A New Chapter

Welcome to my Substack! Here’s a bit about what brought me here, and my plans for this new platform.

Two summers ago, I started to listen to a podcast as I ran errands. It was an interview of a man who had survived conversion therapy at the hands of the Catholic Church. I remember cranking up the volume in my car so I could hear their words over the crackling air conditioning. Summer in Ohio was so much more humid than the dry heat I’d grown used to in Texas, but a small part of me felt guilty for cooling the car down instead of just offering up my discomfort to Jesus. I truly had very little interest in listening to this episode, but my friend had been begging me to for weeks. She wanted someone to talk to about it. I think a small part of me knew that it might chip the rose-colored glasses I was determined to view the Church through. I wasn’t ready to take them off. I wasn’t planning to ever take them off.

The avoidance of anything that might color my view of the Church was how I’d ended up in Ohio in the first place. Going to a Newman list school, immersing myself in an “authentically” Catholic community, studying theology and catechetics— these things were supposed to protect me from the threats of the secular world. They were supposed to strengthen my faith and provide me with tools to fend off the culture of death that pervaded American society.

I wanted the perfect Catholic life more than anything. To get married young, have lots of babies, homeschool them, raise them up in the faith. I wanted the long skirts and veils. I wanted to bake loaves of sourdough in a beige kitchen and name my children after the Saints. I wanted goats and a big garden. Finding a Catholic husband was the first step, and a religious university was just the place to go.

Instead, on that tiny campus in the hills of Appalachia, I found myself coming to terms with the fact that I was queer. Try as I might, it was no longer something I could hide from. In high school, when my best friend and I held hands and went to dances together, I called it platonic. When I almost kissed her, I blamed it on the Netflix show I’d watched that had a lesbian character. Surely the way I looked at her was just a consequence of consuming that kind of media. I stopped watching secular TV, stopped listening to secular music. I didn’t allow myself any room to entertain the thought that I might not be straight. Besides, I firmly believed that sexuality was a choice.

But my ability to live in complete denial began to dissolve as I formed friendships in college. I had never let people who identified as queer into my life before. As awful as that sounds, I think it was out of a sense of self-preservation rather than prejudice. But here, I was surrounded with people who more or less affirmed the teaching of the Church. Our common ground made me more willing to let them in. For the first time, I heard the stories of queer people. The puzzle pieces began to click. Parts of myself that I had tried to avoid thinking about began to make sense. Slowly, I somewhat allowed myself to identify with it. I was bisexual, I concluded, but I could still live in accordance with the teaching of the Church. Still have a husband, still have a family, still fulfill the vocation of motherhood that I knew I was called to.

But on that fateful August day, as the podcast episode came to an end, I found myself pulling over into an empty parking lot. I stared at the concrete wall of a long- abandoned building, not quite knowing how to feel. The Church was failing queer people so badly, and I knew it. I was living it. The man in the podcast had left seminary in the end, left conversion therapy behind after spending years of his life trying to “heal” his sexuality. He was in a loving relationship with a man. I found myself feeling strangely happy for him. It was the same internal conflict I’d faced a few months earlier when that same friend from high school told me about her girlfriend. I was happy for her, but knew I wasn’t supposed to be.

That podcast set my own deconstruction process into motion. I know many people from my former faith community believe that my journey away from the Church was fueled by my own pride, by some sense that I know more than God. In reality, it’s been a long, humbling journey of admitting how little I really know. As I started to allow myself to genuinely listen to the stories of others, I had to confront the fundamentalist frameworks that I had built my life around. It hasn’t been easy. In extending compassion to others, I was forced to dissect my own beliefs.

That podcast that I listened to two summers ago was posted here on Substack. It was hosted by Chris Damian, a man whose work has inspired me in so many ways. After I listened to that podcast, I began to read his posts. I began to learn other perspectives, began to consider other possibilities outside of the rigid beliefs I once held. I began to question things I never felt permitted to before. I read and read and wrestled with what I believed. When I reached the point of nearly bursting, full of thoughts I wasn’t allowed to express to nearly anyone, I began to write. I wrote like my life depended on it, and in some ways I think it did. Slowly, over time, I felt more confident. I began to share bits and pieces of what I had wrote on TikTok. I received more support and encouragement that I ever expected, and the idea that I might publish a book went from a far-off dream to an ever solidifying reality.

In Building a Bridge, Fr. James Martin proposes that Jesus often taught in parables because stories open our hearts and minds. They allow us to see the face of God in one another. I’m working on sharing my story so that others know they aren’t alone in their questions. I want someone to be able to hand my book to their mom one day and say, “this puts words to what I’ve felt but didn’t know how to tell you.”

All of that to say, I’m starting this Substack as I work towards the goal of publication. I’m hoping to share one post a week on here. Some will be available to the general public and free subscribers, but others will only be available to paid subscribers. The paid subscription will also give you access to exclusive snippets of my book along the way. No matter how you choose to read my work, thank you for being here. I couldn’t do it without y’all.

With love,

Ev

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