Religion and Me (continued)

When I was thirteen, my family moved to the North Bay. Our new home was thirty minutes from town, and that first summer was interminable. When we got two kittens – my very first furry pets! – I had something to do with all my time. I loved those cats, and spent hours outside with them. Still, the days crept by.

My older sister and brother joined an evangelical church with a large youth group, and encouraged me to go, too. I balked, feeling too shy and awkward. But when our parents decided to give the church a try, they dragged me along.

In time, I loved being part of the youth group. I learned the new language of evangelicalism, and made close friends I would never have met otherwise. Youth group outings, including our annual choir tour, deepened both friendships and my understanding of faith.

That said, I did not dare voice my questions, which continued to proliferate; we were taught that doubts came from Satan. Nor did I admit I was depressed and bulimic. When, at age sixteen, I thought I might kill myself if I didn’t get help, I screwed up my courage and told my parents. My mother was horrified, and cried as she called me selfish and asked me how I could do such a thing to them. Later, Mom would say over and over that, if I had enough faith in God, my depression would magically disappear.

I struggled to have faith, and at times, believed I did have it. But I continued to suffer from a deep internal darkness that felt interminable. That darkness, and my disgusting habit of bulimia were inseparable, like a mythic being with two heads. Without years of therapy and medications, I would still be a the mercy of that beast today.

A charismatic new minister nudged out our beloved pastor, around this same time. He preached that God wanted men to be the head of their wives, and women to submit to men. He compared submitting to being under an umbrella when it rains. In the same way, he said, man is over woman so he can protect her from Satan’s barbs. I refused to submit to my boyfriend, to both his chagrin and the church’s. I knew I was smart and wanted to think for myself.

I also wondered about the inerrancy of the Bible. I knew the canon had been put together by men, who had left out a significant number of writings from the same era, some of which showed women being strong church leaders. It was my first real understanding of society’s patriarchal underbelly.

When, at eighteen, I drove to the church to meet with one of the church’s elders to talk about my questions, he said, “My wife used to be rebellious like you, but now she understands the importance of submitting to me. Here’s a book that helped her. If you’re sincerely about seeking the truth, God will show you we’re right.” Some of my friend’s parents told them not to associate with me anymore. I began to feel ostracized, and no longer enjoyed being part of the congregation.

Thankfully, I would soon be leaving for college, where I would begin to have a new understanding of spirituality.