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October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. I never know what to say or feel when people mention this. I have had two miscarriages, and I still grieve them both, but I don’t know how to talk about them in public – or even if I want to. Those who have lost babies before they are born live in a strange middle ground: are we parents or are we not? Are we allowed to stand for the Mother’s Day blessing at church? Is it worth explaining to near strangers that I have three children on earth and two in heaven, or should I just answer “three” because I know that that’s what they’re really asking? Am I allowed to talk about the babies who were never born?
One aspect of pregnancy loss that surprised me is how intensely personal it is. Before losing my babies, I thought I would be the kind of woman who would speak of something like that openly without fear and without shame – as if women who do not speak of it keep silent because of fear or shame. But I quickly learned that, for me, fear and shame have nothing to do with my silence. If I seldom speak of my losses publicly, it’s because the grief is more personal than I ever expected it be, partly because, unlike the loss of a grandparent, for example, most people don’t have a context for it. Most people simply do not know what it feels like to lose a child. How do you explain that you are a mother when no one else can see that?
Ariel Levy, a staff writer for “The New Yorker” and author of the memoir The Rules Do Not Apply, recently shared her experience of losing her baby while on assignment in Mongolia. When she was 5 months pregnancy, she went into premature labor, but the baby did not survive. She remembers: “It was like a switch had flipped inside me, and I had experienced — however briefly, I had experienced maternal love. And I couldn’t get that switch to flip back, so I felt like a mother.... It was almost like an identity crisis. It was like, I know I’m a mother, but I sound crazy if I say it because I have no child.”
Although Levy’s pregnancy was further along than most when she lost her baby, her experience of having an identity crisis makes sense to me, and I suspect that it’s a common one, although not one we talk about.
The American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists estimates that about 10% of known pregnancies end in miscarriage, but that number increases as the mother gets older. By age 40, about 30% of known pregnancies end in miscarriage. And, of course, these are known pregnancies. The number of known and unknown pregnancies combined is much higher.
The American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists estimates that about 10% of known pregnancies end in miscarriage... But the frequency of pregnancy loss doesn’t make it a familiar topic for most people to talk about.
But the frequency of pregnancy loss doesn’t make it a familiar topic for most people to talk about. Since most miscarriages happen within 13 weeks of pregnancy, most women are not yet visibly pregnant when they lose their babies. And here’s the reality: when outsiders can’t see or hold the baby, it’s hard for them to remember the baby exists, and it’s hard to know how to talk about it.
Some people tie the social discomfort of talking about miscarriage to what Pope St. John Paul II called “the culture of death” in Evangelium Vitae: the way that the prevalence of contraception, abortion, sterilization, etc., has led our culture to see new life as either completely or somewhat “less” human until birth. I think that this attitude can influence how we talk about miscarriage, but I don’t think that’s all of it.
Miscarriage is an incredibly intense, and deeply personal experience. We need to consider how deeply the mother is affected because the baby was living in and died inside of her. We need to think about how both the mother and father had hopes and dreams for the baby - this baby - and how the he or she was already living a full life in their imaginations. Outsiders can express sorrow and sympathy at a pregnancy loss, but it’s tough to know how to respond to such a personal tragedy.
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For all of these reasons, it’s hard to know what to say to a friend who has lost a baby, and it’s important to remember that everyone grieves differently. I am writing from my own experiences, and other women might not share those experiences, but I want to share what was helpful (or not) to me as I grieved my miscarriages.
Don’t feel the need to “fix”
I think one of the hardest things about talking to parents who are grieving is that we feel like we should try to make them feel better. We love them, and so we want to fix things for them. But, in my experience, most attempts to do that caused more pain than healing. We don’t know how to fill the space, and we know we should say something, but we often say the wrong thing.
For example, I had a good friend share statistics with me about how common miscarriages are. I know that she was trying to assure me that it wasn’t my fault, that it’s just something that happens sometimes, but she failed to understand that knowing that something is common doesn’t change the fact that it happened to me. A 10% chance is not comforting when you are that 10%.
Don’t suggest that what happened is good
Another friend tried to reassure us that both we and the baby were probably “better off,” since most miscarriages are the result of chromosomal abnormalities in the baby. Again, I understand where this person was coming from, but life is always better than death, and when we tell parents that it’s better this way, we’re also telling them that their child is better off dead.
Don’t act like all babies are the same
Similarly, a few people told us that we could “just have another,” or (the gentler form of this) “as least you know you can get pregnant.” But here’s the problem. There’s a difference between a baby and my baby. My daughter, who was born about 18 months after my first miscarriage is the light of my life, but her birth did not erase the pain of losing the baby before her.
Don’t bring up where my baby is… and is not
Many well-meaning people would say something about how the baby is in heaven or is in Jesus’s arms waiting for us. Now, with some distance, I take great comfort in this. One of my favorite verses in the Bible is John 14:3: “And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back again and take you to myself, so that where I am you also may be.” I like to imagine my babies waiting for me, to be reunited some day. But in the days and weeks immediately after each loss, this thought only led to anger. I took no comfort in the baby being in heaven when he or she should have been with me.
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Here’s what you can do:
Show you’re thinking of me…but give me space
A better way to help a grieving friend, I think, is simply to make space for the friend to grieve. I was clear with my friends after my losses that I wasn’t ready to talk right away, and I am so grateful for the friends who respected that by giving me space. I am grateful for the cards and the prayers and the flowers that let me know they were thinking of me without making me talk about it. I am grateful for the friends who later sat down over coffee with me, asked how I was, and waited to see if I wanted to talk or not.
Help me through the weeks to come
I am grateful for the ones who offered up their time in prayer for my pain, for the ones who offered to watch my kids so my husband and I could go to Mass and grieve together, for the ones who sent restaurant gift cards, knowing that even boiling pasta was too much to handle some days.
Share your story, too
I am grateful for the friends who did not try to fix things, who did not try to comfort me, who did not talk, but who listened, who walked with me in my grief, or who distracted me with completely unrelated conversation. I am grateful for the women, some of whom I didn’t know well, who simply said, “Me too. This happened to me, too. I understand.” I am grateful to those who made me see that I was not alone.
Be comfortable with grief
If we, as Catholics, truly believe that life has value and that life matters, then we have to be comfortable grieving when that life ends. We have to be able to say, I didn’t know your baby. I couldn’t see or touch or snuggle your baby, but, for a short while, your baby lived. And your baby’s death is tragic. And you are allowed to grieve. You are allowed to act as if you lost a child because you did.
The best thing we can do for our friends who have experienced loss is to acknowledge it, to walk with our friends as they grieve, and to help them know that they are not alone.
As I read the news about the shooting in Las Vegas I was completely stunned and overwhelmed. My heart ached for the families that had lost loved ones, for individuals who could have had no idea their earthly lives would end that night. I felt outrage that justice could not be enacted and that we may never know what motivation was behind such an act of violence.
Two weeks later I scrolled through my newsfeed shocked and heartbroken by countless #metoo posts. I came face to face with the acute reminder that acts of violence, and the deep pain and suffering that follow, are daily affecting people I know and love.
In the midst of the now seemingly constant barrage of news about acts of violence it is all too easy to be completely overcome with emotion. We can hardly know what to think or even feel: outrage, anger, sadness, fear, pity, confusion, heartbreak. Even more overwhelming is the piercing desire to do or say something to make the madness stop, to keep one more innocent life from being lost, another family from being broken. What can be done in the face of such hatred and destruction? How do you and I, as women throughout the world, respond and make the change we so desperately long to make in the world? These questions are weighing on many of our hearts, so it’s no surprise how many people resonated with a character on screen asking these same things.
How do you and I, as women throughout the world, respond and make the change we so desperately long to make in the world?
I was a little behind when it came to the hype about the new Wonder Woman movie, I just watched it last month when it was released on DVD, but I couldn't have seen it at a more fitting time. So many themes resonated deeply with me and I was reminded of a quote from Helen Alvaré: “Women are on the front lines of the Battlefield of Mercy.” Our world today is that battlefield, and Helen’s words are a call to take our place on the front line with our sisters.
The more I learn about mercy the more I see it woven throughout the plot of Wonder Woman and manifested in the character of Diana.
In Wonder Woman, one of the most moving scenes for me was when Diana and her human counterpart, Steve, are walking through the trenches bordering no man’s land, where there has been a stalemate for nearly a year. A woman, dressed in rags and clutching her child, tugs on Diana’s cloak, begging her to help save her village on the other side of the field. Diana is immediately moved to take action and promises to help. Steve, focused on the mission at hand, says that there is nothing they can do. “So what…we do nothing,” Diana asks incredulously. Steve insists, “No, we are doing something! We are! We just... we can't save everyone in this war. This is not what we came here to do.” Diana replies with resolve, “No. But it’s what I am going to do.” Encountering the person in front of her, Diana sees a need and immediately steps out of herself and her ultimate mission (ending the war) to meet that need head on with courage and intentionality. We too must push past ideas and lofty goals, see the human needs at the core of the issue and step up courageously to meet them.
Mercy urges us to go beyond examining and discussing evil and its effects, beyond reading and retweeting horrifying news, to take action. We are first called to be transformed in a spirit of love for our neighbor. This transformation is not a one-and-done deal, but a whole lifestyle, a continuous process within our Christian vocation. How can we cultivate the necessary integration between heart and mind that will allow us to use our empathetic response to the suffering of others as a catalyst for taking action?
Mercy urges us to go beyond examining and discussing evil and its effects, beyond reading and retweeting horrifying news, to take action.
We can practice being aware of, acknowledging, and acting on the needs and suffering of the people we encounter daily within our vocation. As a mom, the people I interact with the most happen to be four years old, two years old, and five months old; needless to say, most of their needs and struggles are comparatively small. But by daily being aware of their needs, acknowledging and validating their suffering, and acting to comfort and help them, I am developing a habit of acting quickly and with love whenever I encounter need, pain, or suffering. Whatever your vocation, whether you most often interact with co-workers, your spouse or significant other, residents, or customers, you can practice awareness, empathy, and action. Never underestimate the power of acknowledging and empathizing with the suffering of others people need to be seen, they need to be heard. We need to develop this daily practice if we are going to be able to take action when faced with grave need and suffering.
In the encyclical letter Dives in Misericordia, John Paul II writes that mercy is intimately connected with human dignity; a genuine act of mercy will allow the person receiving it to feel “restored to value.” Disregard for the dignity of the human person is at the root of all acts of violence. What could be a more pertinent virtue to practice in a world where offenses against human dignity surround us, where so many do not know their value as human persons? Not only is restoring human dignity a key component of mercy, it is also an essential work of women. As persons gifted with a particular sensitivity to the needs of others and a special capacity for affirming and nurturing the life and dignity of individuals, we women are called to take on this task of restoring value by practicing and being witnesses of mercy.
It’s not surprising then, that mercy and the restoration of human dignity is at the center of Diana’s mission. She is shocked and appalled by the way men are treating one another in the war, and yet she pushes past the violence and sees their humanity, their inherent dignity that makes them worth saving, regardless of their behavior. In one of the final scenes she is being egged on by Ares, the god of war, to destroy a character who is responsible for the horrific deaths of thousands of innocent people: “Look at this world…mankind did this, not me…they are ugly, filled with hatred, weak, pathetic! Look at her and tell me I’m wrong. She is the perfect example of these humans- unworthy of your sympathy in every way. Destroy her Diana, you know that she deserves it, they all do…. they do not deserve your protection.” Diana, however, reflects on the pivotal act of self sacrificing love performed by another character and declares, “You’re wrong about them. They are everything you say and so much more…It’s not about deserve, it’s about what you believe. And I believe in love.” Love is what makes mercy possible. It enables us to reach out to another and restore a feeling of value, despite those qualities that make us all seem unlovable or unworthy.
Love is what makes mercy possible.
John Paul II beautifully states that mercy is revealed as “an especially creative proof of the love which does not allow itself to be ‘conquered by evil,’ but overcomes ‘evil with good.’ The genuine face of mercy has to be ever revealed anew.” We must boldly overcome the evil in this world by embracing and declaring what is good. Sisters, may you and I become faces of mercy for others and proclaim along with Diana, “Only love can save this world. So I stay. I fight, and I give... for the world I know can be. This is my mission, now. Forever.”
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.
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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.
I met John at a new friend's birthday party. I had seen him around - he was an adult altar server at the mass I regularly attended. I thought he was cute, (I mean, who doesn’t love a man in uniform, right ladies?) He was also one of those people who was the life of the party - you could tell that he was friends with everyone. Quick to tell a joke and quick to laugh. Talking to him that night, it turned out that he was also on the parish council board, and had been pretty heavily involved in the parish for the past several years.
We talked about some of the things he was involved in, including a blog that he was writing. I expressed interest in reading the blog, and, at the last minute when everyone else seemed occupied with leaving, he asked for my number so he could send me the link. Over the next week we ended up talking nearly every day for almost the entire day via text. He would call me too - in the evenings while I was cooking dinner we would talk about his blog, about our political views, about our world views.
I trusted John. I believed he was a stand up gentleman - which, coincidentally, is what I NEEDED him to be. I felt like I was being courted with the phone calls and the texting and the attention. I felt like he was God’s answer to my prayer - a Catholic man who would honor me and care for me when other men wouldn’t. God KNEW how much I had been struggling, how hurt and broken I felt from previous relationships. It felt so clear that God sent me this man - this man who loved Him as much as I did, to be that man I truly needed.
It felt so clear that God sent me this man - this man who loved Him as much as I did, to be that man I truly needed.
Unfortunately, that turned out to not be the case. Despite my very clear articulation of expectations and needs, John took advantage of the situation. Despite my attempts to stop what was happening, or slow down and talk about what was going on, he pushed. In a time that I was incredibly emotionally vulnerable and needed him to be a good person in my life, he sexually assaulted me.
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It took me a long time to come up with the words for what happened. It wasn’t violent the way people think when they think of sexual assault. There was a part of me that wanted him. There was an even bigger part of me that wanted him to be a person I could trust. Everyone that I met in the parish seemed to enjoy his company. Since this event, I’ve heard him described as a “thoughtful friend” and other people sing his praises and talk about how much they love him. I’ve seen him go out of his way to help others. I’ve seen him be a leader of the church and a man of God.
I still said stop. I still put distance between us and told him I wanted him to authentically pursue me (it wasn’t quite as eloquent as that at the time, but I did get the point across). He still didn’t do any of those things. He wasn’t thoughtful with me. He didn’t treat me, or my wishes with respect. He didn’t honor me as a daughter of Christ and a fellow human being. He took things too far. He sexually assaulted me, and I’ve had a hard time not feeling betrayed by God because of it.
You have to remember, I thought that this man was God’s gift to me. I thought that since I had decided to be honest and open and go after what I REALLY wanted, which was a respectful relationship grounded in Christ, where we shared values and intentions and were working towards something solid. God was giving me that man to start that journey with.
I had been so vulnerable to God with my petitions. God, send me a good man that I can love. A man who upholds me and draws me closer to you. A man who is clear and honest with his intentions and pursues a holy relationship with me.
I thought that because John was Catholic, because he was so involved in his faith that he would be a man I could trust. I trusted the catholic-ness of him would keep me safe. I trusted that God would answer my prayers. I also trusted myself. That if I put myself out into the world as honest and open about what I wanted and needed then God would help me along the way, When I was wrong about this specific instance - when I found my trust seemingly misplaced - I disassociated myself from John best I could, but I also felt that my relationship with God was damaged.
I trusted the catholic-ness of him would keep me safe.
This wasn’t God betraying me. What happened isn’t God’s fault. God is the God of Love, and what happened that night wasn’t love. We as Catholics are called to respect life, and sexual violence is a clear violation of that. These are acts of using people, not of honoring them or lifting them up, and therefore not Catholic in the slightest.
(The World Health Organization, in its 2002 World Report on Violence and Health, defines sexual violence as: "any sexual act, attempt to obtain a sexual act, unwanted sexual comments or advances, or acts to traffic, or otherwise directed, against a person's sexuality using coercion, by any person regardless of their relationship to the victim, in any setting, including but not limited to home and work.")
God does answer prayers, but He was not answering my prayers with that man. Someday, God will answer my prayers. In God’s time, I will receive what I need to become closer to Him, whatever that is. In the book of Job, God tests Job to see if he truly is faithful, if Job truly does follow Him. No matter what Job lost, no matter how many times he felt that God was not with him, he did not lose faith and trust in God. That is what faith is! That even when it feels like all evidence is pointing away, we believe in a God who loves us.
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When I decided to complete Confirmation I made the decision to love and follow God along this path no matter where He might lead me. No matter how hard it became, no matter how far away from Him I felt. Yes, this was a horrible thing that happened to me. No, God did not choose this for me. However, this is a cross that I have to bear and I cannot let it pull me away from God, just as Job did not let his trials pull him away from God. This is where the devil lies. He lies in our tragedies - when we want to retreat. He feeds these feelings of hurt and betrayal and hate so that we turn away from our Savior. I refuse to let that happen to me.
The Devil... lies in our tragedies - when we want to retreat. He feeds these feelings of hurt and betrayal and hate so that we turn away from our Savior. I refuse to let that happen to me.
Part of that is reconciling the sad fact that a man of God is not always a godly man. That was difficult for me, and I held a lot of resentment about it. Yet, ultimately, we are a church of sinners. God is perfect, the people who follow Him are not. Most of us (definitely me) are far from it. John, in this instance, was far from it. I can’t judge him, but I can judge his actions in that moment. God tells us to turn the other cheek. He tells us to forgive - seventy times seven times. He tells us to forgive as we would like to be forgiven.
I have sinned plenty myself, and I want God to forgive me for my sins. But I am not sure I will ever be able to fully forgive John for how he treated me. I’m not there yet, anyway. However, I try to pray for him. I pray that he receives Christ’s healing love. I pray that God makes him holy, and I pray that he does not ever treat another woman the way he treated me. I pray that I can forgive him, and find peace with what happened. I no longer am in contact with John, which makes it easier. I try my hardest to remember that he was a sinner, same as I. Broken in different ways, with his own cross to bear. I hope that he has become a good man, who honors the women he encounters.
I still feel a little broken about it. I don’t think that feeling is unconquerable. It definitely isn’t terminal. I believe (I hope) that this story won’t hurt me one day. That I can talk about it as a time in my life that eventually led me closer to God. That I can discuss it with grace and understanding. I’m not quite there yet. I don’t automatically think that Catholic men are upstanding men anymore. I still feel a little resentment towards John. I still find myself becoming panicked when my ‘no’ isn’t being heard. I also - to be completely honest - still feel a little mistrust in God. I don’t pray to God as much about sending me a man to love. I mainly pray for healing. God, I come to you broken. Please fill me with your love, find all my cracks and crevices in my soul and fill me with your light and love so that I might be light and love to others. Please take my brokenness and make me whole so that I may be filled with You.
Which, blessedly, is probably what I needed all along.
I am not saying what happened to me is right or a good thing - it is very very wrong, and a tragedy for everyone in a similar or worse situation than me. I wouldn’t wish this cross on anyone. Sexual violence is not of God, not in the slightest and I pray that God will fill people in our society with love instead of hate. I pray that those who are victims of these acts of violence will have justice and healing. I pray that the perpetrators will come to confess and repent their actions. I am not saying that this event is a blessing in disguise, nor am I defending the man in my story. I am saying that I am not letting this event define me, and I am not letting it define my relationship with God. This is my cross, this is my burden, and I have chosen to lift it up to Him.
This author would like to remain anonymous.
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.
It happened.
We were pregnant.
That life had arrived.
And almost before the sticks dried, death followed. This baby wouldn’t be curls and kisses – he or she left me in the clumps of tissue my body expelled along with her life.
My mind was numb but my body was in torment. My husband didn’t know how to help me, and in trying to silence his own grief to shoulder mine, never let himself feel the loss. I was blinded by my own feelings of failure as a woman, wife, and mother, and my overwhelming, visceral pain when I let my brain even drift into the vicinity of the miscarriage. We were theology and sociology nerds who had thrown ourselves into marriage prep with Hermione-like abandon, and on an academic level knew that miscarriage was a distinct – even likely – possibility over the course of our life together. But we weren’t prepared for what that practically meant for our marriage, and that almost destroyed us.
we weren’t prepared for what that practically meant for our marriage, and that almost destroyed us.
We aren’t alone in that. In addition to earlier studies finding that women experiencing a miscarriage suffered increased instances of anxiety and depression, a 2010 study by Katherine Gold, M.D., M.S.W., M.S., research found that women who experienced miscarriages had a significantly greater hazard of their relationship ending, compared with women whose pregnancies ended in live births.
This is an alarming fact, particularly when up to 20 percent of all women who know they are pregnant face a pregnancy loss before 20 weeks. How, as Catholics, can we prepare engaged couples for the reality that in their attempts to be open to life, they may also be forced to embrace death? And for those of us who already know that bitter truth, what can we do to bring our marriages back from the brink?
A few things helped my husband and I, and I wish someone had told us about them before we needed it.
1. Talk to each other.
This seems obvious, but in the murky days following a loss, it’s easy to sink into silence. Neither of you want to bring up painful memories to the other person, or it feels like if you just don’t say anything, maybe the pain will go away on its own. It won’t. It only festers in the darkness. You may hold it together and limp along for a time, but eventually something will touch the wound. The grief and anger you’ve held back will erupt, and suddenly a fight that started over dirty laundry will end in you packing a bag.
2. Talk to a licensed therapist.
Priests are amazing human beings, and by all means, let your pastor know what’s going on and how he can pray for you. Pastoral care is important, and he may be able to point you towards resources in your parish for grieving parents. But guiding you and your spouse through miscarriage recovery is a job for a mental health professional. It’s almost guaranteed that your response to loss will have revealed other areas in your marriage that could use some help.
3. Commemorate the loss.
Talking about our child is still tender. But we keep taking deep breaths and naming our whole family in our prayers, and we’re planning a small remembrance token. Losing a child doesn’t get easier, but talking does. And the more you’re able to open to your spouse, the better you know how to support each other going forward.
4. Prepare for the possibility.
For couples still preparing for marriage, you’re probably neck-deep in your diocese’s marriage prep requirements. In your discussions about fertility and family planning, make sure you also bring up the possibility of miscarriage and still-birth. Nobody wants to think about these things, but beginning the conversation proactively can help you take the steps you need to help your marriage if heartache comes to your door.
The first anniversary of our loss is coming up soon, and we haven’t conceived since. This may be the only child we have the privilege to parent, and how do you parent someone who’s already a saint? Being open to life doesn’t guarantee any of us a right to a living child as some kind of Heavenly reward. It means just that – being open, and accepting what comes. For us that’s been loss. But by the grace of God, the help of a professional, and likely the prayers of our child in Heaven, our marriage doesn’t have to be collateral damage.
The author of this post would like to remain anonymous.
Our society is very concerned with productivity and efficiency. As with most social phenomena, there are a variety of factors that contributed to this. One factor that I find fascinating, however, is the so-called “Protestant work ethic”.
I had never even heard of the Protestant work ethic – although it’s got a whole Wikipedia page unto itself – until senior year of college in my Intro to Sociology course (yes, it was a class of freshman + me). Sociologist Max Weber (1864-1920) wrote an entire book called The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, in which he claims that Protestant (especially Calvinist) theology, laid the foundation for capitalism. It’s a very fascinating argument, but I can’t do it justice here. The overall (oversimplified) argument is that, in some Protestant circles, there has historically been a significant emphasis placed on hard work and industry as a sign of one’s "election by God."
Hence, the emergence of capitalism.
I suppose it’s no surprise, then, that American Christianity has elevated “industry” to a virtue. Think I’m exaggerating? I was shocked to discover recently that sloth (the deadly sin, not the animal) is NOT the same as laziness.
Sloth, or acedia, is more accurately defined as spiritual carelessness or apathy. That might seem like splitting hairs, but it’s very different. Dorothy Sayers described acedia as: “A sin that believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and remains alive because there is nothing for which it will die.”
Sloth is... A sin that believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and remains alive because there is nothing for which it will die.
Laziness can be a manifestation of sloth, to be sure, but so can busyness. Indeed, I think we moderns more often manifest acedia in busyness. We are constantly distracting ourselves from things that really matter, either because we don’t care, or we’re afraid to care. The end result? We never address what is actually important.
Now, there are two things I want to clarify before I continue:
- Hard work is good. It is good to put in a full day’s work, and doing your work with intentionality and with love is a beautiful way to glorify God. So whatever I say after this point, I’m not telling you to be lazy.
- My point here is NOT to demonize Protestantism or Protestants. Not at all. Some of my dearest friends are Protestants, and I think there is a lot that Catholics can learn from our brothers and sisters in other denominations.
Now, it would be easy to blame today’s fast-paced world, the constant stimulation that social media offers, and consumerism (to name just a few) for our obsession with busyness. Yet Blaise Pascal, writing in the 1600s, penned this maxim: “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” So it would seem we’ve been struggling with busyness for a lot longer than the Internet has been around.
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So what is there to do?
If you’re like me, there are times when you just don’t know how to escape the busyness. Your brain is so used to being “on” that it doesn’t know how to turn off anymore.
Your brain is so used to being “on” that it doesn’t know how to turn off anymore.
I’d like to suggest that the answer – or at least, a very solid start – can be found by looking to Mary. Specifically, look to Mary by way of the Rosary.
Praying the Rosary forces us to take a good twenty minutes and slow down. It forces us, frankly, to be inefficient. Twenty minutes saying the same things over and over again. Twenty minutes essentially doing… nothing.
But I think that’s exactly why it’s the remedy – the therapy, if you will – that we all need. Especially in today’s world of constant activity.
Because the Rosary is not about activity. The Rosary is about relationship. Relationship with Mary, but above all relationship with God. Speaking for myself, I don’t know how to slow down, so Mary teaches me. She meets me halfway, gives me something to do while I lift my soul to God in prayer. Say this prayer, touch that bead. Say this prayer, touch that bead. All the while, my mind wanders. Sometimes I’m thinking of the people that I desperately want her to pray for. Sometimes I’m meditating on the current mystery. Sometimes I’m focusing on the words of the prayer. And sometimes, yeah, I get distracted.
Efficiency is not a virtue.
Through it all, slowly, I am learning to be still. I have learned that, even in prayer, I don’t always have to be chattering. God wants to hear from me, but He also wants to be with me, and spending time in prayer just being with God is not a waste. It may be inefficient, but efficiency is not a virtue. You know who is efficient? Satan. Satan is constantly measuring, constantly finding fault, constantly weighing costs and cutting his losses. God is not efficient. Not in the least. He loves superabundantly, overflowing with endless mercy for us.
♦♦♦
So why is this a feminist topic? Benedict XVI (Cardinal Ratzinger at the time) said this:
“Activism, the will to be ‘productive’, ‘relevant’, come what may, is the constant temptation of the man, even of the male religious. And this is precisely the basic trend in the ecclesiologies… that present the Church as a ‘People of God’ committed to action, busily engaged in translating the Gospel into an action program with social, political and cultural objectives. But it is no accident if the word ‘Church’ is of feminine gender. In her, in fact, lives the mystery of motherhood, of gratitude, of contemplation, of beauty, of values in short that appear useless in the eyes of the profane world…”
He never says that women are immune to what he calls “activism”. Nor does he say that activity and productivity are innately wrong. What he does say is that we must not reduce the Church to a social activist club. Yes, Christians are called to serve and love our neighbors, but if we lose sight of the reason why, we are not Christians anymore. Ratzinger sees the feminine genius as an integral part of the identity of the Church, without which the Church would cease to be.
He continues:
“Mary is ‘figure’, ‘image’ and ‘model’ of the Church. Beholding her the Church is shielded against the aforementioned masculinized model that views her as an instrument for a program of social-political action. In Mary, as figure and archetype, the Church again finds her own visage as Mother and cannot degenerate into the complexity of a party, an organization or a pressure group in the service of human interests, even the noblest. If Mary no longer finds a place in many theologies and ecclesiologies, the reason is obvious: they have reduced faith to an abstraction. And an abstraction does not need a Mother…
“With her destiny, which is at one and the same time that of Virgin and of Mother, Mary continues to project a light upon that which the Creator intended for women in every age, ours included, or, better said, perhaps precisely in our time, in which - as we know - the very essence of femininity is threatened. Through her virginity and her motherhood, the mystery of woman receives a very lofty destiny from which she cannot be torn away. Mary undauntedly proclaims the Magnificat, but she is also the one who renders silence and seclusion fruitful. She is the one who does not fear to stand under the Cross, who is present at the birth of the Church. But she is also the one who, as the evangelist emphasizes more than once, ‘keeps and ponders in her heart’ that which transpires around her. As a creature of courage and of obedience she was and is still an example to which every Christian - man and woman - can and should look.”
From Mary, the Church and all of her members learn how to live in relationship, how to focus on the whole individual, how to love with a profound, personal, and particular love. Our faith is ultimately not about doing things at all, no matter how beautiful, true, or good. Our faith is about love, and Mary knows how to love. In a way, she taught Jesus how to love. She loves to ponder in her heart the mysteries of her Son’s life, and she loves when we join her.
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. As a result, many women are out of touch with the magnificent way their bodies function, and are unaware of how they have been influenced negatively and have absorbed internal messages that lead to body shaming, body image distortion, eating disorders, and so on. Instead of seeking a deep, abiding spiritual self-possession and acceptance of our embodied selves, we focus on the impact of cultural expectations that define external beauty, leading women to live out the very painful statistic that 91% of women dislike their bodies.
When we consider the overwhelming numbers of women who are literally “not at home” in their own bodies, and do not like what they see in their mirrors each day, we have nothing short of a spiritual crisis in womanhood. It is spiritual because, we know that we cannot separate our bodies from ourselves. As John Paul II teaches us in his Theology of the Body, the dignity of the body is the outward expression of the Divine Presence within us. He says:
“ Man whom God created male and female, bears the divine image
imprinted on his body ‘from the beginning.’ Man and woman constitute
two different ways the human ‘being a body’ in the unity of that image.”
When we reject our bodies, we do violence to our souls. And in this ‘fullness of time’ we women need to make peace with and in our own bodies.
When we reject our bodies, we do violence to our souls.
Through this forum, I will be exploring how we can do just that, drawing from the deep well of wisdom and truth that flows from our Catholic faith, Theology of the Body, Personalism and Catholic feminism. This is a journey of healing for us all. The struggle is real, but it is worth it because WE are worth it!
“The Human Body includes right from the beginning…
"the capacity of expressing love, that love in which
the person becomes a gift – and by means of this gift –
fulfills the meaning of meaning of his being and existence.’ “
♦♦♦
Journal Reflection:
If you were to stop and listen to YOUR body, what would it tell you?
The other day, I started another rant while my husband listened. (It’s ok. He’s used it.) As with most of my rants, this one fell under the broad category of “why can’t everyone live their lives as I think they should.” And, as with most of my rants, he responded to this one with an amused smile.
This particular rant, however, took me in a direction I didn’t expect.
It started out as a complaint about the pressure that some Catholic women feel to conform to some sort of imagined “ideal” of domesticity.
Why do women feel that they must good homemakers to be good wives?
Why is all of the pressure on women to be the nurturers?
Doesn’t this ideal overlook the truth that not all women are good at cooking and cleaning? What about men? Shouldn’t they help out with the domestic duties?
On and on I went until I unveiled my secret weapon: Proverbs 31. (Let’s pause here and agree not to talk about the fact that I used the Bible as a weapon…)
“I get so frustrated by women who try to become ‘Proverbs 31’ women. I mean, is anyone really like that? This ideal is just setting women up to fail! And what women with jobs? Listen to this!”
And then I read aloud:
Who can find a woman of worth?
Far beyond jewels is her value.Her husband trusts her judgment;
he does not lack income.
She brings him profit, not loss, all the days of her life.
She seeks out wool and flax
and weaves with skillful hands.
Like a merchant fleet, she secures her provisions from afar.
She rises while it is still night,
and distributes food to her household…
Before I could continue on my rant to explain how unrealistic this ideal is, I heard my 10 year old son call out three words that stopped me in my tracks:
“Sounds like mom!”
Huh. Now I had to rethink everything.
Did that describe me? I mean, not the wool and flax part (I don’t own a sewing machine and can barely sew on a button), but the other stuff?
I started to go through it again with new eyes.
Don’t I try to bring profit to the family and to act with strength?
Don’t I work into the night? (I mean, I’m usually in my pajamas by 8, but still.)
Don’t I keep my family clothed? After all, they’d all be wearing uniforms that were too small, if not for me!
Don’t I aim to speak kindly to my children?
Don’t I keep our house (mostly) organized?
And then, to make matters more complicated, a friend pointed out how many of the qualities in Proverbs 31 describe entrepreneurial women, women who buy and sell and produce and who are active participants in the economy.
Slowly, I realized that there are two possible conclusions here: either Proverbs 31 is prescriptive (as I had assumed) and describes an unattainable “ideal” that limits women to the role of homemaker, or it is descriptive and describes the basic ways that women care for their families, both domestically and professionally.
I wonder if the shift in my thinking really had more to do with shift in perspective; I suspect that my initial, somewhat hostile, response to Proverbs 31 had less to do with what it says than with what I assumed it says, based on how others respond to it and use it to justify their own perspectives on womanhood.
My son’s off-hand comment that day was a gift - because it forced me to step outside of my assumptions, to read something I thought I knew with fresh eyes.
I think part of the difficulty that comes with identifying and understanding what it means to be a Catholic women is that so often we believe what others tell us the Church teaches about femininity without stopping to actually read the documents and to talk with other women openly to see if those assumptions are true.
so often we believe what others tell us the Church teaches about femininity without stopping to actually read the documents and to talk with other women openly to see if those assumptions are true.
I also wonder if secular feminism has conditioned us to view discussions of femininity as prescriptive -- this is what women should be like -- instead of descriptive -- this is what women are, or sometimes can be like.
I don’t think anyone likes being told what to do -- I know I don’t -- but I suspect that women would have a much different experience of understanding what it means to be a woman if we simply opened ourselves up to a different way of understanding.
At least now I know, maybe the Proverbs 31 woman isn’t so bad, after all.
I’m told, as a housewife and stay-at-home mom, the contribution I make to our family is invaluable and irreplaceable.
I’m told, as a housewife and stay-at-home mom, the market value of my in-home services (accountant, chauffeur, tutor, housekeeper, nurse, personal shopper, general maintenance, etc.) is incalculable.
Recently, I’ve also been told, as a housewife and stay-at-home mom, I shouldn’t speak on politics and should just post photos of my cute babies on Facebook instead.
Suffragette cartoons capture the predicament of many housewives and stay-at-home moms today.How can a woman be so overwhelmingly qualified to manage a household and form the hearts of our next generation, and yet, simultaneously, disqualified from holding an informed political opinion?
Why am I uniquely entrusted to manage my children’s diverse and complicated healthcare needs, and yet silenced, when I talk about how our country could improve healthcare affordability and accessibility?
Why am I empowered to be the primary parent in my children’s education, and yet also informed that these issues, on a national scale, are more complicated than I could possibly begin to understand?
If intelligence, capability, and experience are not the source for why a housewife should avoid politics, perhaps it’s a concern of etiquette.
Political speak just doesn’t look good on a woman. (Mudslinging, and such, could stain your tunic.)
Thankfully, Pope Saint John Paul II did not limit a woman’s role in politics to silent observer. Moreover, he taught that political advocacy is an important role for all people.
St. JPII’s apostolic exhortation, “Christifideles Laici,” explores “the growing need for participation regarding women… not only in areas of family and academic life, but also in cultural, economic, social and political areas.”
Should women only speak on political issues of a family nature? What does that even mean? How is every issue not a family issue? Why would a person’s ability to articulate an informed political opinion on any topic be limited by gender? (To that point, it certainly has not excluded men from speaking on women’s healthcare – arguably, nor should it.)
No matter the issue – education, healthcare, criminal justice, taxes, equality, international relations – these are not men’s or women’s issues. These are people issues, and it only makes sense to involve all people.
Some might call women to focus single-mindedly on nursing babies and making dinner, on the needs of her family. But political dialogue is not a distraction from the roles and responsibility of a wife or mother; it is an integral part of our calling as laity, men and women alike:
"The lay faithful are never to relinquish their participation in public life, that is, in the many different economic, social, legislative, administrative and cultural areas, which are intended to promote organically and institutionally the common good." – Christifideles Laici
If you’re ready to participate in politics, as part of our lay calling in the Church, but are unsure where to begin, Pope Saint John Paul II included a specific exhortation in “Christifideles Laici,” asking us advocate for fundamental life issues as defined by the Second Vatican Council:
“All offences against life itself, such as every kind of murder, genocide, abortion, euthanasia and willful suicide; all violations of the integrity of the human person, such as mutilation, physical and mental torture, undue psychological pressures; all offences against human dignity, such as subhuman living conditions, arbitrary imprisonment, deportation, slavery, prostitution, the selling of women and children, degrading working conditions where men are treated as mere tools for profit rather than free and responsible persons; all these and the like are certainly criminal: they poison human society; and they do more harm to those who practice them than those who suffer from the injury. Moreover, they are a supreme dishonor to the Creator.”
Whatever our state in laity, men or women, single or married, we are called to political action toward a culture of life ensuring justice for all.
This political involvement might be participation in a march or rally, emails and calls to your representatives, teaching our children about justice and politics, sharing personal research, social media dialogue, passing out flyers, joining a political organization, financial support for a politician or lobbying organization, or chatting with other parents at the bus stop. (Nota bene: political action does not replace the equal necessity of personal action in working toward a just society.)
To housewives and mothers, specifically: the same voice that calms our babies, instructs our children, and defends our families has an irreplaceable role in civic dialogue at every level, speaking not just for the good of our families, but the good of all. Our world needs your voice.
Photo Source: http://mentalfloss.com/article/52207/12-cruel-anti-suffragette-cartoons
I did not grow up praying the rosary.
For the first half of my life, my rosary hung on the wall, draped over the framed guardian angel prayer that was also never prayed.
By the time I got to high school, I tried to fumble my way through praying the rosary from a little blue pamphlet. My few failed attempts did not exactly foster a deep desire to pray the rosary.
The Creed at the beginning intimidated me, the Fatima prayer was totally foreign to me, I didn’t understand how to meditate on the mysteries, and quite frankly, I didn’t see the point.
When I entered college, I started hearing bits and pieces about “the power of praying the rosary.”
Though I still didn’t quite get the purpose, I tried praying it a little more - because if it had helped so many people, and so many Catholics did it, there must be something to it.
I still have ups and downs. I’ve felt peace fall upon me in the midst of intense anxiety after praying the rosary, and there are many more times I’ve fallen asleep gripping it tightly in my hand because I was too exhausted to actually pray. I’ve heaved out Hail Marys as I dragged my body along a path I was hiking. I’ve turned to the rosary turing times of distress.
Yet still, I struggle to pray it.
Despite learning about how the rosary has helped people, and even experiencing help in my own life through praying it, I still cringe internally whenever someone brings up praying a rosary.
My husband had the idea that we pray the rosary every night; I thought it was a little much. My rosary still sits mostly unused in my purse - on the off chance that I suddenly felt the urge to pray it.
Ladies, I suck at praying the rosary. I get distracted too easily, I don’t get how to meditate, I’m selfish about my time, and I’m a little spiritually lazy.
Then along came the chance to read Praying the Rosary like Never Before by Dr. Edward Sri. (Quick disclaimer: I received a copy of this book for free in exchange for my honest review).
The book’s title has some pretty big promises, and I am happy to report that Sri’s book lived up to them. This book is all about meeting people where they’re at when it comes to praying the rosary.
The first portion of the book explains why we pray the rosary and has some quick Marian apologetics. It is a blend of history, apologetics, and real-life applications. This was a solid start to an excellent book, but what really made me love this book was the second section.
The second section (and the bulk of the book) was focused on digging into the mysteries we’re supposed to meditate on. It started almost like a guided Ignatian meditation - drawing you into the moment. Sri then provides some key context for the mysteries regarding their place in culture, Scripture as a whole, and Christ's salvific plan. These beautiful chapters truly brought these mysteries to life.
The book is intelligently written - but in an approachable way. Sri provides some excellent analogies, and the advice given in the book to pray the rosary better is very realistic. The reflection questions at the end of each chapter challenge us to go deeper, and they would work well for both a personal meditation or a group setting.
My only criticism is the rosary graphic at the end of the book is of really poor quality, but rating this amazing book any lower for that would be ridiculous.
Though this book would obviously be best for a Catholic, I truly believe that any Christian could benefit from reading this book. Even if the Christian is adamantly against the rosary and believes that any devotion to Mary is idolatry, I think they would love the chapters of the mysteries (then they can go back to the beginning and understand the truth about the rosary and Marian devotion).
Honestly, if you are only going to read one book this year, it should be this one.
I’d love to say that this book completely changed my prayer life and I now pray all 20 mysteries every day. Not only would that be a lie, but it’d also be missing the point. This book isn’t about suddenly developing a JPII-esque devotion to the rosary; it is about praying the rosary better than you are now. And that’s what I’m doing, one decade at a time.
I, like many other twenty-four-year-old women this summer, devoted some hours to reading The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. As I read, I became interested in Atwood’s vision of how a power-hungry group could manipulate the Bible to support their oppressive regime. I was particularly troubled by the relationship between Commanders—men in authoritative positions—and their wives. Although their union did not look like a Christian marriage, the theonomic military dictatorship governing the Republic of Gilead insisted that this was the society that God had envisioned.
This claim raises an important question: what does a Christian marriage look like? Atwood appears to suggest that Christianity supports a society in which women are inferior to men, and slaves to their husbands. I want to address Atwood’s vision of Christian marriage, and grapple with one of the most troubling Bible verses for feminists, in which Paul instructs a wife to be subordinate or submissive to her husband.
So, let’s dive right in. In his letter to the Ephesians, St. Paul explicitly defines the role of wives: “Wives should be subordinate to their husbands as to the Lord” (Eph. 5:22, NABRE). Other translations of the Bible use the word “submissive.” Before we go on to look at his instruction to husbands, let’s first draw attention to what Paul did not say.
Paul did not say wives are inferior to men
Paul did not say that wives are inferior to their husbands.
Treating women as inferior to men is offensive to a woman’s dignity and is not in line with Catholic teaching. In his encyclical Familiaris Consortio: The Role of the Christian Family in the Modern World, St. John Paul the Great (Aka Pope John Paul II) explains,
In creating the human race “male and female,” God gives man and woman an equal personal dignity . . . God then manifests the dignity of women in the highest form possible, by assuming human flesh from the Virgin Mary, whom the Church honors as the Mother of God, calling her the new Eve and presenting her as the model of redeemed woman. The sensitive respect of Jesus towards the women that He called to His following and His friendship, His appearing on Easter morning to a woman before the other disciples, the mission entrusted to women to carry the good news of the Resurrection to the apostles—these are all signs that confirm the special esteem of the Lord Jesus for women.
The Lord did not create men and women to be in competition with one another over which sex is more powerful. The Catechism of the Catholic Church explains that man and woman were both made in the image and likeness of God, and both have equal dignity (paragraph 1700). This dynamic of equality between the sexes does not change upon entering the marriage covenant. In fact, it is explicitly mentioned in the nuptial blessing: “May her husband entrust his heart to her, so that, acknowledging her as his equal and his joint heir to the life of grace, he may show her due honor and cherish her always with the love that Christ has for his Church.”
Paul did not say that wives should be slaves to their husbands.
Being subordinate or submissive to your husband is not the same as being your husband’s
slave. St. Ambrose says this about as bluntly as one can as he implores the men of his time: “You are not her master, but her husband: she was not given to you to be your slave, but your wife. . . . Reciprocate her attentiveness to you and be grateful to her for her love.”
St. Paul instructs wives to be subordinate to their husbands as they are to the Lord. God has given us the free will to choose whether or not we wish to follow him. When I act virtuously, go to Mass, and pray, it is my choice to submit to what I know God wants for my life. So it is with my husband. I am not indentured to him, I choose to submit to what I know he wants for our marriage. Do I always agree? No. Is it sometimes scary to allow someone else to make important decisions that affect my life too? Yes. But I choose to submit out of love. Out of my own free will.
And, maybe this would be a completely irrational decision on my part if it weren’t for what St. Paul says next in Ephesians 5:25-28.
Paul did say: Husbands, Love your wives
Let’s not be incomplete. In grade school, I was taught that if I didn’t understand what a word or phrase meant, I should read the sentences above and below in order to get the context for what was written. How often do we fail to do this when quoting Scripture to back up a point? In his letter to the Ephesians, St. Paul does not leave the husbands hanging. He has instructions for them, too:
Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church . . . So [also] husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself.
How does a husband love? In his book Love and Responsibility, John Paul the Great said that man’s (here he is speaking of “mankind” generally) ability to love “depends on his willingness consciously to seek a good together with others, and to subordinate himself to that good for the sake of others, or to others for the sake of that good.” To love someone is to subordinate oneself to another’s good.
So wives are to subordinate themselves to their husbands. And husbands are to love their wives, which means they are to subordinate themselves to their wives’ good. So, when I submit to what my husband wants for our marriage, I am submitting to his submission for my own good. I’m okay with that.
It is also important to note the differences between the active and passive use of the word subordinate. St. John Paul the Great writes that when two people are pursuing the same common good, not only does this make them equals, it “precludes the possibility that one of them might be subordinated to the other.” Doesn’t this conflict directly with what St. Paul instructed for wives? No, because St. Paul instructs wives to choose to subordinate themselves to their husbands. This gets back to the point above that wives are not slaves to their husbands. Their subordination is a free choice. The husband should not do anything to the wife that would cause her to “be subordinated.”
But don’t take my word for it, listen to St. John Chrysostom:
You want your wife to obey you as the Church obeys Christ? Then you must care for her as much as Christ cares for the Church. Should it be necessary to die for her, to be cut into a thousand pieces, to bear any sort of suffering, you should not say no.
“Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church.” What did Christ do for the church again? He freely gave himself over to suffer and die on the cross for our sake. Husbands, following Christ’s example, are to die to themselves for the sake of their wives.
In conclusion, St. Paul asks a lot of wives when he instructs them to be submissive to their husbands. But marriage is not a one-way street. In accepting their wives’ submission, husbands are to sacrifice everything for the benefit of their wives. Both willingly give up a part of themselves for the benefit of the other, in the efforts to seek a greater good together—eternal life in heaven.
A diagnosis of polycystic ovarian syndrome at the age of 14 inspired one suggestion for treatment: the birth control pill. Unaware of better alternatives, my mom and I agreed to try it, and I walked out of my OB/GYN’s office with a prescription in hand.
What followed were months of suffering side effects: in short, I became a moody monster. Severe irritability, prolonged sadness, and a general mean-ness replaced my typically joyful disposition. School – still one of my favorite things – ceased to excite me and I found less and less enjoyment in spending time with friends.
It eventually occurred to my mom that the Pill might be responsible for these odd changes. She was right – I stopped taking the Pill and returned to my normal self.
It eventually occurred to my mom that the Pill might be responsible for these odd changes
Fast forward to the age of 20, when I decided to pursue treatment for PCOS, again. Before visiting the OB/GYN, I researched on my own. I was hesitant to go on the Pill a second time, but realized that my young age (i.e. being an angsty high schooler) may have exacerbated its effect on me.
Further research turned my hesitation into resolution. I said no to the Pill definitively after learning more about its side effects and risks: cervical cancer with long-term use, heart attack, depression, stroke in women who experience migraines, and blood clots.
Determined to find another treatment, I walked into the OB/GYN’s office and told her that I wanted to treat my PCOS; this time, without the Pill. I shared what my research revealed and asked her about alternative treatments. She gave me a blank stare and the impression that she had little confidence in them. Shortly after that appointment, I left for a yearlong study abroad program and resolved to, once again, seek treatment without the Pill when I returned home.
♠♠♠
At the beginning of my senior year of college, I was at last introduced to Fertility Awareness Methods (FAMs) and NaPro Technology. I began charting my cycles with the Creighton Model under the guidance of a FertilityCare™ Practitioner. We saw that my charts reflected my diagnosis of PCOS, but we also saw much more. My practitioner knew when I experienced extreme stress, based solely on my charts; she was right every time. I witnessed how stress impacts a woman’s cycle, which became a wake-up call for me to improve my stress management. I adopted a low glycemic index diet and watched my cycle dramatically improve, becoming more regular than it had ever been.
Astounded, I resolved to continue with healthier eating habits. I then visited the only local NaPro OB/GYN, who read my charts and (finally!) honored my request to treat PCOS without the Pill. He began by changing my diet and adding over-the-counter supplements to my daily routine. And they worked, without artificial hormones and the risk of dangerous side effects. My graduate student budget left me unable to keep seeing my out-of-network NaPro physician, but I continued working with my FertilityCare™ practitioner and monitoring the effectiveness of this treatment.
I finished graduate school, moved, and began the process of finding a new OB/GYN. At my first appointment, I shared my story of PCOS and the Pill (like “The Princess and the Pea,” except not at all), relieved when he truly heard me and ordered lab work to find the best course of action. We decided on a prescription of Metformin and continuing with a low glycemic index diet. He emphasized the importance of a regular exercise routine, focused on cardio. And so, I began running, which I never thought I would do. He did end up suggesting the Pill to manage a symptom of PCOS, but respected my “no” as this particular symptom does not pose a danger to my health. (His exact words were, “This isn’t the hill I want to die on.” Which is a good thing, because I am willing to die on this hill.) As it turns out, this combination of Metformin, a healthy diet, and exercise does the trick in managing my PCOS.
♠♠♠
Saying no to the Pill began a process of learning to advocate for myself (even in front of doctors), take ownership of my health, practice self-discipline in diet and exercise, and appreciate the uniqueness of the female body. Learning more about woman’s physical singularity ignited a desire to dive into what it means, holistically, to be a woman. Thus began my interest in feminism.
Learning more about woman’s physical singularity ignited a desire to dive into what it means, holistically, to be a woman.
Coincidentally (or not), I took a course on Theology of the Body while I began charting with the Creighton Model. This was especially appropriate given that the Creighton Model is the beautiful product of 32 years of research by the Pope Paul VI Institute for the Study of Human Reproduction. (We can save my story of why Pope Paul VI is one of my heroes for a later time.)
The unfortunate symptoms of PCOS (e.g. weight gain, acne, infertility, and others) can attack your self-esteem as a woman – at least, they did in my case. Even with a good diet and regular exercise routine, I fight an ongoing battle to maintain a healthy weight and self-image. Though I am unmarried and do not yet know whether I will experience infertility, worry lurks in the back of my mind. The symptoms of my PCOS often made – and sometimes still make – me feel less feminine, but pursuing treatment other than the Pill gave me a greater appreciation for what my body can do. Resorting to the Pill would have simply put a band-aid on my condition and robbed me of the opportunity to witness my body combatting PCOS, with a little help from diet, exercise, and regulating blood sugar (thank you, Metformin).
♠♠♠
While my body battled PCOS, my spirit battled the evil voice telling me I am less feminine because of my condition.
While my body battled PCOS, my spirit battled the evil voice telling me I am less feminine because of my condition. Taking PCOS head-on meant confronting the symptoms that threatened my femininity and, in time, lead to understanding that God intentionally created me as a woman and no symptom or medical condition can take that away.
I still struggle with my weight and may one day bear the cross of infertility. At the same time, I know that these things do not make me less of a woman and that my femininity manifests itself in countless ways, such as how I am capable of receiving and taking care of others. Something about being a woman allows me to welcome each friend I love and student I work with, discerning which needs of theirs I can fill.
The newly ignited, now insatiable, desire to learn more about what it means to be a woman led me to a deeper understanding of the feminine soul and a greater appreciation for God creating me as a woman. Saying no to the Pill - and finally coming to terms with my female body - that’s what began the journey that brought me here.
Is cheap sex making marriage obsolete? A popular New York Post article sure thinks so. (Incidentally, so does my late grandmother, who took every opportunity to counsel, re: "giving the milk away for free.")
The New York Post is right on one point: marriage rates are decreasing. But slut-shaming, with a side of porn and masturbation, isn’t the primary source of this decline.
Do we really believe, as a society, for the past 241 years of American history, men simply followed their phallus into lifelong marriage in exchange for an exclusive, all-access pass to unlimited sex?
I’d expect this kind of reasoning from Hugh Hefner or James Bond. Surprisingly, it’s quite prevalent in Christian dating advice books. The best cure for sexual desire before marriage? Simply get married!
As a married woman, please, hear me out: this is terrible, terrible advice.
If you’ve ever had the flu, a late night at work followed by an early morning back at work, a newborn, any kind of surgery, visiting in-laws, a high-risk pregnancy, or an episode of mental illness – or if you love someone who’s experienced any of this – then you’re already aware that, sometimes, the most loving gesture in a marriage is to keep your pants on.
Despite 241 years of American sexual folklore, marriage is not actually a sex free-for-all.
Despite 241 years of American sexual folklore, marriage is not actually a sex free-for-all.
While there’s unmistakably a strange obsession-bordering-addiction with consequence-free sex in our country, it’s too simplistic to blame America’s declining marriage rates solely on the increased acceptance of extramarital sex, porn, and masturbation.
Looking further into the issue, why would men and women be less inclined to marry in America in 2017?
It could be an increased sense of financial burden or responsibility. Most major cities require two incomes to afford decent housing. Student debt is at an all-time high. With unstable employee family policies in our country, the birth of children brings a complication to careers and financial stability that many couples determine not worth the risk.
Rather than judge the childless or unmarried for their financial anxiety, perhaps, we could introspect, as a country, to evaluate how our housing costs, debt structures, and work policies contribute to an anti-family mindset among young Americans.
Another contributor to our declining marriage rate aligns with the downward trend of church affiliation and attendance in our country.
Secularization in American society has re-categorized marriage from a sacramental tradition to an optional sentimental gesture. If someone doesn’t give credence to the idea of “God as my witness,” then why would he or she pay $1,000 to rent a church, pianist, and priest, just to secure some irrelevant deity’s blessing on a loving relationship?
If someone doesn’t give credence to the idea of “God as my witness,” then why would he or she pay $1,000 to rent a church, pianist, and priest, just to secure some irrelevant deity’s blessing on a loving relationship?
Rather than condemn the heathen youth of America for their godless and hell-bent aversion to marriage, perhaps we could consider why the religious institution of matrimony doesn’t seem to draw them in.
How do our churches currently invest in marriage, what we claim to be the most fundamental building block of society?
What would it look like if we prioritized the enrichment of marriage and family life with the same passion and funding that goes into our building and capital campaigns? (I picture affordable, high-quality marriage enrichment opportunities that include free childcare.)
What would it look like if we prioritized the enrichment of marriage and family life with the same passion and funding that goes into our building and capital campaigns?
In the same way that some mistakenly conclude marriage to be an outdated institution for unrestricted sex, we have also failed to uphold the goodness of children, in the relational and formative opportunity they bring to family life.
We need simpler lives and expectations. In this area, millennials are leading the charge. Even as they embrace fewer possessions, less square feet for living, public transportation, community initiatives, and support of local family businesses, for some reason, the inclusion of marriage and family life in this ideology of simplicity and solidarity has not yet been realized.
Kids do not need a wardrobe bursting with branded outfits, personal themed bedrooms, laptops, cars, or even a college fund. It’s only in the past century that parenthood has become such an overwhelming financial consideration. Given the expectation, it’s not surprising that many opt to avoid it, and so, why not the marriage as well.
It’s easy to dismiss the underlying legitimate reasons that the marriage rate in our country is declining when we demonize men as untame-able sexual beasts and women as shameless harlots. Once we push past these sexual caricatures to address the actual issues involved, dialogue can begin on how to stabilize the complicated and important institution of marriage in America.