sister’s hair alone and sit down right now! I could still hear her sharp voice after they rounded the corner. I stood there, frozen, shocked at her anger but also genuinely afraid. I do not ever want to end up like that, I thought. I will never, ever let myself get to that point.

Last week I had to rush into Target for an unplanned trip. I had been to Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s for Thanksgiving supplies, and was planning on rushing home before everything melted when I got a phone call from the doctor. They had been trying to fit us in before the holiday break without success, but they had a last-minute cancellation, and they wanted to see us that afternoon. I agreed and then immediately regretted it, since I had a car full of cold and frozen items and had forgotten our cold bags at home. So off to Target we went in search of a cooler, me with Lincoln strapped to my chest, fussing irritably at all the strapping and unstrapping, toting Charlotte and Lincoln, who were equally irritable after a day of being shoved in and out of carseats. They immediately commenced bickering while Lincoln cried and struggled in the Maya wrap. I flew up and down aisles, getting increasingly more frustrated when I couldn’t find the cheap styrofoam coolers, and finally settled for a regular one at triple the price I’d wanted to pay. I had to get baby wipes while we were there, so we hastily made our way over to the baby section. As we walked toward it, I saw a heavily pregnant young woman eyeing a crib, touching the mobile, smiling that secret last-trimester smile while one hand stroked her belly. Bitterly, I thought, she’s not going to be nearly that happy when that kid is on the outside.

On the way home from the doctor I called the Ogre, crying. I told him what had happened in Target, how horrified I was at my knee-jerk reaction to the woman, and how much I hated the person I was turning into. A person who is so stressed and overwhelmed by the demands of young children that I can’t even enjoy them. A person so unhappy that I can’t even let other people be happy without wanting to destroy it, somehow. To make them understand how hard life is, or will be.

And here’s the worst part, I told him. The worst part is, I blame the Church. I blame the ban on birth control, the fact that NFP doesn’t work for us, the reality that I will never, ever have a chance to get a handle on things because I’m constantly pregnant or nursing. I can’t crawl out from under the pregnancy-and-postpartum rock because the rock follows me everywhere, just waiting to smash me again. Intellectually, I believe the Church. I understand the arguments against birth control. I agree with them, even. I just no longer think I’m a good enough person to follow the rules. There are mothers around me who have 6,7,8, 10 children and they do it with so much grace and love that it is beautiful to see. But I’m over here, doing a terrible job raising my own four, barely scraping by, hanging onto my sanity by my fingernails, and turning our home into a place of anger, frustration, bitterness and fear. All the grace and love and joy that I want to raise my children with is being suffocated by my own sheer terror at the thought of another pregnancy, and another, and another.

The Ogre didn’t say much. We’re in the same boat, me and him. Me terrified of the physical, mental and emotional toll wrought by more children, and him terrified of the financial weight on our already sinking ship. To tell the truth, I think he’s equally terrified at the thought of losing me to a complete nervous breakdown, or a heart attack or stroke brought on by overwhelming stress. And neither of us have any answers. We know what the Church says. We know that we ought to have faith, and trust. Personally, I don’t think I have any faith or trust left in me. I think that well was depleted by the last two pregnancies, immediately following courses in new methods of NFP. Ones that, we were assured, would really work. Is it possible that we did it wrong, that I misread signs, that it’s all down to user error? Absolutely. I’d even say it’s probable. But there’s only so much perfection in reading signs and charting that can be expected from a sleep-deprived, over-stretched mother whose every bathroom break is accompanied by a toddler or two. And there’s only so much abstinence that can reasonably be expected of a couple not in a Josephine marriage. Seven, eight months last time? I lost count. How long this time? A year, two? And how do we deal with the incredible strain that so much abstinence places on our marriage? The frustrated desires, the feelings of rejection, the guilt, the anger, the loneliness?

So, pray, the priest tells me. Pray for peace. Yes, I will pray. I will pray without hoping, from a place quite near despair. And I will write about it, even though perhaps I shouldn’t, because someone will certainly tell me in the comment box or over email that I am giving scandal, that I should set a better example of Catholic faith in this very public forum. But this is faith. This is what a life of faith can be like, what it very often is like, even for people much holier than I. And in this Year of Faith, I suspect that everyone’s faith will be tested. So I’ll add an addendum to my prayer for peace…that when the Year of Faith ends, I still have mine.

  • http://grace-filled.net jen

    You are NOT giving scandal. You’re being truthful about what is going on with you and the despair you have right now. If anything, you’re letting us know that we need to pray for you and how we can pray.

    *hugs* I wish I could so something to mitigate out what’s going on but I can’t baby-sit because I’m across the country from you. I’ll pray.

  • Elaine

    Holy God in Heaven. Someone else out there is where I have been, and is WRITING about it. You are a brave soul. I say “have been” because as the oldest gets older, it really has gotten easier. All of your babies are still so young they can’t be of much help yet, but they will be. You will pass through this and you will be blessed with years and years of time when beauty and love and peace evade you and the children, and other times when you are abundant with it, especially when you least expect it. It passes, you all grow, and God willing every day is a new “chance” in your home and heart. Or at least that’s how it’s worked with me.

    I’m horrible at NFP too. I’m almost 43 and we had decided that there would be no more babies, to the extent that we bought an expensive device to help me with my NFP challenged self. But then I didn’t use it…and then I wasn’t honest about not using it. I was tracking “in my head”; not something someone with ADD should do. I felt absolutely crushed and guilty when I found out mid-September that I was pregnant. Hubby was amazing. He knew I hadn’t been honest with him and yet he forgave me. Long story short is that baby’s body didn’t develop and all we saw was a gestational sac on ultrasound. Hello and goodbye…did we really not want any more babies? Yes…I can say that now for sure. Thank you God and thank you baby for teaching me this.

    Now on to the device…the device works. It’s called Ovacue. Once you are cycling again, it will confirm without a doubt when you have ovulated and you can enjoy at least a few weeks with your husband every cycle. If you are being very careful you avoid from when your period starts to a few days past confirmation of ovulation. That is better than total abstinence for months and months, yes? The thing actually confirmed that I ovulated “with both barrels” the cycle after the miscarriage…and I’m so thankful that we avoided possible twins (picture me fainting here).

    Thanks so much for sharing what many dread talking about .

  • Mel

    Dear Calah, I have had every one of those feeling and then some so I hear you. I had my first three children
    18 months apart while my husband was in law school. Hard. Can I tell you what saved me and still does? The rosary. Pray the rosary. Mary will help you I promise and girl the thing you could use is some help. Mary will help. If the rosary feels like too much right now, pray just 3 hail mary’s. Or the Memorare…but pray to her. I cannot explain it, but she takes all of the fear and the stress, she’ll give you back some peace and some hope. I’m no saint to look at me. It’s almost like the more you need her, the more she’s there you know? Please try it. I’ll pray for you too! peace and love!

  • http://www.ignitumtoday.com/author/elizabeth-fox/ Elizabeth

    Our life stories are completely different, but I totally, totally understand where you are at right now. You are not giving scandal! It is a tremendous relief to know that others feel the same way. Thank you for your honesty.
    May I suggest “Searching for and Maintaining Peace” and “Interior Freedom” by Fr. Jacques Phillipe? These short little books have brought me back from the brink on many, many occasions. I can send you copies if you shoot me an email.
    Many prayers and pray for me too!

    • Nina

      Fr. Jacques Phillippe’s little books are amazing…and that’s from me, LOL! Love “Searching for and Maintaining Peace”. Think Calah probably needs a spa weekend at a luxury resort sans hubby & kids more right now, but it’s still an amazing book!

  • michele

    Thank you so much for opening up to us! I will pray that you may find peace!

  • Nina

    Honestly, I don’t think the modern version of NFP is much better than regular contraceptives if it leaves you feeling like this. Back in the day, not so very long ago, there was no “99% effective” NFP. There was no doing it “right” and doing it “wrong”. There was the rhythm method, aka “Vatican roulette”, and all Catholic women were in the boat you’re in now. I think some of the gloating and lording-it-over and preachiness and comparison games played by some members of the NFP crowd are far more destructive and sinful than using a diaphragm with proper intent would be. Add to that living in Ave Maria, where there are probably more than a few Catholic mommies putting on a happy, sparkly front while they’re afraid to let on that they’re unhappy, depressed, in doubt, etc., and where you’re at right now is perfectly understandable. It’s actually pretty telling that you sought comfort from strangers, IMO, when you are at your lowest point.

    Maybe it’s time for you and your husband to re-evaluate your job/living situation. Maybe there are better opportunities outside of that small, homogenous enclave, and maybe it’s healthier to live among a more diverse group of people (even just a more diverse group of Catholics). That’s obviously something for you two to decide, although just from this post alone, I think it’s a conversation that needs to be had.

    Finally, I’m barely Catholic, probably not even really Catholic any more, so my advice is worth jack here, but you should know that you’re not alone, not among Catholics, and not among the rest of the world. You may not be able to see the light yet, but you will get through this.

  • K.

    Oh, sweet Calah! I was in your shoes two or three years ago when I was pregnant with #3. I actually stopped going to Mass for a while because I was so angry that I had followed all the rules and done all the things I was supposed to and I was being pushed beyond my limit. I was also in a city with no friends or family and my husband was in law school (any single one of those factors would SUCK, but all of them together were more than I could bear). That priest gave me absolution and told me to move on, he had other penitence to attend to. To this day, I’m surprised that I didn’t stop being Catholic right then and there. But I didn’t. And there have been hard times and there still are. My difference is that I’m one of those “sparkly, happy moms with all those little kids!” . Not because I am happy all the time, but just because I am a damn good liar. This path we are on is hard and we are pushed so far that our comfort zone isn’t even on the horizon anymore. For what it’s worth, it has forced me to grow in ways that I would never have grown otherwise. I have a book coming out in April and am working on another for a woman I have respected since I was teen and first read her work. I can honestly say without the pitch black, painful times, I wouldn’t be here. I know that it’s probably cold comfort, but hang in there! It gets better.

  • Anne

    TMI alert… I think you once wrote about how you won’t check your cervix, etc, but for me this is the only way that really, really works, and it’s easy to do and not all that gross. Lots of information on the internet.

  • Lena

    Do you need me to send you your own tardis blanket or something? Or can’t some of those college students do some babysitting for some kind of credit for their human development class? You would be doing them a favor by lending them some children. I don’t think you are causing scandal. I think you are very stressed out from being a mom to multiple demanding little people. I think you need a day of pampering and quiet and some quality sleep.

    Where’s the Calgon man when you need him?

  • Barb

    Prayers and love.
    You probably have thought of this but please consider whether post partum depression and maybe just untreated lifelong depression is part of your lack of peace.
    Do you have a spiritual director you can trust?


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