Names have been changed.
Sexual abuse allegations against Harvey Weinstein have caused many people to come forward with their own assault stories, all tagging their social media posts with the hashtag “#metoo”.
These stories of assault are coming from everyone, everywhere.
Actresses and actors, olympic gymnasts, friends and family on my feeds. All of these posts have reminded me of my own story, when I learned that the unfortunate reality is that just because someone is Catholic, doesn’t make them infallible.
Me too, and I let it affect my relationship with God.
A few years ago, I had just moved into a new town, a new parish. I was starting to get to know people, and everyone was very kind. I had just been broken up with and was not looking for a casual situation where I was going to get hurt. I was looking for something serious, and respectful. I was looking for someone Catholic.
My husband and I were avoiding pregnancy after our wedding while we worked on an interstate move and settling into new jobs. But we were open to life, and looking forward to tangibly welcoming life by way of a squishy little bundle of baby chub in short order.
We were prepared for it to take time – I was diagnosed with PCOS in high school, and years of charting my cycles for health awareness revealed a litany of reproductive health concerns that hadn’t responded to treatment thus far. Cycle after cycle led to a week of extreme cramping and a glass or three of red wine while picking fights over Downton Abbey or the gender wage gap instead of gleefully researching how to raise a kid in an urban studio apartment. After a year, we weren’t alarmed by this, just resigned that my ovaries hadn’t magically healed themselves (surprise) and we would have to pursue fertility-specific medical intervention after all.
Six months later, a few days before leaving to visit family, I peed on – a lot – of sticks, not wanting to let myself believe that I really was seeing a second line.
We were pregnant.
That life had arrived.
I donned a T-shirt that said it all as I dragged myself out of my warm, cozy bed and into the gym one recent Monday morning. In big, bold letters it read “THE STRUGGLE IS REAL!” Oh, yeah. Believe me when I tell you, I am one of the LEAST physical people I know and at every turn I will avoid exertion of any kind. Yet, there came a time when my body began to retaliate against this kind of neglect and I could no longer avoid the reality of what my body was saying: “I’m tired, I’m heavy, I’m thirsty, I’m hungry, I HURT!”
We have nothing short of a spiritual crisis in womanhood.
I know that I am not the only woman who carries this kind of reality within her body. We struggle with negative self talk and lack of respect for our own bodies. The cultural pressures that impact women’s relationship with her physical self abound. We are inundated with images that exploit, distort, and dismantle the vital and natural life-giving connection that woman was created to have with her own body.
Read the original question here.
The easy part of your question to answer is: Yes, he was cheating on God, too. Cheating in the sense that he was sinning against God. So, with that cleared up, let’s carry on.
I completely and totally understand the not trusting men thing. Whenever someone claims to love you, and then does a very poor job of it, it’s hard to trust. I would imagine you are afraid of investing in another man and getting duped again, which is totally understandable. Here was a guy who to the world appeared the good guy, yet he was living a lie. How in the world is one supposed to tell if they’re a good guy when they a player in angel robes?
I think your fear is that you don’t trust yourself to not fall for another sucker and waste massive amounts of time. I would encourage you to reflect back on your 8 year relationship with him. Do you in hindsight see actions or behaviors now that could have been red flags? I bet you might be able to pick up a few. Often times, when we are in love or like a person, we ignore red flags, especially if that person “seems” squeaky clean.
2 years ago (almost) I broke up with my then boyfriend. We were best friends for 8 years, and I only had started dating him after he left seminary.
We dated for 6 months, but come to find out he had been cheating on me for the duration of my relationship (was he cheating on God too because he was hooking up with girls while in seminary 🤔).
While I’m grateful to be out of the relationship, and even more grateful to say that me and the “other woman” are now best friends, I still find my self struggling to trust men.
The few dates I’ve been on I’ve been rambling and nervous. I get nervous when men touch me (hugging, handshakes, shoulder touches). The only men I feel comfortable around are relatives, gay men, and guys whom my other lady friends are dating.
My mom insists that I wait for a “good catholic man” but my ex seemed like a “good catholic man” so I can’t even trust that.
What are some tips for trusting men, or trusting people in general when I’ve been hurt so badly?
Responses to this question will be accepted until Sept. 30, 2017.
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Do you know what’s at the root of insecurity?
Fear of not being liked.
Or not being good enough.
Or being too much.
Or not being lovable.
Or being too intimidating.
Or not being able.
Or being alone.
“Fear is the enemy of love” says St. Augustine.
Let that sink in.
Can you sift through the unrealistic standards and expectations that society sometimes puts on women?
Do you ever struggle with that feeling that you’re not enough? At work, you might feel like you aren’t as talented or knowledgeable as your co-workers and that you’ll never reach your career goals. In your relationships, you might feel like you aren’t lovable enough as a person. If you are a mother, you might constantly fear that you aren’t enough as a parent. And as a busy, modern woman, you might feel like there is never enough time in the day to get everything done. At your most stressed, you might feel like you never achieve enough balance in your life between work, your personal life, your self-care, etc.