Becoming the statistic
Falling away from the life I thought I'd have
In sophomore year of high school, I had a boyfriend. Leading up to the official titling of the relationship, I lived in the excitement. He was tall and cute and charismatic. I found his xanga where he posted about his current crush and then proceeded to describe me. The actual relationship was anticlimactic. We kissed a few times, and from him, I learned all about Monty Python and Wicked. But I started to dread our time together. It was dull, and there wasn’t much we had in common. When he broke up with me, however, I was devastated. Crying in my bed, I realized I was not mourning my loss. Rather, I was grieving the expectations. I had dreamt for years of my first boyfriend. Now, he had come and gone, and none of my ideas had been fulfilled.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what I lost when I left evangelicalism. There are certain sects and ideologies that were so toxic, it was necessary to let them go. But as I drifted away, I watched my friends remain on the shore. My childhood best friend unfriended me on Facebook while the rest unfollowed me on instagram. The days of us spending every moment together had long since faded, but knowing the complete fracture of friendships I had expected to be there as an adult stung. Even though they lived their lives in different spheres that never could suit me, I felt the bitterness of us worlds away, raising separate families that would never meet each other.
The moment that hurts the most to remember, though, is my youth pastor standing at the pulpit in a dingy room with purple carpet and metal chairs, telling us that a quarter of the people in our youth room would leave the religion. We stared at each other wondering who it would be. In my head, I placed my bets, but I knew that no matter what, it wouldn’t be me. I was simply too devout.
Looking at the past qualifiers, now I know I would be lumped into this number. And while I don’t miss the religion itself, I miss the comfort of community. I miss praying and believing I would have an answer. I miss the moments where Christ was all I knew. I had always thought of myself as a piece of fabric ripping apart. As my ends became ragged, I pictured God using a needle to sew me back to him. The stitching was visible yet perfect. A sign that I had tried to abandon him but that He cared far too much.
My mom sent me a journal entry the other day where I wrote about my future marriage. In the entry, I talked about the assurance of God and knowing he’d never leave. I now have the life I wrote about, but I’m missing the assurance. Most days, I still believe, but I miss feeling as though my relationship with God is two-sided. After she sent the picture, my mom asked if I was the same girl. And I don’t know that I am. And what’s worse, I don’t know if the girl who wrote those things would be happy with where I ended up. But I also understand this shift was for the better.
I don’t think I’ll ever actually step too far away from the faith. But deconstruction is a lonely path. And while it’s worthy, I miss having the answers. I can grieve the life I thought I would have while still knowing this one is better.
Hyperfixation song of the week
I have tickets for a Foxing concert at the beginning of next month, and I’ve been revisiting their older discography. This was one of those songs I didn’t like the first time around but secretly knew I would soon play on repeat.
I’m now at that stage. It’s a little creepy, a bit vivid, but overall fantastic. The drive toward the last verse, especially at the line, “or the six men carrying the casket” is absolute perfection. It’s the feeling of being in a car going way too fast down a country road.
Distraction of the Week
I don’t want Twitter to die. It became my community in the midst of COVID and helped me build real friendships. But the substitute teacher vibes from this week are truly the most fun I’ve had on that site in a long time. And getting to make fun of Elon Musk while the ship sinks makes it all a little worth it.
Thanks for reading!
Lindsay
P.S. I am still figuring out this format. If you have advice or this comes out terribly, LET A SISTER KNOW.