A little over a month ago, I lost my mom. I won’t lie—losing her has been the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. Some days, it feels like I’m moving through fog, trying not to collapse under the weight of it. Grief has a way of reshaping everything, including how we see our place in faith communities.
Recently, my priest returned from a month-long vacation. Before he left, he asked me to tell him my confirmation date when he came back. I told him I would pray about it—and I did. I prayed really hard. But tonight, the first time I saw him since he returned, he asked again. I told him I didn’t know, because honestly, I don’t want to be confirmed.
His insistence left me feeling frustrated, ashamed, and exhausted. The truth is, I was verbally attacked by members of OCIA leadership during dinner one evening. That moment has stayed with me and made me realize I don’t want to join the Catholic Church. I just want to sit in a pew and be present quietly, without anyone telling me where I belong. But that seems impossible—maybe because I’m not made for belonging, or for labels.
I’ve decided on my own to step down from teaching at the end of this session. I love being at the parish, but I need to protect myself. I’ve also been asked to go on a Catholic pilgrimage. It's paid for. It’s not the trip itself, but I don’t feel like I can go if I’m not Catholic. It feels wrong somehow—like I’d be out of place, and I’m not sure I have the faith to belong there anymore.
And while I know the Eucharist is central to the Catholic faith, I honestly don’t feel called to participate in that. Every time I’ve joined a church, I’ve eventually walked away. Right now, there’s no expectation for me to stay, and that’s the only space where I feel even a little bit of relief. But even that relief feels heavy sometimes.
Honestly, after what happened with OCIA leadership, I just don’t care anymore. I probably will walk away completely after this recent event.
I share this not because I have all the answers, but because I know I’m not alone in wrestling with faith, grief, and belonging—especially when the very leadership guiding the journey can make it feel unsafe. How do we honor others while honoring ourselves when the two feel at odds? How do we navigate our spiritual journeys when the communities we long for feel complicated, or even painful?
I don’t have the answers yet, but I hope that sharing my story might help someone else feel seen, or at least less alone.
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