Life isn’t always so clean cut. Sometimes you are thrown a curveball and wondering how you’re meant to make it through. With God, there is always hope.
“Will they ask me about my baby’s dad?”
When I was pregnant, I would put on a fake wedding band when I’d go in public. I’d twist it around my finger when talking to a stranger, aware of my insecurity, of the fear pounding in the back of my head. Will they ask me about my baby’s dad? It was always lingering, ready to accuse, ready to shame.
One time I bumped into my old history teacher from high school; the one whom I had shared my desire to be a nun with. He saw my belly, congratulated me, and asked if I ended up marrying my best guy-friend from when he knew us. My cheeks flamed red, every pore threatened to open with sweat, and that subtle nervous itch beginning to spread across my entire body.
How could I put what I was feeling into words? I was unmarried. My old life as a missionary in Haiti was now in the rearview mirror, getting further and further away from me as my belly got bigger and bigger. And, I didn’t feel prepared to be having a baby.
The shame rocked me, a wave of nausea passing over me. All I could do was shake my head no, looking down at the ground, tears stinging my eyes. Then I made some jokes, some self-deprecating version of what was going on; my humor was always my shield.
I was completely unprepared for moments like that, moments that should be filled with joy and pride, but instead were tainted by lies and unmet expectations.
To handle these difficult moments and heal, I realized that I needed to start expressing my feelings. I had to share my story; otherwise, it would eat me alive. It was important for me to make sense of my decisions, my shattered beliefs, and the unfamiliar reflection I saw in the mirror. At that time, I didn’t understand the significance of our narratives. Only later did I realize that our stories hold the power to reveal our true selves.
The Good is Coming
When I was seven months pregnant, I finally named my son. Something in me relenting, the shame making a tiny sliver of room for hope. Healing didn’t come all at once. The hope wasn’t dainty or shy, it was reckless and forceful, a storm raging in. It crashed through all my walls and defenses and left me no choice but to embrace it, to believe again that life was going to be ok, that there were still good things ahead.
The shame never swallowed me whole, God’s mercy made a triumphant, victorious blast through the layers of pain that existed then, almost twelve years ago now. In the space between then and now, life happened. We can endure so much, and when we’re suffering, it can be hard to see the good that is coming.
People walked with me. They listened. They allowed me to unfold, to untangle the parts of me that clung to lies, that acted out of belief systems that weren’t based on truth. I was able to feel again, and each day felt like a new sunrise, a chance to keep going, to redefine who I was, and explore who I wanted to be. And to listen, again, to what God was speaking over my life.
God’s grace was unrelenting, tangible like water washing over me, and there was nowhere else to go but to Him. He brought His mercy in abundance. He declares that He is for us. For me. For you. Like a Good Father, he reaches out His hand, an offering to rise, to look past our failures and keep going.
Walking Together Toward Healing
When CPMAP was offered, and I received mentorship as I was in school, the buried dreams that only showed up in my sleep started to awaken in me. They weren’t out of reach anymore, they weren’t covered in shame and forced to stay hidden. I didn’t just have to live under the identity of a single mother, co-parent, or failed missionary. As I told my story, I became whole again. Just me, in the here and now.
I know what it’s like to feel too out of reach, too far gone. I know the loneliness of certain pains, the weight of sorrow, the hopelessness that can sneak up on you. I know the anger and frustration that can live within the realm of co-parenting, trying to navigate life in a broken, blended family. The pain can be suffocating and isolating, and the guilt can sometimes threaten to take your breath away. But I know God’s mercy. Because in my darkest hour, He extended it to me.
I think back to the girl who wore the fake wedding bands and wish I could tell her one thing- that she’s good. How easy it is to forget that His mercy is equal to His majesty. That the waters of forgiveness are wider and deeper than anything we can dream up ourselves.
Since becoming a mentor with CatholicPsych, I’ve been able to walk with others who are struggling to accept where they’ve arrived in life. People who have gotten lost along the way, or experienced so much pain that it’s hard to look up again, to access hope. I’ve been able to use my life experience, the ways I’ve failed, and the mercy I now understand, to walk beside those who need a place to tell their story.
As Saint Teresa of Calcutta said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
So let me walk with you so you too can discover the healing power of our stories and God’s mercy.
About the Author
As a certified CatholicPsych mentor and writer, Johnna focuses on the integration of psychology, spirituality and Catholic anthropology. Inspired by her own journey with her son, its her mission to accompany people in their darkest moments- through loss, grief, anxiety, loneliness, addiction, single and co parenting. If you feel like mentorship could be a fit for you, don’t hesitate to reach out.