"So I Googled: how to tell if my boyfriend is a Satan worshipper"
R-Eric steps into The Confessional
When I was writing my first memoir, I told my editor about having an autoimmune disorder from ages twelve to sixteen that caused my eyes to bulge out of my head so far that my eyelids were literally unable to close. I confided in her about the pain of my adolescence and - unhelpfully, I thought - she suggested I write about it. To which I replied, yeah… no way in hell.
Because of all the inelegant things I wrote about myself in that book—publicly admitting to drug use, alcoholism, deceit, sexual indiscretion, misanthropy, and pretending to be a hero—the pain and alienation of my childhood was the one thing that made me think, if I tell this, I might die. If I start to show what’s under the tattoos, no one will again believe that I am cool.
But my editor pushed back saying, “Be brave, Nadia. You can tell the truth.” And so, reluctantly, I did.
There was a point early in the life of House for All Sinners and Saints, the church I founded, when I was frustrated and a little baffled by just how many socially awkward people were showing up. And at the same time, bloggers and church pundits (who had never visited House for All) began to claim online, based on the fact that the pastor was tattooed and pastors attract people like themselves, that House for All was obviously just a church for hipsters. Which has never, ever been the case.
So one day I started to think to myself, wait, why am I not attracting other cool people? I mean, why aren’t there people like me coming? Now, if you are thinking to yourself, What kind of person thinks this shit?!?, you are not alone.
I didn’t realize for a couple of years why exactly it was that so many so-called “losers” were coming to House for All Sinners and Saints, the church with the supposedly cool pastor. See, some might think the funny, tattooed, sarcastic part of me attracts people to House for All. And that’s true for some people but they’re the ones who never seem to stick around.
The so-called “cool” parts of me were never what attracted the people who stayed. It was the bug-eyed kid with no friends who brought them in, the girl who ate all her lunches alone in middle school, the painfully skinny girl who learned to bandage her wounds with anger, cynicism, and eventually a lot of tattoos. It ends up, I had been attracting people like me all along. I was just too arrogant or too defensive to admit it.
But once I did, it honestly felt like my heart grew—my heart grew big enough for them and also big enough for 13 year old me as well.
It seems to me that as long as we can’t face the painful truth or the shame-filled truth, or the sad truth from our past, it seems that that truth doesn't disappear—it just defines, often unfairly, how we react to other people.
R. Eric Thomas
Joining me in The Confessional today is R Eric Thomas, a playwright, social commentator, and columnist for Elle.com and who was raised in a conservative church just like me, but who carries that baggage in a way that is all his own.
Eric lives in Baltimore with his husband. He’s a playwright, a columnist for Elle, and the author of Here For It a book of essays about how to save your soul in America.
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Friday May 22nd, 4p PST/ 5p MST/ 6p CST/ 7p EST R. Eric and I will have a chat live on my Instagram. Just click on the circle with my image on the upper left. I’m sure we’ll dive into dead mermaids, Christianity after fundamentalism, and reaching for more. Join us!
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I totally get what you went through in school. I was always the short kid, as if that's the only thing that people could see about me. As if somehow that makes me less of a person... I'll never forget in jr high every single person that signed my yearbook had to write some smart ass comment like " hopefully this summer you'll grow taller" or something similar. I've been tempted many times to burn that yearbook but never have LOL.... All except one girl who went to my church and we were in confirmation class together. Funny how after all these years I still remember her kind words and my anger over being marginalized for my height. I guess though things happen for a reason and it reminds me how kind words can actually effect people and to this day I try to be kind as a result. That girl is still my friend, and still the same kind, sweet person she was so many years ago. The down side I still don't like the ones who harassed me .. I've got a real problem with forgiving .. I don't know if its a ego thing, or just being hard headed and stubborn or what the problem is .. I tired but if I'm going to be totally honest deep down I don't think I really want to forgive them, or that they deserve to be forgiven why did they have to be so mean ? Im the type of person who tries to treat others as I want to be treated... I've heard all the " just forgive yourself and let it go and all that supposed good advice", prayed about it. But so far it's not working. It' ridiculous to hold on to a grudge for so long but here I am still doing it. Wondering Nadia when did you forgive those that made life miserable for you in school. And if so how the hell did you do it?
I can hardly wait to listen to this podcast. However, I must stop right now and tell you, your intro made me weep. My eyes did not get hot with tears and a singular teardrop rolled down my face ... I mean WEEP. It touched so deeply in my heart and soul and pricked feelings I would have sworn I long ago had dealt with. Apparently, I had buried them so deep, I thought they were a non-issue. But I was wrong and I want to thank you for your honest, authentic transparency and specifically for saying ... "It seems to me that as long as we can’t face the painful truth or the shame-filled truth, or the sad truth from our past, it seems that that truth doesn't disappear—it just defines, often unfairly, how we react to other people." Now in the light of day I can easily see how these suppressed emotions and unhealed wounds dictate how I act, react and interact with people and how I fail to allow them to love me. They release love to me and I am incapable of accepting it often times. Thank you for turning on that light bulb for me. Thank. You.