I used to be a religious sister. For 12 years, I lived a life of ministry, prayer, and community. Well, mostly… because during many of those years, I largely used ministry as an excuse to avoid prayer and community. I didn’t realize this about myself until the pandemic, however, when all of my events and trips were cancelled. With nowhere to be and no late-night or early-morning flights to interrupt my schedule, I ran out of reasons for missing prayers, meals, and Mass with the sisters.
Baptized Catholic as an infant, I received all my other childhood and adolescent sacraments at the prescribed times. I attended CCD classes and went to church with my mom and sister every Sunday. Most of what I remember from that time are colorful drawings and the stained glass images I studied each week. It wasn’t until high school that I felt actively involved in my faith, when our youth group director took us on trips to soup kitchens, detention centers, and other places, which my mom worried about. Outings like this exposed me to life beyond the church walls, beyond even my own experiences. They opened my eyes to the pain of human suffering, but showed me that connecting with others was a real source of love and healing.
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Throughout my college years, I tried to be good and keep up with my faith. I attended Mass sporadically, but I made up for my lack of attendance by never working on Sundays because I was told to work on the Sabbath would be a sin. I walked around with my ashes on Ash Wednesday, didn’t party too hard, and made sure to pass all my classes.
This wanting to “be good” extended to my personal life in many ways, but especially when it came to my sexuality. I dated men on occasion, even though I knew I’d much rather be dating women. Eventually, I decided the only way to continue being good was by entering religious life. I didn’t want to date men, but I couldn’t date women, so this seemed like the perfect solution. Zero dating. Ever.
For the 12 years following my entrance into a religious community, I tried to shove down a sexuality that had made itself apparent even in childhood. I busied myself with ministry from the start, putting all my time and energy into teaching. When I became a vocations director, I put my whole self into the work; but when that was halted by the pandemic, I couldn’t run from the questions anymore. If God was love and loved me unconditionally, why didn’t I feel lovable?
One long weekend over the summer, I went on a retreat in the desert, one of my absolute favorite places to be. I had my own casita and spent my days however I wanted. I drew, I napped, I prayed, I watched the sky for hours, smiling when I saw a hawk or hummingbird emerge in the clear blue.
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I took a long walk that weekend and let all parts of me unfurl under the warm New Mexico sun. I let the light reveal all that I had been trying to hide — the color of my skin, the shape of my body, my sexuality. These were all parts of myself that various groups taught me to be ashamed of, and I held onto that shame like it was the only thing that would love me.
When I left the desert, I chose to leave that shame behind. I let the sun burn it away, let it evaporate into the clear blue sky, and I knew then in whose image I was made. Once I began to see myself worthy of love, a new question formed — would I still have chosen religious life if I felt there was another choice I could have made, one that was truer to who I am?
This question was harder than any of the others. This question required a choice. I wrestled with the answer, even when I had no reason to doubt it, because the answer to that question was no. No, I would not have chosen religious life if I felt I could choose a life more true to me and the way I wanted to be loved.
At the same time I faced this reality, a new friendship began to form, one that developed into an attraction. Here I was, on the verge of deciding whether or not I would leave my 12-year commitment, and this incredible woman started to transform my life. I eventually made the decision to leave the convent, and that friendship continued to blossom over the next few years. It is with great joy that I now prepare to celebrate one year of marriage with someone I call my best friend.
Even though I left religious life, I would never change the decision I made to enter. The Catholic sisters who befriended and mentored me reinforced my connection to people and the world around me, much like my days in the church youth group. They also taught me how to speak up for myself and how to speak up with others. While I wish the Church were better about welcoming women’s voices, I know women religious will continue to be instrumental in creating those spaces and opportunities.
The questions are still there, but not around my sexuality. I know who I am, and I am proud of every piece. My questions now revolve around Christianity and organized religion in general, as these are some major places that caused me to feel unlovable despite their preaching about love. I often have to ask myself questions like, will going to church be a healing experience, or a harmful one? If my co-workers are Christian, will they treat me differently when I say I’m married to a woman? Is it safe to come out, or should I keep my sexuality hidden?
So that leaves me queer and questioning, but it’s a life I’m grateful to have chosen. I have a spouse who loves me, a home I’m proud of, and a dog who demands snuggles every night. There’s nothing in this world like embracing myself as the whole person God created me to be. I don’t have to have all the answers, but I still wonder, at what point will the church embrace me?
Questions for Reflection
- The author reflects on wrestling with feelings of shame around her identity. How can your parish better embody Christ’s love by creating a more welcoming and supportive space for LGBTQ+ people?
- The author recalls going on retreat and feeling God’s acceptance. Spend some time in prayer and ask God to heal any doubts you may have about your identity.
- When she was a part of her religious order, the author admits she used the work in her vocation to avoid confronting questions about herself. Have you used the busyness of your own life to neglect answering a question or calling? Dedicate some time in prayer this week to it.
