Mom, your religion is killing me
Content warning: discussion of suicide
“All theology is manmade. It’s just us trying to fit God into the parameters of our logic.”
My husband’s words rattled my mind while we were chatting, stopping me in my tracks as we walked along the streets of our neighborhood. I didn’t grow up being allowed to talk like that. The two of us hadn’t always felt free to discuss such things. Strict dogma was something embedded into our skin. We were taught it was necessary, and it’s what we perpetuated in our early days together, ministering in church with fervor.
But now, things are different. We speak openly about what we think we know, what we are entirely unsure of, and what we hope may be revealed to us in the future of this precarious thing called life. He probably wouldn’t have made that statement at the beginning of our relationship, but now, he’s freer with his faith and his trust in God is deeper.
It’s been nearly five years since our religion and parenting collided in a way we didn’t expect. Oh, we’ve been on this journey of finding more than just a religious God for a while, but life dramatically changed for us when we were raising teenagers. The language we use is softer; the unknown is welcomed. One year changed our lives forever.
We tend to be a highly driven, intense, contemplative group, our core family of five.
Each of our children has at some point struggled with anxiety and depression, but on a particularly uneventful wintry evening, I received a text about my son that went something like this: “Could you check on him? There’s something off about tonight. I’m not sure he’s okay.”
I walked into our teenager’s room knowing that I had spoken many words before. The prying, motherly kind when you aren’t ever sure if you’ve gone too far or not far enough. But this time, I couldn’t allow myself to care if I was doing it wrong. I pushed, insisted, and begged.
Our precious, beautiful boy whose world had been rocked by some unfortunate events was so depressed that he was ready to take his own life. He had planned it for that night, he finally admitted. As ringing began to sound in my head, drowning out coherent thoughts, motherly desperation was the only thing that cut through the haze. I didn’t leave his side until I felt I could let him rest quietly, bedroom doors open, sleep coming and going in waves. Thankfully, that night he promised he wouldn’t do anything to hurt himself before we could get him to a doctor. Our other teenager curled up next to our bed in a pile of blankets, just to sleep near Mom and Dad.
Over the next weeks, we saw doctors, psychiatrists, counselors, you name it, trying to get help while being the help our family needed. I became a dedicated advocate for my son in a sea of medical professionals. Time seemed to drag slowly, and the 24/7 watch of him made us all feel like prisoners. Once during this time, we had thought someone was with him and let a space of twenty minutes lapse to pick up food, and he was alone. His thoughts raced again, almost convincing him to go through with it, and I knew I had failed. We hunkered down, rallied again. It was just us in the quiet serenity of our home, and all the busy noise outside our walls was uninvited.
Conversation was all we had.
What got us here?
A few devastating events had forever altered life as our son had planned it, but was that it? Had it made him not want to live? I pressed in.
“I can’t be who you want me to be,” he finally uttered.
The words stung. I’ve tried so hard not to push my kids into any particular career path. But he wasn’t talking about that.
“Mom, I hate this whole religious thing. How can I be a child in this home and live with that?” He told me that everything his dad and I had given our lives to was fundamentally something he questioned. And he didn’t feel like it was even possible to accept love from us while he was so full of doubt and questions.
We raised our kids with certain boundaries and beliefs because we wanted them to hear clear messages of our expectations. But now, I questioned if I had left room for our kids to feel loved unconditionally.
Knowing that they have a choice to use their own mind and life to determine the theology they cling to, did I exude love and acceptance no matter what? Did we miss that message? I mean, we as parents have changed and grown into a deeper and sometimes different understanding of faith.
How do we communicate to our children that even if they are completely opposite from us, our beliefs, and preferences, they are fully loved for who they are?
I’m not sure I know the answer to this question, but I think it starts with just showing up. Listening. I had no agenda during that time other than loving my son right where he was. I still don’t.
We are some of the lucky ones. Our crisis was fear of the worst, and not the worst itself. My heart can only imagine the grief of those suffering the greatest loss of all. But I hope that something I learned may be a help to those who are struggling with the same anxiety-prone, intense thinkers who experience crippling doubt. If that’s you, allow me to share things I think helped us through this.
1) I tried to learn instead of lecture.
There was so much talking during this time. Though I tried to share my own fears and doubts, relating to my son when possible, I realized I didn’t know how to help him. I opened my eyes and ears wide. We were often quiet together.
2) I sought professional help immediately.
Know that you are not alone, and there are people willing to help. If you need to ask for help anonymously, there are free public resources available. The first thing I did that night was call the suicide hotline and get advice.
3) I was ready to drop everything to be my child’s greatest advocate.
I know this is a luxury and will not be possible for everyone. Before I share our experience, let me say that people in the mental health field have a difficult job. There are some pretty amazing souls trying to help families with what I think has become a problem larger than they alone can handle. That’s where parents and caregivers come in. Because of the sheer amount of people our system is trying to help, diagnoses and quick judgments can be made. But you know your child. You are willing to do anything for them. So, if you can, do just that.
We went to a couple of facilities and asked for help. Since it was the weekend, it was difficult to get into places, and seemingly flippant statements and rash diagnoses were made. Ultimately, I demanded options, asked for clear instructions about what I needed to do, and took on the role of caregiver, refusing to have him hospitalized and heavily medicated when that was proposed. We ended up seeing our family doctor who knew him well and going with the dosage of medication she monitored, along with some added counseling. I don’t know the severity of other situations, but that was ours, and we fought for what we believed was best. I trusted my intuition.
4) I decided I didn’t need to know everything.
This one was not always easy for me. When I was with professionals, I left the room willingly, offering to do so in a way that allowed my child or the doctor not to have to create an awkward moment by asking me to leave. I am convinced today that as a mom, I don’t need or want to know some of the details of my son’s life and simply count my blessings when he shares anything at all.
5) We monitored social media.
I am not one to go on record vilifying social media completely, but it did play a role, especially since there were circumstances surrounding self-acceptance. No one would argue that social media can be a place of depressing comparison if you aren’t in a positive mindset. We went as far as to block all service from our son’s phone number until our counselor thought it was safe to lift restrictions.
6) Someone spoke up.
We received a late-night text from our son’s friend. That text most likely saved his life. Please speak up even if it’s hard.
7) Love is all you need.
Okay, it’s kind of all you need. But I am convinced that what got us through is the realization that we can love unconditionally—ourselves and each other. And I must take a moment to thank my family for the love they showed. They and the very few friends who knew what we were going through showed up in a way that I cannot describe. Our three kids, who understand each other like no one else can, cemented a stronger bond than ever. And so much love showed up. I am incredibly grateful for that.
Even now, I don’t know how to confront questions of theology and religion without conveying a message of conditional love when raising children. But I do know that if God is as big as we assume, then he loves bigger and deeper than anyone can ever fathom. So maybe love is all we need. No religious dogma required.
Link resources:
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org