If you're a Sister I ever lived or worked with or got close to, a former co-worker in a state far away, maybe a Sister or priest from another community who knew me through mutual friends or by sitting in the same pew at church, this blog entry is for you.
If you're not any of those people, well, feel free to read anyway and please learn from me.

Someone recently asked me "If you could go back in time to right before you left and tell yourself one thing, what would it be?"

I had never thought about that question before, really. But, to my surprise, the answer easily slipped off my tongue - "I would tell myself to share with more people that I was struggling, to share with more people that I was leaving."

I had been with the community for five years, both in initial formation and as a Sister. I had thought about leaving various times during those years but shared that struggle with less than a handful of people. The truth was, although I had seen some Sisters come and go in the community, I felt ashamed for even thinking about leaving. So, I kept it a secret.

When I finally decided to leave, I was at peace with my decision, but telling all those Sisters I had grown close to - I had lived in five different houses, lived or worked with over 30 different Sisters, and had grown to love even more - was daunting.

...so, I didn't.
Besides my local community and the Council, I called maybe two or three and talked face-to-face with about that same number.

And then I just stopped...even though so many more people were on the list.
Maybe you never received that call. Maybe you never got that face-to-face conversation. But your name was probably on my list.
The list I abandoned because I let fear win.

It wasn't that the Sisters I told reacted with anger or distress. In fact, almost all of them reacted with love and compassion, despite the sadness they felt. It was that, even though I knew I was making the right decision and I felt peace in that, I was ashamed that I was letting you and all those Sisters - my family - down.

So, instead of trusting in God, instead of trusting in you, Sister that I loved and loved me, I gave into shame.

You, Sister I loved, found out I was leaving not through me, but through a letter sent out the day I left. Because I now live in my small corner of San Antonio, because I no longer work with and next door to the Sisters, because my visits home are often quick, I probably haven't seen you since.

I had to grieve when I left the Daughters. But the biggest difference is that I knew the grief was coming. I knew this decision was made; I knew I was moving out on October 1st, 2016 and had started to make preparations beforehand.
Unless you were one of the lucky ones that got that phone call before I gave up on my list, it hit you like an unexpected death on October 1st, 2016.

Maybe you gasped when you saw the letter but were able to shrug it off in a few days, thinking "Well, that's how it goes. That's discernment for you."
Maybe you looked in shock, a million scenarios running through your head, wondering what happened.
Maybe you aren't a Daughter of Charity at all and found out through my Facebook update.

Maybe you wrote or called right after I left and I didn't answer. That time, it was grief I let win. In the beginning, if I received emails or letters from Daughters or others, I left them unopened because I just couldn't bear to see what was inside, much less your name. I thought I didn't have the strength.
Maybe you didn't write, you didn't call because you didn't know what to say.
Maybe now, a year and a half later, you still don't know what you would say.

And maybe I left you with a broken heart.

I'm not so egotistical that I believe you must be crying over me still, thinking about me every minute. Maybe you don't even think about me anymore. Life has moved on. So much has happened since that October day - maybe you've moved, maybe you've changed ministries, maybe you've had some big life events that I've missed.

Nevertheless, I do know I hurt people. I hurt people I love, probably including you.

And for that, I'm sorry. Words cannot express how sorry I am for the pain I've caused. It's heartbreaking for me to know that I've hurt you, but I know it was even more hurtful for you to read that letter or that Facebook status and to feel tossed aside and unimportant when you thought you were such an important part of my life (and no, you didn't imagine that, you were an important part).

I don't regret leaving the Sisters, but I do regret hurting you. More than anything in the world, I regret hurting you.

Despite not seeing or hearing from you for so long, you still are such an important part of my life. The memories we've created together, the conversations we've had, have shaped who I am, even as a laywoman. They have shaped my faith; they have shaped my work with the poor, and they will shape my future.

I wish I could find every single one of you, people that I loved - Sisters or otherwise - and apologize to you face-to-face but you're spread out all over the country. So, until I get the chance, this will have to do. It's only a beginning, but I hope it means something.

Love,
Amanda

The Haunting of an Awkward Question

The conversation shouldn't have been an awkward one. That is, if I were normal, if I were like any 32 year old.
But I'm not, so instead, it turned awkward and I wanted to crawl under a rock.

How I felt during this conversation

I'm new to my work and we were all sharing details of our lives in the office, so an intern innocently asked: "So, Amanda, do you have any kids?"
"Nope."
"You married?"
"Nope."
"But you're 32...do you just not want to get married?"

Oh, God.
I will admit that I brushed this off as the intern being a young college student and not having learned the prudence I learned was taught in religious life.

"It's not that." Pause. All right, I need to give more details here or they're just going to fill in the blanks. "Okay, so I was a nun and left just a year ago."

After the initial "WHAT?!?!" and "WHOA!", she paused and said "But it's been a year already. You're not married or anything. What have you been doing with your life?"

I know she asked this innocently (once again, young college student), but I was taken back. I mumbled something about things don't happen that fast and I changed the subject. But I couldn't get the question out of mind:

"But it's been a year already. What have you been doing with your life?"

What have I been doing with my life? Have I been doing anything with my life?
I feared the answer was "nothing".

I am no closer to finding out my vocation in life, no closer to marrying anyone (or even going out with anyone), certainly no closer to having kids.
I am closer to starting graduate school for my MSW...and by closer, I mean I've filled out most of the application. So really, not that close.
I am no closer to any kind of promotion or salary increase. I switched jobs twice this year and I'm now in a job I like, but one that won't be my permanent career.
Everything has remained the same since the day I left - same apartment, same car, even the same friends.

Maybe it's true, maybe I haven't done anything in a year.

I won't deny it; I sulked around with those truths for a few weeks, even through Christmas. I had a year and I did nothing. I felt as if I had failed myself, failed God who had this great plan for me, and, in a way, even failed those who supported me leaving the community. I wallowed in shame.

Life with the Daughters was so packed with ministry, prayer, meetings, conferences, etc. Every moment was filled with purpose. Now that I was by myself...was I just wasting my life because I didn't have a "purpose" of being a wife or mother?

But, as I let myself reflect on it, I realized that while I may not have done the logical "next steps" or what the world would expect of me, there were some accomplishments this past year:

I am no closer to finding out my vocation in life, but I started writing again and am deeply in love with its pains and joys.
I am no closer to finding out my vocation in life, but I've gained some self-confidence, which can only aid in the search.
I am no closer to my MSW as of right now, but I have learned many lessons in ethics, motivational interviewing, etc by experience.
I am no closer to any kind of promotion or salary increase, but I'm happy in my job and isn't that what counts?
Everything has remained the same since the day I left, but I have gained some great friends from church that I didn't have a year ago that I wouldn't trade for anything.
Everything has remained the same since the day I left, but I've grieved my past and kept walking ahead.

I pray that, if that question comes up again, I can say with confidence: "Actually, I did a lot."

"And Sarah Laughed": Losing Sr. Mary William

Sarah, Abraham's wife, knew who she was.
She knew she was old and more so than most, certainly not old enough to have a child.
She also knew the ridiculous when she heard it.
So, when angels came to their tent to say she was going to have a son, Sarah laughed to herself, thinking the ancient version of "yeah, right".

Deep in my Google Drive is a voice recording of Sr. Mary William Sullivan, who passed away last week at the age of 91. Her voice is raspy, yet you can still hear the energy as she shares her thoughts at the local community's house meeting. Before the tape ends, she adds her opinion to a discussion about contemplation and the very last thing she says on the recording is this:

"What I laugh about with God! And I do! I have this picture that I was given years ago....and I use it to center my prayer. And [God and I] laugh, you know....nobody ever taught us that. [speaking to the other Sisters] Our old Seminary Directress never said 'laugh with God', did she?"

Sr. Mary William on her 70th Jubilee
as a Daughter of Charity, 2013

When I met Sr. Mary William in the hallway of the retirement home, with a mischievous smile on her face, the very first sentence out of her mouth was "Did anyone ever tell you I was Sister Servant when the Sisters got arrested in Chicago?" No, no one had. And I had no idea this Daughter of Charity knew Martin Luther King Jr. and was known for her activity during the civil rights movement.
[But interestingly enough, despite the initial question, Sr. Mary William never brought up the Sisters in Chicago again despite our many visits. It was I who had to ask for the story.]

I don't remember Mary William as the one who taught me to be a voice for the voiceless, although she certainly was.
I don't remember her as the one who taught me the importance of community life, although she cherished it.
I don't remember her as the one who taught me how to be a good social worker, although she certainly had telling stories about it.

I remember Mary William as the one who taught me to be authentic with a humble heart.

She knew who she was.
She knew she was fiery and more so than most - at times where others may shrink and shrivel under the pressure of what others may think or say, Mary William stood tall.

But she also knew who she was.
She knew that fiery personality sometimes went too far.
So, she spoke up with a humble heart - she apologized for her shortcomings and spoke openly about the issues she had that still affected her, even in the retirement home, even in her old age.

She did the same with God, arguing with Him, apologizing to Him, crying to and with Him, laughing with Him. While God knows each of us through and through anyway, I truly believe He knew every part of Mary William because she opened up to Him about everything.

I already mentioned that Sarah knew who she was - old, not easily fooled, etc. But I didn't share the rest of the story. Like Mary William, Sarah also understood the rest of who she was.
Unlike Mary William's relationship with God, Sarah feared Him, which led to some mishaps. When God asked if she laughed, she immediately answered "No". Yet, with a humble heart just like Mary William, she admits it in the most unexpected way possible:

Abraham gave the name Isaac [meaning "He laughs"] to his son whom Sarah bore him....Now Sarah said, “God has brought laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me.” - Genesis 21: 3,6

There is a story Sr. Mary William used to tell me about her friend Sr. Catherine Sullivan [no relation] that best describes both Mary William's and Sarah's authenticity with a humble heart. It ended with Sr. Catherine saying: "at my funeral, tell them all my friendships were particular and all my sins were original!" 

[If you'd like to read more about Sr. Mary William Sullivan, her obituary is located here on the Daughters of Charity website.]