The End of an Era

Tuesday, August 30, 2022

The past few months have been a roller coaster—more ups and downs than I’ve had in a whole year before this, it seems. Well, except for my spiritual direction (SD) sessions with Father J. in the early part of this year. I don’t think anything I experienced in the last decade or so could have topped that.

Boy. I still pity that poor man for what he went through with me. When we started SD, I’d foolishly thought it would be a great idea to take parallel, weekly counseling sessions with George, a Christian therapist. Since the onset of my menopause, with all the hormonal changes, some old, nearly forgotten hurts had drifted to the surface that I thought I’d dealt with long ago. So why not add a little counseling? Couldn’t hurt.

Little did I know that this would stir the fires of a dormant volcano, a tar pit of age-old, still festering childhood wounds, chief among them the deep pain of feeling abandoned, rejected, unloved. After just a couple of months of counseling, George and I hit the mother load, and the volcano erupted.

If you’re unfamiliar with therapy, you need to know that this controlled “eruption” is actually a very positive thing; it’s what every therapist hopes to see. It’s the first step into a profound healing process that can feel nothing short of miraculous. But the way there is a rather rocky path.

You see, every one of us wears a suit of armor in our everyday life, in various levels of thickness. It’s what protects us from getting beaten down by the daily disappointments, frustrations, and failures we all encounter. When the volcano erupts, that armor is temporarily stripped away (sorry for the mixed metaphors), leaving you naked and raw. Everything will trigger you. Little hurts you’d shrug off under normal circumstances will cause great pain.

For me, a large share of that confusing and chaotic mix of love, anger, and pain was directed at father figures in my life—my own father whom I had experienced as distant and cold, my abusive “godfather,” a few bosses early on in my career who tried to exploit their status as my superiors, and finally God the Father Himself, for letting bad things happen to me when I was too young and weak to protect myself. (Check out the “About” page for more details.)

While I loved men—and in fact had more male than female friends at various points in my life—I was also deeply suspicious of their motives.

Unfortunately for Father J., our SD sessions brought this whirlwind of emotions right to his doorstep. He had encouraged me to go beyond mere talks about my prayer life and spiritual reading, but I doubt he knew what he was in for.

Neither did I.

George was safe because I only saw him once a week, online, and our relationship was an entirely professional one. In contrast, I saw Father J. every day, and we had much more complex ties. He was my priest, my confessor, a dear family friend—and, of course, he was THE FATHER, which made me project all my complicated feelings onto him.

Our monthly SD sessions became intensely personal. I loved him deeply but at the same time resented him, calling his actions and motives into question. At church and elsewhere, I would observe certain things and then confront him in SD. When he reacted “too nonchalantly” to the threat of pro-abortion revenge groups to storm Catholic churches on Mother’s Day or toward the homeless guy at church who was causing trouble, I accused him of being uncaring and not protecting his flock. When I thought he was being “too friendly” with other female parishioners, I accused him of violating his vows.

At some point, I realized that he was a stand-in for my father, for all the men I’d ever loved and hated, and for God Himself. It was an incredibly intense and crazy few months. I expected him at any moment to drop me as a spiritual directee, which for someone with abandonment issues would have only confirmed what they believe deep inside: that they’re unlovable and unwanted, and that everyone leaves them eventually.

But incredibly, Father J. hung onto me. No doubt with a lot of help from the Holy Spirit and sometimes by the skin of his teeth, but he never left. No matter what I threw at him, he took it all in stride. At some point, I realized that on top of all his other “roles,” he was also a Jesus proxy—sitting in that chair across from me, smiling gently, and loving me unconditionally.

And by doing this, he healed me.

I can never repay the debt I owe this wonderful man and priest. He will always have a special place in my heart.

Now Father J. is gone. I left him of my own volition, like a little child letting go of the hand of its dad, to walk with Jesus alone. We’re still in touch, but the emotional intensity has subsided.

Today marks another milestone: K. is returning home to Vermont, after spending almost two weeks with me in Steubenville, fixing up the new house, painting, tearing up old carpet, installing ceiling fans and lights and sinks and vanities. He has performed a miracle considering what the house looked like when we got here. Previously gray, depressing walls and ceilings now glow in Buttercup Yellow and Ultra White and Divine White (which is a lovely light beige) and Sea Salt Green.

We both cry as we hug good-bye. He tearfully thanks me that I let him have the old house. I’m not so sure I really did him a favor, with the insane property taxes in Vermont and the rising cost of upkeep, but I keep my mouth shut because he looks so happy.

It’s a sad farewell. We’re both keenly aware that this is the end of an era, and I don’t know when (or if) I will see him again. It feels weird to be so far away from him. Even after our separation and divorce, we were never more than 10, 15 miles apart and have stayed friends the whole time, even after he remarried. Even though we’d seen less of each other in the past year, I still always had the comforting awareness that he was nearby. Now I’ll have to face life alone.

Well, not entirely alone. This is where the rubber meets the road—where I’ll find out how much I’m really able to lean on Jesus. He’s the one who will truly never leave me, in this life or the next.