It is 7:30 pm and I am negotiating with my toddler about bath time. I think my toddler won, because all I hear now are happy splashes on the water and my toddler babbling to himself as playtime, once again, got extended. I spent the day manually sewing a shirt, a skirt and a dress – projects I’ve delayed for months because I tried so hard to teach myself how to work the sewing machine. It goes beyond all reason, how technology has become so advanced that we are able to generate images out of thin air via AI, yet we still have not come up with a way to simplify the sewing machine. It is still temperamental, it will still eat up my fabric no matter how careful and patient I am some nights, and I will never understand the logic behind threading a goddamn bobbin. I have been wrestling with this goddamn sewing machine since summer, and tonight I decided there is not enough YouTube videos in the world that can teach me how to work it – I decided instead, to rely on my own hands, and finished three pieces in one day.
I can’t be taught, and I hate it sometimes.
I wish I could be one of those students who can just sit and absorb, soak up their professor’s words like a sponge, embody their teachings in their everyday life and become educated almost instantly – the sheer trust that exists in this bond – the professor’s words are divine, and because he is the teacher, what he teaches must be true, and so the student, just through this sheer faith, becomes transformed – their reality shifts – the world changes as this newfound knowledge integrate seamlessly in their lives, that even without having experienced it, the teacher’s words becomes truth, unquestioned, unchallenged, unverified.
I grew up in a cult.
That I can say with veracity now, although every time I find it coming up in conversation, I find myself citing this CBC article, and this Fifth Estate documentary, just to prove that this cult exists. I only found out about these “reliable sources” that could lend credibility to my story this year, and so for many years I would say, in an off-hand way, as a sort of aside, that my parents were “strict” and didn’t share the same “point of view” as a way to explain my distant relationship with my family. Now, I can verifiably say, when I left the cult at 16, it severed my relationship with my family, and it has never been the same since.
This familial connection would turn out to be the least of my worries. In fact, I have learned to identify my resilience with this severance. I am forever grateful that out of all the things that trouble me, a hunger for my mother is not one of them. What I do hunger for – is faith.
I was taught that faith means to believe without proof, without logic – to remain steadfast in an endlessly changing world, despite all evidence proving otherwise. And for many years I obeyed unquestioningly, and there was such comfort in this blindness, such bliss. To have everything happening to me be God’s will, and the belief that He will never give me anything I cannot withstand. Even when I was being beaten nightly, I never surrendered. To believe that you are being put through these measly, worldly trials and tribulations so that you can prove your goodness, you can prove your worth, so that you may pass these tests and receive eternal happiness in the end – it’s an incorruptible kind of hope. I was once, unbreakable.
I don’t regret leaving the church. I have a feeling I that I never will.
What I do mourn, is my loss in believing.
I don’t trust anyone, and can’t learn from anyone.
I question everything everyone says. Some may think that’s a kind of strength, but it’s hard to think that when your driving instructor is yelling at your ear and you still can’t comprehend nor begin to understand what they’re even saying. Or when it’s your first day at a job and your trainer is telling you something but your eyes are glazed over and you’ve stopped hearing.
Trauma is a cunning enemy. It can be born in various ways. For some, it’s a scent, or a melody.
For me, it’s the moment someone begins to teach me something.
for #NanoPoblano2025
NanoPoblano is the world’s least official November blog challenge. Participants and supporters are called Cheer Peppers. 🌶️🎉 The BIG goal is 30 posts in 30 days. You can share your goal and your progress and your posts on the Facebook group at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1336744293025187/
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