One of the hardest things about my whole deconstruction process
is that I’ve had two impressionable children watching me do the whole thing from approximately six inches away for the last five years.
Their childhood is irrevocably intertwined with my process of losing religious faith, and there is no way to undo that connection.
It’s been hard at times to know how much to bring them into it, and how much to let just be mine; how much to share for their protection and how much to withhold so they don’t get jaded or close-minded.
How much do I pre-emptively explain so they understand why we do things, and how much do I hold back so their curiosity can take the lead in our conversations?
I've gone too far and not far enough, and hopefully have occasionally struck the right chord, and trusted in consistent love to even it all out in the end.
But there’s one thing I’ve landed on that feels fair, and right: to explain to kids what’s happening when my story affects theirs.
Last night, I had one such opportunity:
My husband was working late so I took both kids on my own to a community event we go to every year. I typically hate this event, so I thought, because it’s hot and crowded, and I wasn’t very excited to go.
I was super cranky as we drove there, and my kids commented that I seemed very stressed and was giving them a lot of rules, which was super fun feedback to hear.
But I reflected and realized that the real reason I was stressed was because without fail, this event is one of the few times I know for sure that I will run into coworkers, friends and acquaintances from the church that broke my heart. The uncertainty of knowing who I will see and when, and whether or not I’ll be able to avoid interaction, was putting me in a state of high-alert.
Since it was already affecting my kids, I took a deep breath and owned that they weren’t the problem, but that I was actually feeling really nervous about seeing people from our old church. I explained that I needed to have some rules about how we spend our time there so that if I need to leave, they will be close enough to me to make a quick exit.
They both went, “ooooooh” and said it made sense, and agree that we’d all be a team at this event and do our best to have fun together. My stress faded, and I was able to focus on their excitement as well.
We got in and made our crafts, listened to music and took advantage of the photobooth (as seen above, with a few edits) and saw lots of friends we do like and love.
And then, I started seeing the ghosts of my old life. People who also love their kids and want to take them to this community event, whose lives have kept going after I left, who are perfectly nice aside from their participation in the religious organization that destroyed me and my family’s life.
After about 4-5 of those sightings, the triggering was complete. I was overstimulated, overwhelmed, and it was taking all my energy to not start crying hysterically. I knew it was only a matter of time before I lost it.
I grabbed my kids before they could finish their craft and hustled us quickly to the car. They were surprised and upset to be interrupted mid-craft, but once they could hear my cracking voice explaining that I needed to leave, they quietly walked with me and helped me get there.
After I calmed down, we came up with a plan to get dinner and return to the event in a few hours to retrieve their incomplete projects.
The rest of the evening was bumpy, and I had a few adrenaline outbursts I had to apologize for, but by the end of the night, I had these precious memories:
Feeling like there was room for me to be a person with needs in my family as much as everyone else.
The pride I had for taking care of myself and leaving an unsafe situation.
One kid telling me to go find something to do to enjoy myself and let go of worrying because I deserved to have fun after a night like that.
One kid telling me that I’m still an amazing mom, that we all lose our temper sometimes, and that I shouldn’t be too hard on myself about one night that didn’t go well.
Man.
I always try to make sure my kids know that it’s not their job to manage my feelings for me… but when they genuinely offer empathy and encouragements from their little hearts… that’s about as good as it gets for me.
So that’s my story of what happened when I invited my kids into the real-life work of the messy working out of my religious past.
Do you have any stories to share?
That’s so hard! People can be so triggering. Off topic sort of but did you retain any friendships from that church? If so, how did you navigate it?