I started this newsletter three years ago for writing practice. This is post #100.
So, to celebrate, I solicited questions. And thank you to anyone who sent me a question, it was such a delight to receive them. The winner of the Christmas gifts giveaway was Judy, a wonderful friend and beautiful witness of faith. She’s supported this newsletter with in-person encouragement and kind comments since the beginning, so when the “choose a random name from this list” website chose her name, it didn’t feel that random.
I chose to answer questions about our conversion to Catholicism (short version!), my recommendations regarding maternal mental health, and how motherhood has helped me grow (kicking and screaming) in virtue. I’ve altered the questions so multiple questions can be addressed with one longer answer.
What is your conversion story?
Jonny and I both grew up in Evangelical Christian churches. We were officially confirmed Catholics on Easter 2016. But if you’re asking for the beginning of the story, my conversion began decades ago in the pews of my grandmother’s Presbyterian church. Sit, stand, sing, stand, sit, sing, stand. I didn’t know what we were doing, but something in me latched on to it. Or maybe something in it latched on to me.
So, in October 2014, when Jonny closed out our very first date with, “Thank you—that was fun. But I need to tell you that I’m thinking seriously about becoming Catholic. So if that’s an absolute no-go for you, we shouldn’t go on a second date.”
What I thought was, Well, I guess that could work. What I said was, “What are you doing next week?”
The journey to that Easter vigil a year and a half later had some significant rough patches. Ok, it was just one, long, big, rough patch, full of conversations (ahem, fights) about the nature of sin and grace. That was the big one. Of no small importance were doctrinal points about Mary, and the Pope, and what the Eucharist was supposed to be. We wanted to settle the question of conversion before we got engaged—and we both knew that we would not be getting engaged if we weren’t headed the same direction on the whole “Catholic Church” thing. Ultimately, we sorted through the main points of contention, figured out my ring size, and signed up for RCIA (Rite of Christian Initiation for Adults).
I would not have converted when I did if it wasn’t for Jonny. I’ve historically looked on this fact with mild to moderate annoyance. But I’ve realized that faith is not an individual act of heroism, as much as I’d like it to be. Instead, it’s a gift. And, more often than not, other people are involved. For example, in this weekend’s Gospel (John 1:35-42), Peter meets Jesus. Why? Because his brother Andrew brought him along. How did Andrew know about Jesus? Because Andrew heard about Him from John the Baptist. And the reason why John the Baptist knew Jesus certainly had something to do with the fact that their moms were really close. Conversion stories always have multiple characters.1
What are the three top ways you’d suggest to protect your mental health and care for all of your children and yourself?
The top three ways to protect your mental health, care for your children, and care for yourself:
Go to bed on time
Do daily mental prayer (Catholic for “quiet time”)
Exercise regularly
Believe me. Those three things, done with anything remotely like consistency, work. No one is more upset about this than I am.
BUT
This question was asked in the context of postpartum with extremely limited family support (we’re talking long-term deployment kind of situation). In that case, sleep, exercise, and five quiet minutes alone are very hard to come by.2 So the three things I would recommend are these:
Assemble the Avengers. Any person who is helping take care of you or your family in any way (pediatrician, obstetrician, psychiatrist, therapist, midwife, etc.) needs to be told the details of your situation. They also need legal permission to share information with each other. This usually requires your signature on a piece of paper. Note: making an appointment with a psychiatrist does not automatically put you on a bunch of drugs. It gives you a contact point with someone who could help you in crisis. Also, I cannot say enough good things about psychiatric nurse practitioners—so professional, so compassionate, and shorter wait lists to boot.
Offload some Overwhelm. Delegate something. I’m thinking along the lines of “neighbor or church acquaintance asks how they can help, you ask them to do carpool one day a week for six weeks.” And/or if there is any flex in the budget at all, use it. Cheaper: pizza night on Papa Murphy’s sale days, using paper plates exclusively for a month. Not cheap, but could be worth it: house cleaning once a month, babysitter once a week. Note: there is not a “limit” to how many things you can offload, like there’s an offload punchcard and you can run out of punches. You can’t. It’s ok to accept help and take “shortcuts.” This is not weakness. It’s resourcefulness.
Drink Dihydrogenmonoxide. (Ridiculous science joke brought to you by the need to alliterate! Yes, I am talking about water, and yes, I am kind of sorry.) Hydration is not easy—it requires attention, something a mom with a new baby and no support has very little of to spare. But staying hydrated is a good way to acknowledge your own basic needs. It’s also the fastest (and least expensive) way to feel better.
How has motherhood helped you grow in virtue?
Oh boy.
Well.
When I was eight months pregnant with my first child, my plan was to breastfeed, co-sleep, and use cloth diapers (I also wanted to bring him forth into the world without drugs). By the time he was four weeks old, he drank nothing but formula, we had moved in with my mother in-law, and I was sleeping (sans baby) for 12-14 hours every day due to the side effects of psychotropic medication. This was in the aftermath of an episode of postpartum psychosis.3
The whole thing was very humbling.
Mothering continues to humble me—I still cling to my plans. Then, the plan (large or small) falls to pieces, and I’m back to the opportunity for growth in humility. I’d call that the bedrock of my motherhood-and-virtue experience thus far.
Humility has been the gateway to any of the other virtues. I’ve noticed patience—willingness to be in the present moment—is much more possible to practice if I’ve already let go of the plan. And being in the present moment allows for wonder. I can see pieces of reality as God might see them, noticing what He might notice and delighting in it.
When I’m blundering this humility-patience-wonder path, I realize what a gift the whole journey of motherhood is. When a LiteBrite piece and a craisin fall out of my three year old’s pantlegs as she’s walking up the staircase into the church, I can see it for what it is: hilarious. In every season of life, that is where we find God’s abundance: in the present moment. His will for us is embedded in whatever is happening exactly right now.
Well, that’s it. Here’s to the next three years! Thank you for reading. I’m so grateful for each of you, and, as always, I’d love to hear from you.
-M
All that said… conversations about the faith don’t always have to be intense. It’s easy to fall into the trap of telling someone else what they believe instead of asking them what they believe (apropos of nothing, did you know that, “the Eucharist is only a symbol” is a totally inaccurate way to describe the beliefs of many kinds of Christians, Anglicans and Lutherans among them?). The second kind of conversation—the asking instead of telling kind—is better for everyone.
In the realm of mental health, there is no substitute for in-person support from a loving family. Unfortunately, that is just not the reality for many people, for all kinds of reasons. We should all be on the lookout for the families within our communities who need more backup, and, if we can, offer some concrete type of support. Whatever we can offer might seem “too small”—but these things do add up.
See footnote 2—I do not know what we would have done in that crisis if we had not been living in the same city as our parents. Several in-town siblings helped us, too. Also, I do not know if we would have chosen to keep living in this city if that first postpartum hadn’t been so bad. But since we’re still near our family, I can work on writing projects (some of them paid) “quarter time.” It would be a silly proposition if the childcare wasn’t (for the vast most part) free. We also have a gym membership (I bring my laptop to the lobby while my kids stay in childcare) and several excellent babysitters we can call. And that—three in-town grandparents, several in-town siblings, gym daycare, and babysitters—is what I need to work 10 hours a week. Some families manage that with fewer resources.
But I don’t think I could.
Such a beautiful perspective you write here: "But I’ve realized that faith is not an individual act of heroism, as much as I’d like it to be. Instead, it’s a gift." Amen!
"No one is more upset about this than I am."
This made me laugh out loud! I am right there with you.
I loved reading this post. Thanks for sharing thing so frankly. You are a wise woman!