The Gray

One of my weaknesses still is a proclivity toward over-generalization. This used to manifest itself mostly in "soft" racist comments and a refusal to see any truth outside of my rigid evangelicalism. Now however, feelings of indignation focus almost entirely on men and evangelical christians.

And perhaps to my detriment, for these over-generalizations feel justified, because both groups have hurt and wounded me deeply.

Racist proclivities before, were based solely on self-righteousness and conservative talking heads. But now, over-generalizations feel truer; based on a much truer sense of indignation produced from experiences of injustice.

Still, is there not inherent wrongness in such thinking? Yet what am I to do with this sense of injustice? 

I cannot shake the feeling that I find sick safety and comfort in my over-generalizations partially because I've lived so long in a black and white world. A world which told me that there were good guys and bad guys. That people were poor because of their own bad choices. That people needed saving. That there were absolute rights and wrongs; absolute truths that separated the righteous from the heathen.

I was alienated from the realness of the world. From the grayness. From the beautiful, authentic, painful realness of the gray.

I lost so much color in my life because I was focused on judging and saving others. Living not my life, but the life I thought I was supposed to live.

My heart breaks, and tears well up in my eyes when I think of how stringent I was in my perceived rightness. How much I missed, trying to be perfect. How much I mutilated my mind trying to please and meet impossible standards. How desperately I wanted the affection of an unattainable god who never spoke--never affirmed. I over-generalized because it justified the way I thought life ought to be.

And I was the one who lost. Who fooled myself. Who lived a life as a shell of a girl pretending. Pretending she was anything other than fierce, wild, irreverent and free.

These are moments when I want to scream. Scream and curse the beliefs that built the lies and fears that stole precious life from me that I will never get back. I swallowed evangelicalism whole, and I believed tenants that mutilated and looted my mind; destroyed areas of my psyche and self-worth.

I wanted to kill myself at times as a Christian. Literally. And no one ever knew. I was alone, with a pasted on smile every Sunday. Only my journals reflect how dangerously suicidal my mental state was. Not even god knew. Because how could he. God isn't real. Which makes my story even more painful. All this heartache and falsity, for what? 

Perhaps, for the benefit and perspective of others. There is much to be lost when Christianity is let go of. And for those who are seeking a Christianity that will allow them to maintain a communal identity while also a level of liberalism, I commend you! But for those who have let go of the God branch, know that there is life, and good life after.

For God has died for me. I experienced his funeral when I broke bread for the last time on a Boston late summer's eve at the most beautiful and inclusive communion I have ever been part of. It was a grievous, powerful, and deeply freeing experience. But it also means that I cannot go back. For where do you go when God has died? Truly, the way forward is not clear, but the way forward is finally mine to forge for me. 

I'm slowly building my identity again, and arguably as a much more aware and, I hope, honest and free human; for identity comes not from without, but from within. And although I know my pain will never be apologized for, I also know that I will likely never be less angry, nor will I forget the years lost or the pain incurred.

I do hope however that I can begin to over-generalize less. That somehow I find balance and grace in my perceptions of others. And perhaps I shall, for the gray is now where I live and love. And where I believe life is best truly seen.