Finding Faith

27 November 2023

I’m scared to write this article. In fact, I’m more scared writing about this than I was opening up about my depression. I don’t care if you all know I’m sad, I’m told it happens to everyone. However, I am fearful for you to find out I believe in God. I’m scared because I think you’ll take every bad thing religious people have done, and say I condone it. I’m scared because I’m worried you’ll think I’m an evangelist. One that will hate you if you don’t believe what I believe. That I’ll judge you based on some aspect of your identity. I’m fearful of all of that, and I still think this is an important piece of my life to share with you. It’s part of my truth on my path to purpose, and I promised to tell you the truth.

Growing up, religion was slightly present in my life, not all consuming. We didn’t go to church, but I prayed every night until around middle school. Both the traditional prayers and my own. I was baptized Catholic, and got my communion around 3rd grade. (I had no say in the baptism, but led the charge on the communion because I was upset my cousins could eat the cracker in church and I couldn’t.) Fast forward to my teenage years: religion started to feel complicated + I stopped praying. Like most kids, I was more focused on my friends than figuring out what I believed in. During that time, I think deep down I still knew some higher power was there for me, but I don’t know, I guess we fell out of touch.

It stayed that way until last year, when I experienced depression again for the first time in six years. I felt so alone and overwhelmed with my life, I was desperate for help. Therapy was too expensive, and there’s only so much support anyone else can provide. I needed more. Around this time, I saw someone post something about God and I got jealous. Jealous they had someone to throw their problems up to and trust he would help work them out. I craved that support.

Feeling defeated, I did the only thing I felt I could. I prayed. (It’s called a Hail Mary for a reason.) In my prayer, I asked God to help get me through that season. I listened to sermons, prayed, believed, and in return, received. Now if you don’t have faith, what I’m about to say is going to sound crazy, but I received God’s presence with me. Much like when I was a child, it was a palpable feeling — like there is someone up there looking out for me. His presence reminded me that I already possessed all of the strength I needed to get through that season. After years of not speaking, he was still there when I needed him. Waiting for me. Ready to walk with me.

The truth is, I only turned to God because I didn’t have anywhere else to go, but I’m glad I did. My faith helped get me through that depression*, and it’s still helping me now that I’m out. I pray all the time, bringing everything to God. Sometimes they’re deep prayers, other times they’re more one-eye open looking to the sky for reassurance half prayers. Mostly, they’re somewhere in the middle. I pray for courage, that he leads me to my purpose, uses me to help people, and above all, I pray that he stays with me.

My life has only been enriched by returning to my faith, but I’ve also learned it doesn’t take away all of the struggles and fear. Nor can it transform me without effort on my part. Instead, what it does is show me there is always a way forward, if I’m brave enough to walk it. It encourages me to believe in myself and to take inspired action, especially when I don’t feel like enough. My faith takes the odds against me, and flips them. Most importantly, it shows me that even though I’m the first in my family to walk down many roads, with God I don’t have to do it alone.

*My faith gave me the strength to show up and hope for a better tomorrow. However, I still needed to go back to therapy and get help. I do not believe in, nor am I advocating for shunning medical / mental health advice in the name of God. Everything on this blog is for informational purposes only and should not be considered a substitute for medical advice.