Since I was raised a good little Catholic girl, I always gave something up for Lent. Usually candy, soda, chips…I was always a healthy eater–insert eye-roll and confession that I lived a whole year on cheese puffs and Tang. Although I moved away from the Catholic church, I love Jesus and have always identified with His praying, fasting, and meditating and wanted to offer something in return.
Now, to quote my friend Jen: Let me back up a minute. Whether it was the church, my family, or simply my own perception, I came to this conclusion as a child: Suffering is good, and the more you suffer the better of a person you are. Since Jesus suffered tremendously, my wee little girl mind believed that by suffering, I could earn favor with Jesus.
So my takeaways from a childhood of Catholicism: Suffering and guilt. When I was about Lily’s age (6), I used to kneel for hours in church on November 1, All Soul’s Day, praying for souls in purgatory and unbaptized babies in Limbo. Always an intuitive empath–though I didn’t know that until my 30’s when an honest-to-goodness definition for my particular neurosis emerged bringing validation and relief–this weighed on me tremendously. In my little kid mind, unless you left the confessional, did penance, and then dropped dead, you were probably going to go to purgatory for a couple hundred years until some good little girl prayed you out.
And what about people who had no family? What about the orphans? I hoped that God would make exceptions and use my excess prayers for them. When I think about this as an adult, as a mother, it makes me sad. I want to give my little girl self a hug and reassure her. My darling son is an empath too. He would agonize over souls in purgatory.
Back to Lent, see why my kids call me “Sidetrack Sally?” So, I share my feelings and interpretations about Lent with my own children not as a way to make them feel guilty or as if they need to suffer, but as a way of acknowledging Jesus’ suffering on our behalf. No pressure. Chloe is taking 18 credit hours and running 5 miles a day. I didn’t mention this to her: She’s all ready suffering enough. Peyton gave up computer games. Lily went back and forth and ultimately chose soda, but last night she climbed like a spider monkey onto the counter to finish Brad’s Coke, so we might need to revisit that.
I chose alcohol. I’m not an alcoholic. And for those of you who know me, I don’t drink excessively anymore. Yes, I know I had a drink in my hand in every Florida picture. Have you been to Key Largo without your kids? Cut me some slack. The point is: I really enjoy an adult beverage. I love a good glass of wine or a craft beer. One of our friends brews his own beer. It’s AMAZING. I’m looking forward to enjoying one in 30-some days. So, I thought this would be a good sacrifice as well as a liver cleanse.
If you’re still here, you probably need a beer. This post was rough and disjointed. Maybe I am an alcoholic. Maybe this is what withdrawal looks like. Go ahead. Have a drink. Call my girlfriend; we made a pact never to let the other drink alone. She’ll have a beer with you. She promised.
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