Part Three: Revolution When I was young, I used to pray for God to take away my identity, my mind, my ego, so I could be filled with something better. I was a good kid, pathologically sensitive to the feelings of others and my own wrongdoing, but I felt the cold breath of condemnation on my neck. I obsessively reasoned with myself. I knew that God could forgive any sin but only if I recognized it as such and repented of it. But then, there was the matter of my being queer. My church & the theology passed down through my parents taught me that though God could forgive me being gay, I could never accept or act upon that feeling without betraying Christ. And while other temptations were fleeting, the undeniable fact of my attraction could not be forsaken. I tried. I saw how other queer people I loved were treated and talked about. They were instantly othered. “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” Being told that wanting to love and be loved is worthy of hell doesn’t feel like love. I obsessively looked for answers. I read works by Christians who chose celibacy rather than accept or embrace their homosexuality. I found other, more radical Christians, who argued that scripture never condemned homosexuality at all. I didn’t want to lose my faith, my entire worldview. I tried desperately to reconcile the wonderful, happy, good queer people I met with what I was taught they deserved. But it wasn’t just the issue of being gay. Everything had been called into question for me. Did anyone deserve eternal torment? Did this justice make sense? Could I live by a faith that tore me apart? In the end, I couldn’t. I made the radical, terrifying, heretical, dangerous decision to try to love myself and others without condition- to trust that my heart wasn’t wicked and beyond cure. I resolved to keep the precious things I’d learned in my heart and release the rest. It didn’t happen all at once. My ideology changed fairly quickly but the twisted roots of self-loathing and fear are deeply engrained. I’m still digging them up. Still, to choose my own well-being and joy was freedom and power I’d never felt before. I didn’t have to face my demons on my knees, I could fight them myself.
Part Three: Revolution When I was young, I used to pray for God to take away my identity, my mind, my ego, so I could be filled with something better. I was a good kid, pathologically sensitive to the feelings of others and my own wrongdoing, but I felt the cold breath of condemnation on my neck. I obsessively reasoned with myself. I knew that God could forgive any sin but only if I recognized it as such and repented of it. But then, there was the matter of my being queer. My church & the theology passed down through my parents taught me that though God could forgive me being gay, I could never accept or act upon that feeling without betraying Christ. And while other temptations were fleeting, the undeniable fact of my attraction could not be forsaken. I tried. I saw how other queer people I loved were treated and talked about. They were instantly othered. “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” Being told that wanting to love and be loved is worthy of hell doesn’t feel like love. I obsessively looked for answers. I read works by Christians who chose celibacy rather than accept or embrace their homosexuality. I found other, more radical Christians, who argued that scripture never condemned homosexuality at all. I didn’t want to lose my faith, my entire worldview. I tried desperately to reconcile the wonderful, happy, good queer people I met with what I was taught they deserved. But it wasn’t just the issue of being gay. Everything had been called into question for me. Did anyone deserve eternal torment? Did this justice make sense? Could I live by a faith that tore me apart? In the end, I couldn’t. I made the radical, terrifying, heretical, dangerous decision to try to love myself and others without condition- to trust that my heart wasn’t wicked and beyond cure. I resolved to keep the precious things I’d learned in my heart and release the rest. It didn’t happen all at once. My ideology changed fairly quickly but the twisted roots of self-loathing and fear are deeply engrained. I’m still digging them up. Still, to choose my own well-being and joy was freedom and power I’d never felt before. I didn’t have to face my demons on my knees, I could fight them myself.
Part Three: Revolution When I was young, I used to pray for God to take away my identity, my mind, my ego, so I could be filled with something better. I was a good kid, pathologically sensitive to the feelings of others and my own wrongdoing, but I felt the cold breath of condemnation on my neck. I obsessively reasoned with myself. I knew that God could forgive any sin but only if I recognized it as such and repented of it. But then, there was the matter of my being queer. My church & the theology passed down through my parents taught me that though God could forgive me being gay, I could never accept or act upon that feeling without betraying Christ. And while other temptations were fleeting, the undeniable fact of my attraction could not be forsaken. I tried. I saw how other queer people I loved were treated and talked about. They were instantly othered. “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” Being told that wanting to love and be loved is worthy of hell doesn’t feel like love. I obsessively looked for answers. I read works by Christians who chose celibacy rather than accept or embrace their homosexuality. I found other, more radical Christians, who argued that scripture never condemned homosexuality at all. I didn’t want to lose my faith, my entire worldview. I tried desperately to reconcile the wonderful, happy, good queer people I met with what I was taught they deserved. But it wasn’t just the issue of being gay. Everything had been called into question for me. Did anyone deserve eternal torment? Did this justice make sense? Could I live by a faith that tore me apart? In the end, I couldn’t. I made the radical, terrifying, heretical, dangerous decision to try to love myself and others without condition- to trust that my heart wasn’t wicked and beyond cure. I resolved to keep the precious things I’d learned in my heart and release the rest. It didn’t happen all at once. My ideology changed fairly quickly but the twisted roots of self-loathing and fear are deeply engrained. I’m still digging them up. Still, to choose my own well-being and joy was freedom and power I’d never felt before. I didn’t have to face my demons on my knees, I could fight them myself.
Part Three: Revolution When I was young, I used to pray for God to take away my identity, my mind, my ego, so I could be filled with something better. I was a good kid, pathologically sensitive to the feelings of others and my own wrongdoing, but I felt the cold breath of condemnation on my neck. I obsessively reasoned with myself. I knew that God could forgive any sin but only if I recognized it as such and repented of it. But then, there was the matter of my being queer. My church & the theology passed down through my parents taught me that though God could forgive me being gay, I could never accept or act upon that feeling without betraying Christ. And while other temptations were fleeting, the undeniable fact of my attraction could not be forsaken. I tried. I saw how other queer people I loved were treated and talked about. They were instantly othered. “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” Being told that wanting to love and be loved is worthy of hell doesn’t feel like love. I obsessively looked for answers. I read works by Christians who chose celibacy rather than accept or embrace their homosexuality. I found other, more radical Christians, who argued that scripture never condemned homosexuality at all. I didn’t want to lose my faith, my entire worldview. I tried desperately to reconcile the wonderful, happy, good queer people I met with what I was taught they deserved. But it wasn’t just the issue of being gay. Everything had been called into question for me. Did anyone deserve eternal torment? Did this justice make sense? Could I live by a faith that tore me apart? In the end, I couldn’t. I made the radical, terrifying, heretical, dangerous decision to try to love myself and others without condition- to trust that my heart wasn’t wicked and beyond cure. I resolved to keep the precious things I’d learned in my heart and release the rest. It didn’t happen all at once. My ideology changed fairly quickly but the twisted roots of self-loathing and fear are deeply engrained. I’m still digging them up. Still, to choose my own well-being and joy was freedom and power I’d never felt before. I didn’t have to face my demons on my knees, I could fight them myself.
Part Three: Revolution When I was young, I used to pray for God to take away my identity, my mind, my ego, so I could be filled with something better. I was a good kid, pathologically sensitive to the feelings of others and my own wrongdoing, but I felt the cold breath of condemnation on my neck. I obsessively reasoned with myself. I knew that God could forgive any sin but only if I recognized it as such and repented of it. But then, there was the matter of my being queer. My church & the theology passed down through my parents taught me that though God could forgive me being gay, I could never accept or act upon that feeling without betraying Christ. And while other temptations were fleeting, the undeniable fact of my attraction could not be forsaken. I tried. I saw how other queer people I loved were treated and talked about. They were instantly othered. “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” Being told that wanting to love and be loved is worthy of hell doesn’t feel like love. I obsessively looked for answers. I read works by Christians who chose celibacy rather than accept or embrace their homosexuality. I found other, more radical Christians, who argued that scripture never condemned homosexuality at all. I didn’t want to lose my faith, my entire worldview. I tried desperately to reconcile the wonderful, happy, good queer people I met with what I was taught they deserved. But it wasn’t just the issue of being gay. Everything had been called into question for me. Did anyone deserve eternal torment? Did this justice make sense? Could I live by a faith that tore me apart? In the end, I couldn’t. I made the radical, terrifying, heretical, dangerous decision to try to love myself and others without condition- to trust that my heart wasn’t wicked and beyond cure. I resolved to keep the precious things I’d learned in my heart and release the rest. It didn’t happen all at once. My ideology changed fairly quickly but the twisted roots of self-loathing and fear are deeply engrained. I’m still digging them up. Still, to choose my own well-being and joy was freedom and power I’d never felt before. I didn’t have to face my demons on my knees, I could fight them myself.
Part Three: Revolution When I was young, I used to pray for God to take away my identity, my mind, my ego, so I could be filled with something better. I was a good kid, pathologically sensitive to the feelings of others and my own wrongdoing, but I felt the cold breath of condemnation on my neck. I obsessively reasoned with myself. I knew that God could forgive any sin but only if I recognized it as such and repented of it. But then, there was the matter of my being queer. My church & the theology passed down through my parents taught me that though God could forgive me being gay, I could never accept or act upon that feeling without betraying Christ. And while other temptations were fleeting, the undeniable fact of my attraction could not be forsaken. I tried. I saw how other queer people I loved were treated and talked about. They were instantly othered. “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” Being told that wanting to love and be loved is worthy of hell doesn’t feel like love. I obsessively looked for answers. I read works by Christians who chose celibacy rather than accept or embrace their homosexuality. I found other, more radical Christians, who argued that scripture never condemned homosexuality at all. I didn’t want to lose my faith, my entire worldview. I tried desperately to reconcile the wonderful, happy, good queer people I met with what I was taught they deserved. But it wasn’t just the issue of being gay. Everything had been called into question for me. Did anyone deserve eternal torment? Did this justice make sense? Could I live by a faith that tore me apart? In the end, I couldn’t. I made the radical, terrifying, heretical, dangerous decision to try to love myself and others without condition- to trust that my heart wasn’t wicked and beyond cure. I resolved to keep the precious things I’d learned in my heart and release the rest. It didn’t happen all at once. My ideology changed fairly quickly but the twisted roots of self-loathing and fear are deeply engrained. I’m still digging them up. Still, to choose my own well-being and joy was freedom and power I’d never felt before. I didn’t have to face my demons on my knees, I could fight them myself.
Part Three: Revolution When I was young, I used to pray for God to take away my identity, my mind, my ego, so I could be filled with something better. I was a good kid, pathologically sensitive to the feelings of others and my own wrongdoing, but I felt the cold breath of condemnation on my neck. I obsessively reasoned with myself. I knew that God could forgive any sin but only if I recognized it as such and repented of it. But then, there was the matter of my being queer. My church & the theology passed down through my parents taught me that though God could forgive me being gay, I could never accept or act upon that feeling without betraying Christ. And while other temptations were fleeting, the undeniable fact of my attraction could not be forsaken. I tried. I saw how other queer people I loved were treated and talked about. They were instantly othered. “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” Being told that wanting to love and be loved is worthy of hell doesn’t feel like love. I obsessively looked for answers. I read works by Christians who chose celibacy rather than accept or embrace their homosexuality. I found other, more radical Christians, who argued that scripture never condemned homosexuality at all. I didn’t want to lose my faith, my entire worldview. I tried desperately to reconcile the wonderful, happy, good queer people I met with what I was taught they deserved. But it wasn’t just the issue of being gay. Everything had been called into question for me. Did anyone deserve eternal torment? Did this justice make sense? Could I live by a faith that tore me apart? In the end, I couldn’t. I made the radical, terrifying, heretical, dangerous decision to try to love myself and others without condition- to trust that my heart wasn’t wicked and beyond cure. I resolved to keep the precious things I’d learned in my heart and release the rest. It didn’t happen all at once. My ideology changed fairly quickly but the twisted roots of self-loathing and fear are deeply engrained. I’m still digging them up. Still, to choose my own well-being and joy was freedom and power I’d never felt before. I didn’t have to face my demons on my knees, I could fight them myself.
Part Three: Revolution When I was young, I used to pray for God to take away my identity, my mind, my ego, so I could be filled with something better. I was a good kid, pathologically sensitive to the feelings of others and my own wrongdoing, but I felt the cold breath of condemnation on my neck. I obsessively reasoned with myself. I knew that God could forgive any sin but only if I recognized it as such and repented of it. But then, there was the matter of my being queer. My church & the theology passed down through my parents taught me that though God could forgive me being gay, I could never accept or act upon that feeling without betraying Christ. And while other temptations were fleeting, the undeniable fact of my attraction could not be forsaken. I tried. I saw how other queer people I loved were treated and talked about. They were instantly othered. “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” Being told that wanting to love and be loved is worthy of hell doesn’t feel like love. I obsessively looked for answers. I read works by Christians who chose celibacy rather than accept or embrace their homosexuality. I found other, more radical Christians, who argued that scripture never condemned homosexuality at all. I didn’t want to lose my faith, my entire worldview. I tried desperately to reconcile the wonderful, happy, good queer people I met with what I was taught they deserved. But it wasn’t just the issue of being gay. Everything had been called into question for me. Did anyone deserve eternal torment? Did this justice make sense? Could I live by a faith that tore me apart? In the end, I couldn’t. I made the radical, terrifying, heretical, dangerous decision to try to love myself and others without condition- to trust that my heart wasn’t wicked and beyond cure. I resolved to keep the precious things I’d learned in my heart and release the rest. It didn’t happen all at once. My ideology changed fairly quickly but the twisted roots of self-loathing and fear are deeply engrained. I’m still digging them up. Still, to choose my own well-being and joy was freedom and power I’d never felt before. I didn’t have to face my demons on my knees, I could fight them myself.
Part Three: Revolution When I was young, I used to pray for God to take away my identity, my mind, my ego, so I could be filled with something better. I was a good kid, pathologically sensitive to the feelings of others and my own wrongdoing, but I felt the cold breath of condemnation on my neck. I obsessively reasoned with myself. I knew that God could forgive any sin but only if I recognized it as such and repented of it. But then, there was the matter of my being queer. My church & the theology passed down through my parents taught me that though God could forgive me being gay, I could never accept or act upon that feeling without betraying Christ. And while other temptations were fleeting, the undeniable fact of my attraction could not be forsaken. I tried. I saw how other queer people I loved were treated and talked about. They were instantly othered. “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” Being told that wanting to love and be loved is worthy of hell doesn’t feel like love. I obsessively looked for answers. I read works by Christians who chose celibacy rather than accept or embrace their homosexuality. I found other, more radical Christians, who argued that scripture never condemned homosexuality at all. I didn’t want to lose my faith, my entire worldview. I tried desperately to reconcile the wonderful, happy, good queer people I met with what I was taught they deserved. But it wasn’t just the issue of being gay. Everything had been called into question for me. Did anyone deserve eternal torment? Did this justice make sense? Could I live by a faith that tore me apart? In the end, I couldn’t. I made the radical, terrifying, heretical, dangerous decision to try to love myself and others without condition- to trust that my heart wasn’t wicked and beyond cure. I resolved to keep the precious things I’d learned in my heart and release the rest. It didn’t happen all at once. My ideology changed fairly quickly but the twisted roots of self-loathing and fear are deeply engrained. I’m still digging them up. Still, to choose my own well-being and joy was freedom and power I’d never felt before. I didn’t have to face my demons on my knees, I could fight them myself.
Part Four: Acceptance How do we heal? After we escape the siren song of self-loathing and dare to choose ourselves, how do we “handle the seasons of our lives?” A friend and I were talking recently about the unknowable, mysterious flow of life and how our attempts to bend it to our will only bring more pain and heartache. When I was young, acceptance was seen as defeat or laziness or an excuse to be easy on myself. We were always to be striving to be like Christ, even with the knowledge that we would never reach that goal in this lifetime. After leaving the church, I struggled with how to make peace with myself and others. How can I love myself as I am while also being committed to growth? If I don’t have to be god-like, if I don’t have to shame myself for my humanity, what are my standards of goodness? That’s when I came across the concept of radical acceptance. It’s a tool that is often used in therapy for survivors of trauma/PTSD. The gist of it is that denial or resistance of what hurts or scares us only prolongs suffering. We must accept that the past is unchangeable but we as human beings are not beyond saving. The only way to move forward is to engage with the present, to believe our histories do not define us. We look the scary truths in the eye and say “I see you. I know you are here. I can no longer leave you to fester and I will bring you into the light instead. You do not have to define me.” It has changed the way I talk to myself. It has changed the way I view others. Instead of being seduced by binary thinking, categorizing people into good or evil, participating in wholesale condemnation, I am better able to see myself, others and life itself in its fullness. It is difficult to live in that nuance. It will mean recognizing the weakness present in all humans, no matter how evolved or progressive or compassionate we are. It also means giving grace when grace is difficult to give. I’m sure it is work I will be doing for the rest of my life and I know it will be worth it.
Part Four: Acceptance How do we heal? After we escape the siren song of self-loathing and dare to choose ourselves, how do we “handle the seasons of our lives?” A friend and I were talking recently about the unknowable, mysterious flow of life and how our attempts to bend it to our will only bring more pain and heartache. When I was young, acceptance was seen as defeat or laziness or an excuse to be easy on myself. We were always to be striving to be like Christ, even with the knowledge that we would never reach that goal in this lifetime. After leaving the church, I struggled with how to make peace with myself and others. How can I love myself as I am while also being committed to growth? If I don’t have to be god-like, if I don’t have to shame myself for my humanity, what are my standards of goodness? That’s when I came across the concept of radical acceptance. It’s a tool that is often used in therapy for survivors of trauma/PTSD. The gist of it is that denial or resistance of what hurts or scares us only prolongs suffering. We must accept that the past is unchangeable but we as human beings are not beyond saving. The only way to move forward is to engage with the present, to believe our histories do not define us. We look the scary truths in the eye and say “I see you. I know you are here. I can no longer leave you to fester and I will bring you into the light instead. You do not have to define me.” It has changed the way I talk to myself. It has changed the way I view others. Instead of being seduced by binary thinking, categorizing people into good or evil, participating in wholesale condemnation, I am better able to see myself, others and life itself in its fullness. It is difficult to live in that nuance. It will mean recognizing the weakness present in all humans, no matter how evolved or progressive or compassionate we are. It also means giving grace when grace is difficult to give. I’m sure it is work I will be doing for the rest of my life and I know it will be worth it.
Part Four: Acceptance How do we heal? After we escape the siren song of self-loathing and dare to choose ourselves, how do we “handle the seasons of our lives?” A friend and I were talking recently about the unknowable, mysterious flow of life and how our attempts to bend it to our will only bring more pain and heartache. When I was young, acceptance was seen as defeat or laziness or an excuse to be easy on myself. We were always to be striving to be like Christ, even with the knowledge that we would never reach that goal in this lifetime. After leaving the church, I struggled with how to make peace with myself and others. How can I love myself as I am while also being committed to growth? If I don’t have to be god-like, if I don’t have to shame myself for my humanity, what are my standards of goodness? That’s when I came across the concept of radical acceptance. It’s a tool that is often used in therapy for survivors of trauma/PTSD. The gist of it is that denial or resistance of what hurts or scares us only prolongs suffering. We must accept that the past is unchangeable but we as human beings are not beyond saving. The only way to move forward is to engage with the present, to believe our histories do not define us. We look the scary truths in the eye and say “I see you. I know you are here. I can no longer leave you to fester and I will bring you into the light instead. You do not have to define me.” It has changed the way I talk to myself. It has changed the way I view others. Instead of being seduced by binary thinking, categorizing people into good or evil, participating in wholesale condemnation, I am better able to see myself, others and life itself in its fullness. It is difficult to live in that nuance. It will mean recognizing the weakness present in all humans, no matter how evolved or progressive or compassionate we are. It also means giving grace when grace is difficult to give. I’m sure it is work I will be doing for the rest of my life and I know it will be worth it.
Part Four: Acceptance How do we heal? After we escape the siren song of self-loathing and dare to choose ourselves, how do we “handle the seasons of our lives?” A friend and I were talking recently about the unknowable, mysterious flow of life and how our attempts to bend it to our will only bring more pain and heartache. When I was young, acceptance was seen as defeat or laziness or an excuse to be easy on myself. We were always to be striving to be like Christ, even with the knowledge that we would never reach that goal in this lifetime. After leaving the church, I struggled with how to make peace with myself and others. How can I love myself as I am while also being committed to growth? If I don’t have to be god-like, if I don’t have to shame myself for my humanity, what are my standards of goodness? That’s when I came across the concept of radical acceptance. It’s a tool that is often used in therapy for survivors of trauma/PTSD. The gist of it is that denial or resistance of what hurts or scares us only prolongs suffering. We must accept that the past is unchangeable but we as human beings are not beyond saving. The only way to move forward is to engage with the present, to believe our histories do not define us. We look the scary truths in the eye and say “I see you. I know you are here. I can no longer leave you to fester and I will bring you into the light instead. You do not have to define me.” It has changed the way I talk to myself. It has changed the way I view others. Instead of being seduced by binary thinking, categorizing people into good or evil, participating in wholesale condemnation, I am better able to see myself, others and life itself in its fullness. It is difficult to live in that nuance. It will mean recognizing the weakness present in all humans, no matter how evolved or progressive or compassionate we are. It also means giving grace when grace is difficult to give. I’m sure it is work I will be doing for the rest of my life and I know it will be worth it.
Part Four: Acceptance How do we heal? After we escape the siren song of self-loathing and dare to choose ourselves, how do we “handle the seasons of our lives?” A friend and I were talking recently about the unknowable, mysterious flow of life and how our attempts to bend it to our will only bring more pain and heartache. When I was young, acceptance was seen as defeat or laziness or an excuse to be easy on myself. We were always to be striving to be like Christ, even with the knowledge that we would never reach that goal in this lifetime. After leaving the church, I struggled with how to make peace with myself and others. How can I love myself as I am while also being committed to growth? If I don’t have to be god-like, if I don’t have to shame myself for my humanity, what are my standards of goodness? That’s when I came across the concept of radical acceptance. It’s a tool that is often used in therapy for survivors of trauma/PTSD. The gist of it is that denial or resistance of what hurts or scares us only prolongs suffering. We must accept that the past is unchangeable but we as human beings are not beyond saving. The only way to move forward is to engage with the present, to believe our histories do not define us. We look the scary truths in the eye and say “I see you. I know you are here. I can no longer leave you to fester and I will bring you into the light instead. You do not have to define me.” It has changed the way I talk to myself. It has changed the way I view others. Instead of being seduced by binary thinking, categorizing people into good or evil, participating in wholesale condemnation, I am better able to see myself, others and life itself in its fullness. It is difficult to live in that nuance. It will mean recognizing the weakness present in all humans, no matter how evolved or progressive or compassionate we are. It also means giving grace when grace is difficult to give. I’m sure it is work I will be doing for the rest of my life and I know it will be worth it.
Part Four: Acceptance How do we heal? After we escape the siren song of self-loathing and dare to choose ourselves, how do we “handle the seasons of our lives?” A friend and I were talking recently about the unknowable, mysterious flow of life and how our attempts to bend it to our will only bring more pain and heartache. When I was young, acceptance was seen as defeat or laziness or an excuse to be easy on myself. We were always to be striving to be like Christ, even with the knowledge that we would never reach that goal in this lifetime. After leaving the church, I struggled with how to make peace with myself and others. How can I love myself as I am while also being committed to growth? If I don’t have to be god-like, if I don’t have to shame myself for my humanity, what are my standards of goodness? That’s when I came across the concept of radical acceptance. It’s a tool that is often used in therapy for survivors of trauma/PTSD. The gist of it is that denial or resistance of what hurts or scares us only prolongs suffering. We must accept that the past is unchangeable but we as human beings are not beyond saving. The only way to move forward is to engage with the present, to believe our histories do not define us. We look the scary truths in the eye and say “I see you. I know you are here. I can no longer leave you to fester and I will bring you into the light instead. You do not have to define me.” It has changed the way I talk to myself. It has changed the way I view others. Instead of being seduced by binary thinking, categorizing people into good or evil, participating in wholesale condemnation, I am better able to see myself, others and life itself in its fullness. It is difficult to live in that nuance. It will mean recognizing the weakness present in all humans, no matter how evolved or progressive or compassionate we are. It also means giving grace when grace is difficult to give. I’m sure it is work I will be doing for the rest of my life and I know it will be worth it.
Part Four: Acceptance How do we heal? After we escape the siren song of self-loathing and dare to choose ourselves, how do we “handle the seasons of our lives?” A friend and I were talking recently about the unknowable, mysterious flow of life and how our attempts to bend it to our will only bring more pain and heartache. When I was young, acceptance was seen as defeat or laziness or an excuse to be easy on myself. We were always to be striving to be like Christ, even with the knowledge that we would never reach that goal in this lifetime. After leaving the church, I struggled with how to make peace with myself and others. How can I love myself as I am while also being committed to growth? If I don’t have to be god-like, if I don’t have to shame myself for my humanity, what are my standards of goodness? That’s when I came across the concept of radical acceptance. It’s a tool that is often used in therapy for survivors of trauma/PTSD. The gist of it is that denial or resistance of what hurts or scares us only prolongs suffering. We must accept that the past is unchangeable but we as human beings are not beyond saving. The only way to move forward is to engage with the present, to believe our histories do not define us. We look the scary truths in the eye and say “I see you. I know you are here. I can no longer leave you to fester and I will bring you into the light instead. You do not have to define me.” It has changed the way I talk to myself. It has changed the way I view others. Instead of being seduced by binary thinking, categorizing people into good or evil, participating in wholesale condemnation, I am better able to see myself, others and life itself in its fullness. It is difficult to live in that nuance. It will mean recognizing the weakness present in all humans, no matter how evolved or progressive or compassionate we are. It also means giving grace when grace is difficult to give. I’m sure it is work I will be doing for the rest of my life and I know it will be worth it.
Part Two: Torment When I was 16 I was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder. The gist of OCD is that the disorder attempts to protect you by filling your mind with deeply unsettling thoughts of things that disturb you and obsessively fixates on them in an attempt to out-think the fear. A person with OCD usually engages in certain behaviors that bring some relief to that visceral feeling of anxiety- that’s where the compulsions come in. The compulsions never work for long. The OCD mind is never at rest and never satisfied. And obsessive compulsive disorder hits you where it hurts. My religion was the foundation of my worldview and sense of self and I believed the scriptures wholeheartedly. So my OCD is fixated on moral perfection. My intrusive thoughts told me I was evil to the core and I believed it. After all, the scriptures say “the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.” Believing the worst things about yourself, confusing horrific thoughts and images with reality, doubting your sanity and the goodness of your intentions at every turn- it’s hell. And it was a cycle that kept me alone in darkness. No one could know what went on in my head. It was perverse. I was alone. I was damned. The human mind can only withstand so much torment. There’s a point after enough pain where exhaustion and defeat set in. Hopelessness is a temptress tugging on your sleeve. The fight against despair begins to feel fruitless. It was a hard time, but it wasn’t forever. It wasn’t the end, but it felt like it. From Chris: “With this piece, we get to see the true darkness of what happens behind scenes. The spirit world and the physical are intertwining, and we see the masters behind the priests and nuns. On the left, a Nun that was previously being knelt in front of by a priest, is now in turn kneeling before a red cloaked demon. Above, the priest is reading from the book of death and is being puppeted along with his servant by two creatures. The image mirrors “Devotion” in the placement of focal points and once again, all things are looking toward Shannon and pulling at her.”
Part Two: Torment When I was 16 I was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder. The gist of OCD is that the disorder attempts to protect you by filling your mind with deeply unsettling thoughts of things that disturb you and obsessively fixates on them in an attempt to out-think the fear. A person with OCD usually engages in certain behaviors that bring some relief to that visceral feeling of anxiety- that’s where the compulsions come in. The compulsions never work for long. The OCD mind is never at rest and never satisfied. And obsessive compulsive disorder hits you where it hurts. My religion was the foundation of my worldview and sense of self and I believed the scriptures wholeheartedly. So my OCD is fixated on moral perfection. My intrusive thoughts told me I was evil to the core and I believed it. After all, the scriptures say “the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.” Believing the worst things about yourself, confusing horrific thoughts and images with reality, doubting your sanity and the goodness of your intentions at every turn- it’s hell. And it was a cycle that kept me alone in darkness. No one could know what went on in my head. It was perverse. I was alone. I was damned. The human mind can only withstand so much torment. There’s a point after enough pain where exhaustion and defeat set in. Hopelessness is a temptress tugging on your sleeve. The fight against despair begins to feel fruitless. It was a hard time, but it wasn’t forever. It wasn’t the end, but it felt like it. From Chris: “With this piece, we get to see the true darkness of what happens behind scenes. The spirit world and the physical are intertwining, and we see the masters behind the priests and nuns. On the left, a Nun that was previously being knelt in front of by a priest, is now in turn kneeling before a red cloaked demon. Above, the priest is reading from the book of death and is being puppeted along with his servant by two creatures. The image mirrors “Devotion” in the placement of focal points and once again, all things are looking toward Shannon and pulling at her.”
Part Two: Torment When I was 16 I was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder. The gist of OCD is that the disorder attempts to protect you by filling your mind with deeply unsettling thoughts of things that disturb you and obsessively fixates on them in an attempt to out-think the fear. A person with OCD usually engages in certain behaviors that bring some relief to that visceral feeling of anxiety- that’s where the compulsions come in. The compulsions never work for long. The OCD mind is never at rest and never satisfied. And obsessive compulsive disorder hits you where it hurts. My religion was the foundation of my worldview and sense of self and I believed the scriptures wholeheartedly. So my OCD is fixated on moral perfection. My intrusive thoughts told me I was evil to the core and I believed it. After all, the scriptures say “the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.” Believing the worst things about yourself, confusing horrific thoughts and images with reality, doubting your sanity and the goodness of your intentions at every turn- it’s hell. And it was a cycle that kept me alone in darkness. No one could know what went on in my head. It was perverse. I was alone. I was damned. The human mind can only withstand so much torment. There’s a point after enough pain where exhaustion and defeat set in. Hopelessness is a temptress tugging on your sleeve. The fight against despair begins to feel fruitless. It was a hard time, but it wasn’t forever. It wasn’t the end, but it felt like it. From Chris: “With this piece, we get to see the true darkness of what happens behind scenes. The spirit world and the physical are intertwining, and we see the masters behind the priests and nuns. On the left, a Nun that was previously being knelt in front of by a priest, is now in turn kneeling before a red cloaked demon. Above, the priest is reading from the book of death and is being puppeted along with his servant by two creatures. The image mirrors “Devotion” in the placement of focal points and once again, all things are looking toward Shannon and pulling at her.”
Part Two: Torment When I was 16 I was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder. The gist of OCD is that the disorder attempts to protect you by filling your mind with deeply unsettling thoughts of things that disturb you and obsessively fixates on them in an attempt to out-think the fear. A person with OCD usually engages in certain behaviors that bring some relief to that visceral feeling of anxiety- that’s where the compulsions come in. The compulsions never work for long. The OCD mind is never at rest and never satisfied. And obsessive compulsive disorder hits you where it hurts. My religion was the foundation of my worldview and sense of self and I believed the scriptures wholeheartedly. So my OCD is fixated on moral perfection. My intrusive thoughts told me I was evil to the core and I believed it. After all, the scriptures say “the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.” Believing the worst things about yourself, confusing horrific thoughts and images with reality, doubting your sanity and the goodness of your intentions at every turn- it’s hell. And it was a cycle that kept me alone in darkness. No one could know what went on in my head. It was perverse. I was alone. I was damned. The human mind can only withstand so much torment. There’s a point after enough pain where exhaustion and defeat set in. Hopelessness is a temptress tugging on your sleeve. The fight against despair begins to feel fruitless. It was a hard time, but it wasn’t forever. It wasn’t the end, but it felt like it. From Chris: “With this piece, we get to see the true darkness of what happens behind scenes. The spirit world and the physical are intertwining, and we see the masters behind the priests and nuns. On the left, a Nun that was previously being knelt in front of by a priest, is now in turn kneeling before a red cloaked demon. Above, the priest is reading from the book of death and is being puppeted along with his servant by two creatures. The image mirrors “Devotion” in the placement of focal points and once again, all things are looking toward Shannon and pulling at her.”
Part Two: Torment When I was 16 I was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder. The gist of OCD is that the disorder attempts to protect you by filling your mind with deeply unsettling thoughts of things that disturb you and obsessively fixates on them in an attempt to out-think the fear. A person with OCD usually engages in certain behaviors that bring some relief to that visceral feeling of anxiety- that’s where the compulsions come in. The compulsions never work for long. The OCD mind is never at rest and never satisfied. And obsessive compulsive disorder hits you where it hurts. My religion was the foundation of my worldview and sense of self and I believed the scriptures wholeheartedly. So my OCD is fixated on moral perfection. My intrusive thoughts told me I was evil to the core and I believed it. After all, the scriptures say “the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.” Believing the worst things about yourself, confusing horrific thoughts and images with reality, doubting your sanity and the goodness of your intentions at every turn- it’s hell. And it was a cycle that kept me alone in darkness. No one could know what went on in my head. It was perverse. I was alone. I was damned. The human mind can only withstand so much torment. There’s a point after enough pain where exhaustion and defeat set in. Hopelessness is a temptress tugging on your sleeve. The fight against despair begins to feel fruitless. It was a hard time, but it wasn’t forever. It wasn’t the end, but it felt like it. From Chris: “With this piece, we get to see the true darkness of what happens behind scenes. The spirit world and the physical are intertwining, and we see the masters behind the priests and nuns. On the left, a Nun that was previously being knelt in front of by a priest, is now in turn kneeling before a red cloaked demon. Above, the priest is reading from the book of death and is being puppeted along with his servant by two creatures. The image mirrors “Devotion” in the placement of focal points and once again, all things are looking toward Shannon and pulling at her.”
Part Two: Torment When I was 16 I was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder. The gist of OCD is that the disorder attempts to protect you by filling your mind with deeply unsettling thoughts of things that disturb you and obsessively fixates on them in an attempt to out-think the fear. A person with OCD usually engages in certain behaviors that bring some relief to that visceral feeling of anxiety- that’s where the compulsions come in. The compulsions never work for long. The OCD mind is never at rest and never satisfied. And obsessive compulsive disorder hits you where it hurts. My religion was the foundation of my worldview and sense of self and I believed the scriptures wholeheartedly. So my OCD is fixated on moral perfection. My intrusive thoughts told me I was evil to the core and I believed it. After all, the scriptures say “the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.” Believing the worst things about yourself, confusing horrific thoughts and images with reality, doubting your sanity and the goodness of your intentions at every turn- it’s hell. And it was a cycle that kept me alone in darkness. No one could know what went on in my head. It was perverse. I was alone. I was damned. The human mind can only withstand so much torment. There’s a point after enough pain where exhaustion and defeat set in. Hopelessness is a temptress tugging on your sleeve. The fight against despair begins to feel fruitless. It was a hard time, but it wasn’t forever. It wasn’t the end, but it felt like it. From Chris: “With this piece, we get to see the true darkness of what happens behind scenes. The spirit world and the physical are intertwining, and we see the masters behind the priests and nuns. On the left, a Nun that was previously being knelt in front of by a priest, is now in turn kneeling before a red cloaked demon. Above, the priest is reading from the book of death and is being puppeted along with his servant by two creatures. The image mirrors “Devotion” in the placement of focal points and once again, all things are looking toward Shannon and pulling at her.”
Part Two: Torment When I was 16 I was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder. The gist of OCD is that the disorder attempts to protect you by filling your mind with deeply unsettling thoughts of things that disturb you and obsessively fixates on them in an attempt to out-think the fear. A person with OCD usually engages in certain behaviors that bring some relief to that visceral feeling of anxiety- that’s where the compulsions come in. The compulsions never work for long. The OCD mind is never at rest and never satisfied. And obsessive compulsive disorder hits you where it hurts. My religion was the foundation of my worldview and sense of self and I believed the scriptures wholeheartedly. So my OCD is fixated on moral perfection. My intrusive thoughts told me I was evil to the core and I believed it. After all, the scriptures say “the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.” Believing the worst things about yourself, confusing horrific thoughts and images with reality, doubting your sanity and the goodness of your intentions at every turn- it’s hell. And it was a cycle that kept me alone in darkness. No one could know what went on in my head. It was perverse. I was alone. I was damned. The human mind can only withstand so much torment. There’s a point after enough pain where exhaustion and defeat set in. Hopelessness is a temptress tugging on your sleeve. The fight against despair begins to feel fruitless. It was a hard time, but it wasn’t forever. It wasn’t the end, but it felt like it. From Chris: “With this piece, we get to see the true darkness of what happens behind scenes. The spirit world and the physical are intertwining, and we see the masters behind the priests and nuns. On the left, a Nun that was previously being knelt in front of by a priest, is now in turn kneeling before a red cloaked demon. Above, the priest is reading from the book of death and is being puppeted along with his servant by two creatures. The image mirrors “Devotion” in the placement of focal points and once again, all things are looking toward Shannon and pulling at her.”
Part Two: Torment When I was 16 I was diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder. The gist of OCD is that the disorder attempts to protect you by filling your mind with deeply unsettling thoughts of things that disturb you and obsessively fixates on them in an attempt to out-think the fear. A person with OCD usually engages in certain behaviors that bring some relief to that visceral feeling of anxiety- that’s where the compulsions come in. The compulsions never work for long. The OCD mind is never at rest and never satisfied. And obsessive compulsive disorder hits you where it hurts. My religion was the foundation of my worldview and sense of self and I believed the scriptures wholeheartedly. So my OCD is fixated on moral perfection. My intrusive thoughts told me I was evil to the core and I believed it. After all, the scriptures say “the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.” Believing the worst things about yourself, confusing horrific thoughts and images with reality, doubting your sanity and the goodness of your intentions at every turn- it’s hell. And it was a cycle that kept me alone in darkness. No one could know what went on in my head. It was perverse. I was alone. I was damned. The human mind can only withstand so much torment. There’s a point after enough pain where exhaustion and defeat set in. Hopelessness is a temptress tugging on your sleeve. The fight against despair begins to feel fruitless. It was a hard time, but it wasn’t forever. It wasn’t the end, but it felt like it. From Chris: “With this piece, we get to see the true darkness of what happens behind scenes. The spirit world and the physical are intertwining, and we see the masters behind the priests and nuns. On the left, a Nun that was previously being knelt in front of by a priest, is now in turn kneeling before a red cloaked demon. Above, the priest is reading from the book of death and is being puppeted along with his servant by two creatures. The image mirrors “Devotion” in the placement of focal points and once again, all things are looking toward Shannon and pulling at her.”
