Oh Good, Another Person is Engaged

I’ve reached that age: Every day a new person on my Facebook feed is pregnant or engaged. It can seem, in the rat race of social media, that we are falling ever-more behind our peers. I am keenly aware of how I have now crossed the threshold into participating in this phenomenon: I am recently engaged.

The proposal was, simply put, awesome. Guy put thought into so many details. He said such nice things when he asked. We found $11 on the ground. What more could you want?

People have come out of the woodwork to celebrate with and congratulate us. Sharing the news with loved ones was one of the best parts of our engagement weekend. We have no shortage of support from friends, and I have already received countless offers for wedding-planning assistance. (No. We don’t have a date. We’re in a pandemic. We’re going to ride the waves and see what happens!)

I am also keenly aware that any and all announcements of major relationship news can be eye-roll-worthy, to everyone but especially to women. (I have a post on feminine milestones and why our culture would be better with an expanded idea of family, friends, and vocation coming soon!) I am genuinely sorry if I announced my engagement and you felt a pang of resentment, jealousy, FOMO, etc. What a shitty world we live in when we reach this age and can already hear the holiday conversations with extended family about why we haven’t found a nice boy to marry yet.

If you’re Christian, one response reverberates from all corners of the internet: Pray, and enjoy your time of singleness.

During this New Year’s time, after the holiday marathon of diamond rings and newborn babies flooding your feeds, combined with the resolutions and “wellness goals” many are making in January, it is not uncommon for people, especially in Christian circles, to adopt spiritual commitments that are designed to soothe these pangs of “I’m behind.” I’m also conscious that Lent is right around the corner, during which Catholics will give up certain things as a 40-day offering in reminiscence of Christ’s 40 days in the desert and in preparation for His crucifixion and Resurrection. I anticipate that many women in my faith community may be on the brink of making certain spiritual commitments in order to feel better about wherever they sit in regards to love (and today, I’m going to try and talk you out of the most common ones, just a little bit…)

I learned about the 54-Day Novena from the same Catholic woman’s talk you probably learned about it from. 27 days of asking, something absolutely incredible and unexpected happens (or not) on day 27, and then 27 days of “thank you”s, no matter what God wrought. I don’t doubt that this novena has worked miracles in the lives of many people. I am confident it has also been a wishing well for even more.

I prayed my first 54-Day Novena during my sophomore year of college. After a tumultuous summer of what was, at the time, my brother Matthew’s biggest surgery, coupled with the will we/ won’t we of a new and troublesome boy from my home town, I returned to campus exhausted and ready to just MEET MY HUSBAND ALREADY. This “getting to know a person” and “seeing if they’re the right fit,” was too soul-crushing when the answer was “no they are not at all the right fit.” One YouTube rabbit hole of Catholic women’s talks later, and I was signing myself up for 54 daily rosaries.

In this novena, we are invited to imagine each prayer as a rose being offered to Mary, in exchange for her intercession on behalf of whatever we’re wanting. Rose after rose I offered Mary, asking that I meet my husband-to-be in college, and soon. When the first 54 roses I offered Mary didn’t bear fruit, I offered a second set of 54 later that year.

Meanwhile, I was starting a second on-campus job, leaning into the incredible friendships I formed freshman year, and beginning what would become a two year journey of making my first real, tangible goal possible: Leading a group of my peers on pilgrimage to Poland for World Youth Day 2016. I had all of these magnificent things unfolding in my life. Yet, night after night, I sat in front of my laptop, using my homework break to pray for my future husband. Looking back on it, doesn’t that seem… a little odd?

Around that same time I first heard the phrase “dating fast.” Not fast as in “quick,” fast as in “giving up” or “abstaining.” This practice of setting aside a certain amount of time where one does not date has become increasingly popular as post-graduate volunteer organizations like FOCUS, NET, and more increasingly require abstaining from romantic relationships in order to focus on one’s temporary ministry. Outside of organizations like these, many young Catholic singles adopt a temporary dating fast in order to focus on one’s present season: singleness.

Spoiler alert: I have never once heard a person say that a dating fast lessened their thoughts about dating and romance. I have heard from many people that they kept running into amazing, attractive, funny, faithful, smart potential partners during their fast. That it was torture wrestling with the feelings and not being able to do anything about them. Sometimes the other person was also committed to a dating fast, which made the workplace rife with tension. I have heard from many people that it felt like a deep offering to the Lord to show their commitment to a promise they made to Him, but I have never heard a person say a dating fast made them less interested in dating. It should be a clear sign that most people I have known who have tried dating fasts could not stop talking about the fact that they were on a dating fast. For all these reasons, I myself never tried one. It sounded miserable, and it didn’t seem to actually work.

What’s more, the belief that a romantic relationship impacts your ability to do your job well suggests to me some… concerning things about relationship norms in these programs and our Church, and the role these organizations believe they have to play in guiding young people through the process of dating and discernment. It’s certainly true that, for most people, maturity brings greater ability to balance work and relationships. But there is also something to be said about how experiences in dating help you mature.

When I was a post-grad volunteer, a dating fast was not required, though they did “encourage us” to end our romantic relationships and not pursue new ones for the duration of our volunteer year(s). This was intended to increase our reliance on intentional community and strengthen our focus on our ministries. Guy and I navigated whether or not we were going to pursue long-distance as I began my volunteer year, him in Canada and me in Oklahoma. In the beginning, my accompaniers never missed an opportunity to offer our relationship as the reasons for the hardships I endured. “You’re struggling to feel connected and happy in community. Might it be that you’re spending too much time talking to Guy?” Um. No. It’s that one of my community members just lost her husband to a heart attack and I am accompanying her in grief, and another community member tells me every night at dinner that my brother should be institutionalized so he stops burdening my family, but I can’t punch him in the teeth because he’s an old Christian Brother.

Eventually my accompaniers got on board with the truth of the matter: Guy was my one constant source of support. This is one of the dearest things we are robbing young people of when we require them to fast from dating while they embark on Church ministry: The opportunity for real, true support during what will inevitably be deeply challenging and demanding.

If these programs aren’t interested in accompanying young people as they navigate romantic relationship, then that’s a problem. Shouldn’t they be? Shouldn’t young people feel comfortable approaching Church leaders with all of their challenges? Might this expectation of “just fast and pray for relief from these pangs of attraction” echo the stark lack of resources the Church provides vowed religious, the LGBTQ+ community, and more when it comes to feelings of attraction? Might we be setting all sorts of Catholic people up for failure by not modeling healthy communication about relationship struggles, and by not holding religious leadership accountable to this accompaniment? It is damn near impossible to make a person stop thinking about romantic relationship simply by suggesting they focus on something that in all senses continue to imply it.

As with many things, “singlehood” is a concept that is necessarily defined by the shadow presence of its opposite: romantic relationship.

“Singleness” does not make much sense outside of the context of that opposite. Up until we learn about the idea or the term, we have probably been living in adolescent singleness without much thought to it as an identity. It only becomes visible–and disappointing–when we name it! Only then does it occur to us that we’re living in a time of lacking what singleness is not: Partnership.

Recently, online communities have made a concerted effort to distance the newest generations of Catholics from the emphasis on marriage as the pinnacle of a woman’s vocation. The increased opportunities for women’s involvement in Church organizations, publications, ministries, and other efforts has certainly contributed greatly. And yet, the increased presence of Catholic women, online and in-person, conveying messages to young people implicitly through the filters of how their particular life has gone seems to double down on these untruths: “Marriage is the biggest thing you have to look forward to in life. Then it’s children. Then it’s Heaven.” Who we elevate and what their lives look like inform what we think our goals should be!

Part of the problem stems from desires to universalize personal experiences that do not have their roots in Scripture. When a Catholic woman with clout begins public speaking on how “singleness can be joyful!” young people who have only just begun to consider their interest in romantic partnerships and would have never thought otherwise begin to assume that, without work, singleness will be the opposite. I bet far fewer women would be miserably single if we stopped implicitly telling them every moment of their lives from age 14 onward that singlehood is miserable. The only reason I returned from that difficult summer my sophomore year of college with the thought “meeting my husband will fix my problems” is because all the women I had to look to in my Church were telling stories wherein, implicitly, marriage seemed to fix all of their problems.

This emphasis on normative, temporary singlehood additionally excludes our LGBTQ+ brothers, sisters, and others, for whom a life of singlehood may be an important commitment. Our Queer Catholic family members will receive additionally painful mixed signals if they ever do commit themselves to a forever partnership, as they’re likely to be met with comments about the inappropriateness of their feelings or relationship. We should use this tension to motivate us towards both greater community with and amplification of Queer voices. If we, straight cis Catholics, have established the normative summit of vocation and preach to all young people about not-focusing-on-that-normative-summit while ourselves standing blissfully on the summit shouting down, we are not only neglecting but actively oppressing those who we already know we will never give tools to climb it themselves.

In my humble opinion, the 54-Day, I-Want-My-Spouse-Now Novena and the dating fast are just two ways contemporary Catholic culture continues its stronghold on creative, beautiful, talented, smart, giving, athletic, involved, faithful people’s time. Think of what you could accomplish towards your goals if you spent 30 minutes for 54 consecutive days working on them! Think of what you could learn about yourself and your preferences if you allowed yourself to date when dating felt right!

To be sure, the novena was not intended to become The Future Husband ritual. The baseline purpose of the novena is to commit yourself to praying for a 1). Big intention 2). That could have a clear outcome. If you’re using it as a genuine discernment tool, with defined options, whether about a relationship or not: Righty-o! Keep doing your thing. If you’re using it to offer up a deeply concerning intention–like for someone’s health or for a global circumstance–obviously that is very different. I am writing, today, out of concern for the way this set of prayers has been appropriated into a tool for demanding the acceleration of one’s unique vocational path. Giving somebody a bouquet of roses solely because you expect them to do something massive for you in return is not trust, it’s manipulation.

The dating fast is ultimately similar. If you find yourself in a constant cycle of relationships, without giving yourself any space at all to be single, taking a designated time to not date very well may be an opportunity to re-center. And like my Mom always said during Lent when I asked if granola bars with chocolate chips counted as a “sweet” to be given up: There are no fasting police. I certainly am not one of them! If you feel called to fast, either for a certain cause or for your own renewed relationship with the Lord, you go girl. You do that thing. However, fasting for a certain amount of time and expecting that 1). No persons of interest will cross your path and 2). God will bring your soulmate into your life the moment your fast concludes is not actually a sacrifice of goodwill, it’s manipulation.

We are demanding God act without acting ourselves. This is one reason I was so grateful for Kelsey’s takeover of Live Today Well Co. a few months back. In it, she emphasized the importance of going on dates if your goal is to date. We get so wrapped up in sitting in discernment, waiting for God to plop that handsome man right down in front of us while we’re looking *very interesting* at the grocery store, that we forget that the Holy Spirit moves, and so can we.

Often times, we talk about discernment of dating and marriage like we’re handing our relationships over to the Lord, when really we’re just ringing God’s doorbell because we feel He’s forgotten us. If we truly trust God’s timing and intention for our vocation, we don’t need to remind Him that we ordered a handsome, Catholic boyfriend a couple years ago that has still yet to arrive.

We make plans and God laughs. We demand an itinerary for 54 days straight, how do we think God is going to respond?

This doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t examine our habits, our health, our traumas, or our goals. Do you want to have the chance to live on your own? Do you want to have a certain amount of money saved? Is there solo travel you want to do? Who would you like to be before you are married?

But we must, must remember that these are not boxes to check before God blesses us. If we are going to slam the coffin lid on the problematic Prosperity Gospel, we have to stop viewing our future spouse as a reward for our good behavior. Especially because that line of thinking neglects to identify that we will still be imperfect and exhibit “bad” behavior when we are married. The patterns and habits you are working on now may very well be things you continue to work on with your spouse. They do not make you less worthy of love, and working on things with a partner doesn’t mean you’ve failed as an “independent woman” either.

These timelines are all BS, so don’t submit yourself to them as a New Year’s Resolution or a Lenten observation. If you’re feeling poorly because every single one of the people you were hoping to flex on at your 10 year high school reunion has more dogs, more money, or more babies than you, please know that it’s all arbitrary.

If you want an idea for a New Year’s Resolution or a Lenten observation that doesn’t implicitly uphold oppressive and sexist timelines and milestones, know that there are a million and one ways to invite the Lord into your present season that aren’t secretly transactional, and that invest in yourself in ways that aren’t self-absorbed. Would a post with a brainstormed list be helpful? Let me know in the comments, and if you have any practices you’ve found helpful and that meet those criteria DM me or comment them too! Let’s crowd-source our way to more authentic relationship with the Lord and more authentic singlehood (maybe even banishing that word from the lexicon all-together.)

Also you may be wondering: Now that I’m engaged, what was my future husband doing while I was praying my 54-Day Novena for him? He was making out with my college roommate.

Yes, my fiancé dated my roommate for a couple of years before he and I started dating. And while I sat in our dorm room eating Captain Crunch without milk, miscounting Hail Mary’s, he was definitely NOT thinking about me…

And that’s completely and utterly normal. We won’t always marry people who have been single before we came along. We won’t always marry people who fasted before dating us. We might marry people who were married before marrying us! We won’t always marry virgins! Maybe you’re not a virgin! We won’t always marry people who prayed for us, and the person we marry may not always believe in prayer.

We won’t always marry people who were anxiously anticipating us as much as we were anxiously anticipating them! And if it feels weird to talk to your partner about how much you anxiously anticipated them, let that be a sign unto you that these practices of constantly orienting ourselves towards a futurity that is not guaranteed is actually kind of weird, and far, far less fun than just living your life.

When it came time for Guy and I to actually fall in love, two and a half years after Day 54 of Novena round 2, the things that fed the flame were our independent experiences and projects. He was working on his senior project and I wanted to know more about the physics of photons and how sometimes light doesn’t go where it’s supposed to. I was working on my senior project and he wanted to know about the Gothic elements of Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events.

I would love to hear what projects are filling you up right now. I would love to hear what life-changing experiences you’ve recently undergone. I would love to know what you’re looking forward to. I would love to swap SMART goals. Those are the building blocks of a vocation. Roses dripping in love potion? Far. Less. Sturdy.

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Categories
health

Bleeding to Death

My menstrual cycle has never really been private.

I got my period two months shy of my 15th birthday. It was my first time away from home, at the California State Summer School for the Arts (CSSSA), where I was studying, what else, creative writing. Thanks–no really, I’m so thankful–to a genetic predisposition towards excessive vaginal discharge (oh yeah, we’re going to be biologically accurate and extremely open. This blog is about the body, remember?), I had brought with me a stash of panty liners. But I certainly was not expecting blood. My mother drove from our Northern California town to Valencia with a day’s notice to make sure I was okay. She took me for my first pedicure, got me Chili’s skillet queso dip (which to this day is still my period food), and brought with her plenty of additional period supplies.

My being a “late bloomer” was, for whatever the reason, endlessly fascinating to my female extended family members. My mother comes from a large family of sisters who all, from around the time I was 9, expressed a deep interest in my physical development, frequently commenting on my cystic acne, flat chest, absent period, and even the changes to my “beautiful blonde hair” acquired throughout puberty. These conversations left me feeling like a concave, bloodless alien with pepperoni skin.

During my time as a freshman cheerleader, having your period during practice or a travel game meant swapping pads and tampons like you would swap bobby pins, hairspray, and Nars’ Orgasm blush. I never had anything to swap, and I was also never in need. Which meant I never had to worry about bleeding through my rolled-up skirt, but I also felt even more like the odd one out. Which I already was! I missed cheer camp for creative writing camp that Summer Of The Period. Coach benched me for the season. I went to every practice and then sat in the bleachers every. single. game. You know it’s bad when the mean moms feel sorry for you, a daughter who is not theirs.

I think, without these competitive pressures so often found in groups of female family and friends, I wouldn’t have felt so alien without a period. My mom regularly reminded me, as I cried to her about my body, that she too was a late bloomer. And, wouldn’t you know it, I do take after her in almost every way.

Except one. My periods were dangerously heavy.

Nobody really tells you what to look for when it comes to period blood. You can estimate colored-in red drops on the side of the tampon box. But clots, color, and sheer amount of blood are all indicators of health. So what’s the line between regular heavy and dangerously heavy?

I certainly didn’t know. From the time I started college, at the height of my ice snacking (read the Series Intro if you haven’t yet), my period was heavy. I regularly bled through a maxi pad or super tampon in under two hours. It was the norm to use both, and to change them both every four hours. I was spending upwards of $40 a month on period supplies. Fortunately, my periods were a normal length of days.

Even with my incessant ice chewing and constant washing-of-soiled-undies, I never once thought anything of it. I assumed this is what having a period was. In fact, I also never had cramps, so I considered myself lucky. I can remember telling people my period was easy.

There is something in here about how women are conditioned. We are told women have higher pain tolerances, that women mature quicker, that women are naturally strong because eventually they will undergo childbirth. It becomes how we encourage one another. It becomes a point of bonding. Women are strong. But that doesn’t mean we have to be every moment of every day.

The strength is often silent. Menstruation is often private (unless you too have a hoard of aunts who ask you every holiday whether you’re bleeding yet.) We sneak pads from our backpacks to our back pockets in math class hoping the boy seated behind us doesn’t see. Even older women strip their blood-stained sheets from the bed in embarrassment, thinking they ought to have known better, as they toss them into the pile with the clothes of the children they birthed.

It is all exacerbated in Christian circles. We are raised gazing each Sunday at a cross of holy bleeding. We are told to offer up our sufferings, and consider the ways our blood aligns us with Christ. Rather than share with our communities the ways we are hemorrhaging, we are told to only share it with Him.

As I tried to make sense of this connection between bleeding to death and theology, it occurred to me to reach out to my dear Catholic UChicago Divinity friend Rebecca MacMaster, whose current major project is on what she’s calling “Menstrual Theology.” I reached out for her thoughts, and here’s what she said:

“In some ways there is nothing more Catholic than a woman in pain. Jesus was brought into this world by a woman’s anguish. Our feminine mystics chastised their flesh and mortified their bodies, seizing in pews and genuflecting in small cells. Our feminine mystical saints starved themselves, ridding their bodies of a monthly flow of blood while rending their flesh to create a new one. Their work was salvific, unimaginable and yet eminently imaginable.

“When I started my research into the hemorrhaging woman in Mark, I expected to read about her bleeding. I thought it would be wall to wall articles about her body and her pain and her faith. But that’s not really what I found. Instead most focused on purity laws — often warping Leviticus to further an anti-Semitic agenda. Those who mentioned her bleeding focused on the healing, often claiming that she became instantly menopausal under Jesus’ touch.

“The message seems clear, there is nothing in menstruation that could be for the greater glory of God.”

“To be honest, my bleeding has never felt salvific and neither has my pain. I remember dim afternoons clutching my stomach and begging God to make it stop, like Jesus pacing alone in dark Gethsemane. It felt perfectly normal and yet also unspeakable. Too ordinary but also too gross for discussion. It just was. Some cramping is normal, take an Advil. That’s all I learned in health class. Nothing worthy of a doctor’s attention let alone God’s.

“But God heard the hemorrhaging woman and He healed her — not to menopause I would argue but to a place of healthy menstruation. There is always room for the glory of God.”

Hearing these brilliant thoughts from Rebecca (who you can find here on IG), I felt things click into place. I was all at once reminded of the exact type of messaging and friendship I longed for as I navigated puberty: One that was open with real, bodily experiences without shame, while speaking the truth of a loving God.

As I bled cups of blood each month, no one ever told me “You shouldn’t be feeling that way. You shouldn’t be bleeding like that.” In fact, the consensus seemed to be “no two cycles are the same,” “everyone’s periods are different,” “offer it up,” and “being a woman is hard.” This was all reassuring when I was anxiously waiting for it to arrive. And to a certain extent, it is all true! Periods are different! Being a woman IS hard! But, our periods shouldn’t necessarily be as different and hard as they are. Without open conversations about bleeding, women suffer in silence thinking their signs of reproductive trouble, and the lack of space for them in both religious and secular circles, are all “just the way it is.”

Sometimes we don’t even have our doctors to talk to! I spent one year on iron supplements to combat the iron-deficiency anemia that resulted from my heavy cycles. I even took additional vitamins to aid in absorption. One year later, when I got my blood levels checked, my iron levels hadn’t raised at all. Not one bit. In fact, they were lower.

It is here that I imagine many women will empathize: My doctor was not concerned. She did nothing to explore what could be causing my heavy periods. She did nothing to explore why my iron wasn’t being absorbed. She didn’t run a single hormone panel. Even as I sat crying in her office, she said I needed to eat more beef and spinach and sent me on my way.

And a month later I nearly died.

I was on a ski trip in Truckee one late January weekend with Guy, who is now my partner but was not at the time, our good friend Dana, and Guy’s best friend Austin, who at the time I did not know. I was not expecting my period for another week, but on the drive up the mountain, I began to bleed. And I did not stop.

It was like an open, gushing wound. Constant blood loss for 36 hours. I was passing clots the size of my fist. I had brought with me a week of period products just in case, but even that was not enough. I exhausted Guy’s mom’s stash of maxi pads from the 80s in one evening. I went through 30 pads and 7 tampons in 24 hours.

All the while, I was trying not to draw attention. Friday night I simply went to bed early. Saturday I decided to mention my period had started, so I wasn’t feeling terrific. We played in the snow. We cooked and watched Star Wars. By Saturday evening, I was going to the bathroom every 20 minutes. I finally had to let all three in on the fact that I was bleeding nonstop and thought I needed to see a doctor.

It was actively snowing and the streets wouldn’t be plowed until early morning. We could’ve called an ambulance, but they might not have been able to reach us either and it felt too serious for “just a heavy period.”

I felt dizzy and faint. I ate a granola bar in case my blood sugar was struggling. I couldn’t lie down or I’d stain whatever I sat on. I was too weak to stand in the shower, so Guy made me a bath that quickly turned to sitting in a pool of my own blood. I was freezing and couldn’t get warm.

Around midnight I went to the bathroom and as I got up, collapsed and blacked out on the bathroom floor, pants around my ankles.

I did come to, I cleaned up the floor, and I quickly expressed immense gratitude that I had not hit my head or otherwise injured myself in the fall.

Nobody slept that night. We drove back down to our college campus at 5am Sunday morning. It amazes me that I felt well enough to be taken to campus. I sat in my dorm room and made an appointment with my “eat more beef” doctor for that afternoon. Unable to walk across my dorm room without losing my breath and collapsing, I still thought myself alert enough to drive myself home to my parents’ house. I even lugged my hamper full of dirty laundry alongside me, without second thought of its weight.

On the way home, my doctor called back and told me to go to the Emergency Room instead. Something had come up, but she was worried about me. My mom met me in the ER.

That’s when the reality of the situation became very clear. I was taken into triage where the nurse drew blood, turned sheet white, and stated in no uncertain terms that she was “extremely happy I came in.”

I had lost a third of the blood in my body.

I stayed the night in the hospital where I received three separate blood transfusions. (I also received an incorrect dosage of intravenous potassium. I was in so much pain from the corrosive liquid I couldn’t sleep a wink. The morning doctor simply rolled her eyes and said, “they shouldn’t have given you that.”)

By Monday morning, while I had regained full blood levels and every ounce of desire to chew ice evaporated and is still gone to this day, we still had not discussed what caused the bleeding. I was visited in the morning by the on-call OBGYN who quickly prescribed me–and every woman knows what’s coming– the birth control pill (which will be the topic of the next PCOS series entry.)

The experience was not immediately scary while it was happening. Again, there was still a large part of me that was convinced this was just how periods were. It was only once I was in the hospital that I realized how deeply, deeply fortunate I was to be alive and healthy, with all organs intact.

This is the beginnings of my offering to the budding online discussion about the nitty gritty of periods. Especially in Christian communities that celebrate modesty and privacy, we are comfortable speaking in general terms about cycles, in the context of fertility only. We echo the general culture’s displeasure with red liquid in tampon commercials. Men and women alike still joke about how women go to the bathroom in groups, with very little consideration for how deeply biological the vulnerability of bleeding is for animal species like us. It’s not for talking sh*t about whoever isn’t in the bathroom with us, it’s about needing someone to clean and pin up my white winter formal dress because I bled through the bottom hem and can’t reach it on my own. We laugh about the women with severe PMS and how inconvenient it is for those they are around. But we still don’t talk enough about quantity or quality of period symptoms: Blood, cramps, clots, mood swings, aches, fatigue. The number of women who have reached out to me over Instagram to ask what signs and symptoms informed my PCOS diagnosis makes me all at once hopeful and sad: So many women lack information, community, and trustworthy medical care. So many women are fed up and paving their own way outside the doctor’s office.

One of these newest, way-paving resources is the online women’s forum femUnity. You can visit their website or find them on IG here. FemUnity provides a constructive, community-focused solution to panicked symptom-searching, led by women for women. Both their forum and their social media presence center on crowd-sourced information of real-life experiences, to paint a picture of the many possibilities and intricacies of women’s health, both reproductive and otherwise. I highly encourage you to check them out!

So yes, everyone’s period is different, but I’m going to lay out the things I wished I’d been told (informed by facts I’ve received from practitioners I’ve worked with post-near-death-experience.)

If you bleed through a maxi pad or super tampon in less than 4 hours, you should talk to a doctor.

If you need to use both at the same time and still bleed through them in less than 6 hours, talk to a doctor.

If you go through more than 8 period products a day, talk to a doctor.

If you pass clots larger than a quarter, talk to a doctor.

If you experience cramps that are not alleviated by traditional ibuprofen or acetaminophen…

If you experience mood swings or feelings of anxiety or depression outside of 2-3 day windows at the start of your period…

If you experience any of these period symptoms outside of a 7-10 day window…

Talk to a doctor.

I know it’s not always that simple. I know that doctor might not listen. I know I can say “talk to another one,” and that might not be an option for you (it wasn’t for me until I had access to my university’s medical center while I got my MA.) I know doctors with online practices have put their expertise behind giant paywalls. It can be incredibly frustrating pursuing a diagnosis. I believe you. You are doing your best. You are not failing because you can’t find an answer. (I will be providing a list of the resources that have helped me later in the series, but even then, if they don’t work for you, you are not failing.)

If you do talk to a doctor, you might think, “Madison, what do I say? What do I ask?” I would suggest…

1). Asking for a blood test that includes a “comprehensive hormone panel.” They’ll look at estrogen, progesterone, luteinizing hormone (LH), follicle stimulating hormone (FSH), testosterone, cortisol, and more!

2). Asking for a pelvic ultrasound

3). Making sure you’re current on your yearly physical exam and pap smear. In many cases your primary care provider can do it, you don’t necessarily need to have a designated OBGYN.

Beyond that, my biggest suggestion is to talk to the women in your life whom you trust about your period. If something feels odd, ask someone in your life if they experience it too. If they say no, don’t take that as a point of shame but a point of motivation! Keep asking.

How did I know to do these things? I’ll share my list of PCOS tips, tricks, and resources soon. I didn’t know to start looking for these things until much further into my journey to a diagnosis. Coming up next we’re going to talk about my experience on the birth control pill, then we’ll talk about how it has intersected with my gastrointestinal health, and then about PCOS resources and how it all intersects with family planning.

If you’re struggling with your period: You are surviving. You are doing your best. Your body knows what to do and how to keep you alive. Christ loves you and personally cares about your healthy bleeding. I am always here to chat. <3

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Categories
health

Wheelchairs and Chandeliers

During my year of service as a Lasallian Volunteer in Oklahoma, over dinners of salad, rolls, and some sort of meat mixed with some sort of cheese, one elderly Christian Brother I lived in community with would ask about my family. He had asked many times before, but his memory was going. I told him about my parents, my military father and my stay-at-home mother. I told him about my younger brothers, about Matthew’s special needs. He listened, wide-eyed, responding with the occasional guffaw as I recounted Matthew’s tendencies, likes, and dislikes. And then he concluded his questioning with the statement he always concluded with: “He sounds like a burden. I’m amazed your parents didn’t institutionalize him. Your poor mother.”

He sounds like a burden, he sounds like a burden, he sounds like a burden. My eyes would well up. My throat would close. Sometimes I tried to explain, gently, that the world treats disabled persons differently now. Institutions are not as popular. There are more resources for family. Other times I tried to explain that his statements were uncalled for; “He’s not a burden, Brother. He’s amazing. He has the most fantastic sense of humor. He lights up my life.” Even if these strategies worked and I was able to teach this Brother something, by the next dinner that spot of short-term memory was gone, and a rehashing was inevitable. Eventually I just stopped talking at dinner.

I am still healing from those dinners. My family not being welcomed at a dinner table they weren’t even at left me feeling like the fullness of my person wasn’t welcome in community. But I think about that word often: burden. Not only because it offends me, but because the truth is, I use it all the time. About myself.

Raise your hand if you’ve ever gotten sick or injured and felt like a burden? If you’ve ever apologized for being in need of someone’s assistance? If you’ve ever felt more upset by the inconvenience of being sick than the actual symptoms of the sickness itself? If you’ve ever felt ashamed of your depression, anxiety, or grief because it makes you feel helpless and reliant upon others?

It’s hard when our culture of “being on a health journey” is supremely individualistic. We don’t think of it that way, because it’s marketed to us as being better for the planet (turning the attention outside ourselves) and better for our children (turning the attention outside ourselves.) But this wellness culture is not communal! It is built on the idea of personal habits, personal research, and personal improvement. “Self” care, rather than community care. It’s no wonder that feeling sick or being injured feel like failures! We are told at every turn that there’s a ritual for that. We simply neglected to manifest it.

Then we do ask for help and we immediately feel worse. “Because she had so many other things to do today.” “Because he had to take time off work.” “Because I had to take time off work and inconvenience my team.” “Because I missed an important test.” “Because he’s already been so stressed, and now this.”

I think back to high school sick days. At first, the thought of lying burrito’d on the couch while eating spaghetti o’s and watching endless hours of daytime television gave me a feeling of immense relief. But soon after, the relaxation wore off, and I began to panic about everything I’d missed at school that day. I also felt guilty for how much additional work my mom had to do in order to tend to me, all the while still caring for my younger brothers, one of whom needed regular one-on-one attention due to his disabilities.

Other times, taking sick days was a reprieve for my mother, who enlisted me in helping her with the day’s tasks and care needs for my siblings. Me being home meant another set of eyes and hands, even if I was injured or unwell. On these days I felt far less guilty and burdensome, but I also wasn’t actually able to rest.

I would argue we are all vacillating between one side and the other when we experience feelings of burden. We are embarrassed by our own mental, emotional, and physical impediments because they leave us less capable of doing the things that have come to be expected of us from school, work, friends, and family. We get tired of relying on other people. Our inner voices reprimand us for being so needy. We begin to panic about what resting means for our independence and success. We jump into compensating for our rest. We push ourselves to do more, more, more.

It’s our social system of constant productivity, and uneven distribution and recognition of labor, that make us feel like burdens when we are simply being human.

Your partner had a million other things to do today and now they’re caring for you. What makes tending to a loved one equally or comparably burdensome to the other things in one’s life? Is it the pressure placed on them by these other things? A parent who’s overwhelmed by child care now has one additional child to tend to who would otherwise be in school. Might it be that the onus of this burden actually falls on our lack of communal supports for parents? You miss work or school and are now irreparably behind. Might it be that our systems of education and work require so much of us, all crammed into a single day, that we feel the immense pressure not to miss even one? Your unclaimed sick days and vacation time are calling to you, reader. They’re yours for the taking!

We can turn this conversation from the negative and accusatory into the positive and imaginative in a way The Nap Ministry has been pioneering: What might rest, recovery, and health look like if we had robust systems of support in place? Less to do in a day? How would you relax if you knew you didn’t have anything else to do? What would you permit yourself to do? How would it change your relationships? Your relationship to your body?

Thinking imaginatively about how the world might look and how we might feel if we prioritized interdependent care and rest is central to working against ableism.

If you’ve read up until this point positively identifying with our cultural standards that demonize the occasional, human experience of illness and injury, I invite you to consider what this means for persons who identify as disabled and/or chronically ill. Earlier I said, “We are embarrassed by our own mental, emotional, and physical impediments because they leave us less capable of doing the things that have come to be expected of us from school, work, friends, and family.” What about the people who…always feel that way? You injure a limb and experience the inconvenience and shame of limited mobility until you heal and are back to work, double time. What about a person who will never experience normative mobility? You experience a moment of panic while out on a date and then immediately feel guilty for the way your emotions impacted your partner’s experience. What about persons who do not have the ability to emotionally regulate, ever? Should they be embarrassed? Are we embarrassed of them?

This is a tricky line to walk. For some caregivers, caring for a person with a disability or chronic illness does feel like an immense burden. Caregiving requires additional resources of money, physical assistance, emotional care, and time. Sometimes disabled persons do things that do embarrass their caregivers without intending it. These feelings might be exacerbated by crushed expectations of an able-bodied child or life-long partner.

Individuals experiencing disability may themselves identify their life experience as extremely burdensome, to them and to their loved ones. Especially a person who, for a portion of their life, experienced what we would consider normative health. Accidents and the onset of illnesses and diseases all contribute to feelings of burden.

How do we resolve this tension? Say it with me: “A situation can feel burdensome. People are not burdens.

We consider injuries and illnesses burdens to our selves and our to-dos. We consider our injured and ill selves to be burdens to others. It’s a conflation: “This illness is burdensome so I am burdensome.”

This is dangerous for people with disabilities. While you work your way out of feeling burdensome by proving to yourself and others that you can not-be-that-way by doing what is expected, people with disabilities face this slippage within their own minds like we do and from others who project this idea of burden onto them (like the Christian Brother I used to live with) because of the expectation that they cannot do what would prove otherwise.

What’s worse, when it’s status quo to work despite being unwell, but we speak with tones of amazement when we see a disabled person working despite their disability, we are betraying our preconcieved assumptions about who we thought could work. When we celebrate a disabled person getting a job because it shows they are more capable than we thought they were, we are showing exactly what we value (and it’s not humanity, it’s work.)

In returning to our imagination before: How might these feelings and experiences be ameliorated by greater resources? Greater support? Less pressure to be productive? Fewer things pulling us in fewer directions? How might a family receiving news of a child’s diagnosis feel some alleviation of their disappointment if met by robust commitments from medical professionals, family members, community partners, religious organizations, and friends to the shared responsibility of supporting the child’s wellbeing? What would our world look like if all challenges were met with these responses of togetherness?

One thing’s for sure, we would rightfully blame society for lacking sufficient resources, not the individual for lacking sufficient self-reliance. Alleviating burden means establishing and amending systems around the realities of bodily-ness, rather than contorting our bodies to fit the systems.

With this in mind, I invite us to consider why people are upset by the latest news about singer-songwriter Sia, and her new movie portraying a protagonist with autism.

For the lead role, Sia cast Maddie Ziegler, her everything-starlet, rather than an actress who actually has autism. When prodded by Twitter users and activists asking why she didn’t cast someone with the experience to portray someone with the experience, her responses can be summarized as, “It would have been burdensome for the actress to perform the requisite tasks, and it would have been burdensome for the rest of the cast and crew to adjust to the increased needs of an autistic lead actress.”

Note: the word Sia actually used was “compassionate.” Apparently, she had worked with an autistic actress before hiring Ms. Ziegler, but due to the stress this autistic woman experienced, Sia found it most “compassionate” to cast someone else. What if Sia thought she was being compassionate when really, this woman was heartbroken?

It is right for alarms to immediately blare in our minds when we see “compassionate” and “disability” in the same sentence. Especially if the compassionate action is a removal of opportunity or rights from a disabled person. Throughout history, the mistreatment, institutionalization, and even death of disabled persons has been oft-labeled the “compassionate” decision. Sometimes the words used are “merciful,” or “dignified.”

Real mercy, dignity, and compassion will never strip away the rights and humanity of any person.

The Church stresses the centrality of intrinsic human dignity to all things. This human dignity is rooted in the image and likeness of the God who created us, a God who we are told is merciful and compassionate. Any action labeled “compassionate” or “merciful” that does not pursue or protect the sustenance and fruitfulness of life, the foundation of God’s own Creation of us, is a contradiction. [CCC 1700] And remember, life can be fruitful in ways other than birth too! Your labor, your art, your service, and your prayer are also fruit that demands the fullness of this same protection.

We also need to be aware of how individual words can virtue signal. Compassion, mercy, and dignity make us think of Scripture. For me, they evoke (and invoke!) the God of Mary’s and Zechariah’s canticles:

“He has mercy on those who fear Him, in every generation. He has shown the strength of His arm. He has scattered the crowd with His conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly.” [Luke 1:46-55]

“He promised to show mercy to our fathers, and to remember His holy covenant…In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.” [Luke 1:67-79]

I have memorized these canticles. During my year in Oklahoma, we prayed them at morning and evening community prayer. Every day, immediately after sitting through a meal where I defended my Matthew against accusations of burden, I sat beside the same Christian Brother in our green-carpeted home chapel, reciting these words over and over.

Community that year was overshadowed by disaster: A tornado that narrowly missed our home, the unexpected death of a dear friend to community, a life-altering illness. The months were a parade of injury, sickness, grief, and pride. The words we prayed twice daily never seemed to come to fruition.

This is how I know for certain: Just because you say a word doesn’t make it manifest. Saying “compassionate” doesn’t make you compassionate. Especially not when, in your very next breath, you tell an autistic woman sharing her experience, “maybe you’re just a bad actor,” instead of having true “compassion” and considering the bias that might be operating against her…

Now, we have no way of knowing the fullness of the Sia story. When we don’t ground statements (and movies) about disability in the lived experience of actually-disabled people, they will always be speculative and open to the influence of bias. We can operate under a lens of true compassion and assume that, with Sia’s commitment to featuring disabled, queer, and trans performers and characters as it is, her intentions were probably good. However, we are also right to operate from a lens of suspicion, and be bothered by the continuation of a narrative that working with a disabled person is burdensome. Sia is maintaining harmful expectations of labor, asking the autistic body to conform to the system of Hollywood, rather than demanding Hollywood conform to the reality of an autistic body.

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart…” [Matthew 11:28-29]

The annotations in my New American Bible, Revised Edition expound upon this Biblical discussion of burden in its societal context: The burden to which Christ was referring was the burden of the Law. When we see “The Law” in Scripture, we should assume the referent is the Law of the Hebrews, which we know from the Old Testament was a vast and encompassing code of conduct that formed the entirety of Hebrew society. We can interpret this passage, accurately, as Christ speaking to people for whom the demands of society’s present structure and expectations are exceedingly heavy.

Christ Himself calls us to take up His mission of breaking down barriers between those burdened by society’s expectations to create a New Kingdom, one where all people, especially those outcast because of illness, are welcomed.

We start by recognizing intrinsic human dignity. We distinguish between the onset challenge and the person experiencing it. We think imaginatively about what a world might look like with greater supports. Then, we build those communities. We ask for help. We humble ourselves, remembering that humility and self-deprecation are not the same. We commit to being present to those who need assistance. We permit ourselves to be imposed upon (which is one definition of the word “meek”) and do so with gladness. This is how we lighten the load.

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“Why does your website look like that?”

There are bikes with banana seats hanging from the ceiling. My latte is delivered to me, deconstructed, by a man with a mustache, the ends twisted up. The coffee trembles in a hand-thrown teacup with a lopsided lip. The frothed milk sits in a miniature Erlenmeyer flask. The sugar is pre-spooned and resting on the unfinished wood slab of a serving tray, as if I scooped it myself and forgot to stir it in. The floor and walls and bar are all concrete.

When I look the coffee shop up on Instagram, flurries of filtered images taken by women in cream-colored sweaters and raw-hemmed jeans pop up one by one. If I click on these women’s profiles, I will be taken to apartment interiors with exposed brick walls and cocktail bars with $16 drinks adorned by sprigs of rosemary. They will have white couches and rugged boyfriends. Somewhere, the mothers roll their eyes and wave the scissors they’d like to take to those high-and-tight haircuts.

This is the aesthetic of our time. Millennial, pastel, #bossbabe minimalism. This is the hipster-not-hipster, healthy “lifestyle,” self-care dream world that we are sold and told to strive for, and that I write about more elsewhere.

It is beautiful like the deserts the monks fled to. But, the monks did not stay there.

I sound cynical. I am critical. I am also hypocritical. I love the way my desert looks next to your desert on my phone. I just bought a cream sweater! Starbucks just tastes worse, you know?

These all have their virtues. Thrifting and independent coffee shops and the sought-after clothing brands that make up the presently ideal feminine “look” are probably better for the planet than the fast-fashion, big box, making-Bezos-richer, 40% cotton and 60% plastic things we bought decades prior.

But these things are also coded with elitism. They come to be associated with certain values: Wealth, thin-ness, individualism, not having children, upward mobility. The all-natural movement, the wellness movement, the minimalist hygge movement: all of these require a level of financial security, affluence, and independence to uphold.

It’s the same reasoning that made wedding dresses white: A sign of status, to show you have the money for clean linen.

These spaces and ideals are often not reflective of BIPOC cultures. They are also not often accessible (that walk-up apartment “with character” isn’t an option for your neighbor with a wheelchair…) I am reminded of the fact that most “As Seen On TV” gadgets you see and think, “who on Earth struggles with putting on shoes or pouring a jug??” were actually designed with disabled persons in mind. Those dinky, cheap items you laugh at are meant to fill accessibility gaps.

That is the reality of most colorful, easy things: we’ve labeled them “cheap.” We celebrate knowing that Kirkland brand vodka is actually Grey Goose brand vodka because it means our affordable option is secretly fancy. We scoff at plastic, musical children’s toys because we’ve decided the best thing for them and for our planet are tan wood blocks. And maybe the toxicology studies are true, but maybe we’re also attracted to things we’re told make us better, more responsible mothers?

I don’t have children. But regardless of what your life’s season and your opinions on color and plastic, can’t we together see how our commitment to a minimalist, white-washed (in every sense) aesthetic is exclusionary?

There is nothing intrinsically wrong about liking or striving to own few items, wear ethically-made clothing, use minimally packaged goods, design your space rustically or industrially, and avoiding practices that have been linked to health issues. But there is something wrong with making these things benchmarks or hallmarks of goodness and success.

There is also something wrong when our demand for previously-inexpensive things makes them inaccessible to the groups that once relied on them. We can and do gentrify more than just buildings.

The Church is not immune. This aesthetic and lifestyle have taken hold with the women who are driving the online Catholic community. They are majority white or white-passing, and they accommodate this aesthetic into their beliefs about modesty, poverty, and goodness. When we think about monasticism, minimalism and self-awareness seem to fall right into step: Owning few possessions, being disconnected from the commercial world, focusing on the self. It is easy to start believing that the path to holiness is paved in subway tile backsplash and always wears a veil to Mass. There are greyscale rosaries that sell out in seconds and someone help me if I see one more prayer written in that damn-near-illegible calligraphic cursive.

And it all still somehow flies under the flag of Christianity being counter-cultural, even when the filters we put on our pictures of cathedral interiors are the same ones that Bachelorette contestant used for her Hawaiian getaway. The shampoo bar and metal razor come to represent our own life of small graces and sacrifices. Are we still allowing ourselves to believe that the height of commercialization and capitalism is bright lights, colors, and sounds? The height of capitalism is monetizing goodness, no matter what shade it comes in. It isn’t “evangelizing in a language the secular culture understands” if what gives it value is the look and not the Lord.

The fact is that this trendiness is not truth. We cannot buy into the individualism of empty homes and be ready for the messiness of the people Jesus calls us to welcome. Monasticism requires community, owning few possessions requires responsibility, disconnecting from the commercial world means recognizing when you’re being sold something. The most meaningful monasticism is giving of your self to your community. Your confidence and individuality glorify the God who made you.

You can have an eco-friendly, healthy life that brims with color and relies upon others. You can wear a patterned shirt that catches everyone’s eye without being immodest. You can own a white couch as long as people are allowed to make themselves at home on it. If you wouldn’t give it to your kid, don’t give it to the church toy drive. Look with pride on your parquet floor and your popcorn ceiling! Thrifting is just hand-me-downs with a price tag you have to rip off: No one will know the difference. Your life is not a “before” picture. Old homes and old clothes and old bodies are normal. The planet also has roots and wrinkles.

Reflect with thanksgiving on the things you already have. Before you toss it in the bin because it doesn’t spark joy, have you asked if someone else could use it? Have you expressed gratitude for it? Are you discontent with it because it doesn’t match the aesthetic you’re striving for? One of the best things you can do for the planet is keep what you already have. We surely have technicolor landfills.

So why does my website look like this?

It’s not because I’m “not like other girls.” It’s not because I’m immune to the siren song of a capsule wardrobe. It’s not because I’m the aesthetic police.

It took me the better part of a month to decide how to design this website. Every time I looked at the colors I chose for the logo or the fonts I felt were most universal, I thought to myself, “Yeah, but this isn’t trendy. Nobody’s website looks like this. There’s not enough white. There’s not enough calligraphy or typewriter script. People will think it’s for children. People won’t take me seriously.” And sure, I swapped out the theme once or twice, but it is still difficult to look at something you love, something that feels like home, something-that’s-all-you-have and think, “but it’s not what we’ve decided is beautiful.”

I say “we” because aesthetic is the product of consumer demand. So I thought about my consumer. I thought about how they’re excluded by our commitment to clean lines and crisp whiteness in the home, in the body, written by hand. And I pressed that “Publish” button.

With Theology for EveryBody, I’m committed to keeping color. I am committed to making the ideas I share about environmental justice, life with chronic illness, disability advocacy, and faith-filled beauty rooted in reality and accessibility, not trendiness. The logo I designed is simple and recognizable. Bright colors reminds me of nature and childhood. The front-page yellow is the yellow I’ve painted my dining space wall. It is all beautiful, to me. It is all a personal rebellion against our presently popular, muted aesthetic, in an effort to distance myself from practices imbued with classism. It is a continued practice in humbling myself before a God who makes promises with rainbows.

*Many thanks to my good internet friend Clare McCallan–a fantastic spoken word artist with an incredible sense of fashion, humor, and honesty–for being a conversation partner on all of these things. So glad we “met.” Make sure to check out her work and follow her on Instagram 🙂

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Categories
health

PCOS: Series Introduction

In 2013, I began eating ice like potato chips. My best college friends would grab me late night cups of soda from the dining hall that were 90% ice chips with cola minimally filling in the cracks. In 2015, I started showering two, sometimes three times a day. The water as hot as I could get it, for 40 minutes on average, I belted out Disney classics and didn’t think anything of it beyond necessary junior year self-care.

Later that year, over iced coffee with a close high school friend, I was comfortably but firmly told, “Maddie, I think you’re iron deficient. I used to be, too. I got a blood test and started taking iron supplements, and I haven’t chewed ice since.” It felt obvious enough, and a soon-thereafter visit to my primary care doctor confirmed it. I started taking iron supplements and a multivitamin.

My periods had always been very, very heavy. But nobody ever talks about the thin, thin line between “normal” heavy and dangerously heavy. It took nearly dying of blood loss for me to realize which side of that line I was on.

It’s now 2020, and I have been diagnosed with PCOS–“probably”–by one doctor. The journey from there to here has been a series of traumas, sometimes spaced apart and other times overlapping. I intend to explore the biggest points of change in this series. In doing so, I hope to explore how PCOS and other reproductive issues pose challenges to living out the expected, Catholic path of natural family planning (NFP), as well as how the lived experience of chronic illness often falls outside the bounds of disability discussions, workplace “sick” days, self-care culture, and various other social norms both new and old around bodily wellbeing.

Moral of the forthcoming, multi-part story: You are not alone. NFP or fertility awareness is near-impossible for lots of people. Reproductive troubles impact all other parts of your body. Chronic illness isn’t just “trendy right now.” What worked for me might not work for you, just as what worked for others didn’t always work for me. I’m not an expert; few people are. This knowledge should’t be behind a paywall. I’ll point you towards the leaders I’ve followed. I LOVE talking reproductive and digestive health in my DM’s. Let’s do this chronic illness thing, together (no lifestyle subscription or novena commitment required.)

With love and light, Madison

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Uncategorized

The Author

Hey there, I’m Madison! I’ve started a blog! You can read the full story of its name and my goals here.

The most important bits about me:

  • I am a justice-focused, affirming and questioning, cradle Catholic hopefully bent towards change from the inside-out.
  • I have two younger brothers. I am the stereotypical eldest child.
  • One of those brothers has two profound genetic disabilities: Cri du Chat syndrome and DiGeorge syndrome. Navigating his uniqueness has defined my upbringing and family dynamic. He loves a good restaurant (and I’ll write more on him soon!)
  • Our youngest brother Mike is funnier and taller than us both. He plays the drums (excitedly) and the trombone (begrudgingly)
  • I grew up an Air Force brat. My father retired after 23 years of active duty right before I started high school. I have lived in South Carolina, NSW Australia, Virginia, Northern California, Tulsa OK, and am now happily settled in Hyde Park, Chicago.
  • I have a double-major BA in…
    1. English ( split emphasis in creative writing, gothic lit, and children’s lit)
    2. Theology and Religious Studies
  • I went to Saint Mary’s College of California (#GodIsaGael, but don’t ask me for the theological specs on that…)
  • I have an MA in Theology and Ethics from the University of Chicago’s Divinity School. My research emphasis was disability theology.
  • I work full-time for a Catholic nonprofit that supports academic exploration into the Catholic intellectual tradition where I run their high school program.
  • I also work part-time for L’Arche Chicago.
  • I have PCOS and a broken gallbladder
  • I’m a Special Religious Education (SPRED) catechist
  • Pre-COVID Sunday mornings, you’d find me moving between a Church and a boxing gym and a coffee shop.
  • My very-soon-to-be-more-than-boyfriend was raised ecumenically Christian and now considers himself to be an exploratory agnostic. He is a physicist passionate about making science accessible. He loves space and the mountains. His name is Guy.
  • My big deep dream has always been to be a writer.
  • I’m not sure if I’m a public theologian.”Public theology” stems from the Black, womanist tradition of theology and is meant to help transition theology from a majority white, majority male, exclusionary academic setting and make it accessible. It’s that emphasis on access that makes “public disability theologian” feel so right to me, but it also feels potentially appropriative given my lack of work in womanist theology and my own white identity.
  • I am always learning more

Make sure to check out the social media links in the footer below! I love internet friends, and more often than not, the conversation probably started on Instagram…

You can also find more of my writing at The Catholic Woman, FemCatholic.com, The Young Catholic Woman, and LiveTodayWellCo.

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