3 things my Catholic upbringing taught me— that I had to unlearn

This blog has been living rent-free in my brain for a while.

I kept shoving it down because, let’s be honest, religion is a touchy subject. And as a Libra, I tend to avoid confrontation and try to keep everyone around me happy. But the thoughts kept getting louder. Clearer. More persistent.

So here we are.

I was raised Roman Catholic. Not casually, only attend mass on the holidays Catholic. Hardcore Catholic. Church every single weekend, no exceptions. Sick? Still going. On vacation? Still going. Missing out on childhood joy? Also…still going.

I carried that into adulthood. I took it seriously. Marriage in the church was non-negotiable. The sacraments mattered. Because I was taught they mattered.

But then I became a mom. And everything shifted.

I started to question what I had accepted as facts. I started listening inward. And slowly, going to mass stopped feeling comforting and started feeling heavy. Triggering, even. Church is the single most important thing in my mom’s life. So it became tangled up with my relationship with my mom, and I couldn’t separate the two. There has been so much pain and heartbreak in that relationship. Sitting there actually felt like reopening wounds I had worked hard to heal.

So I stepped back.

And in doing that, I started to realize there are things I was taught that I don’t believe anymore.

Here are three of them. 

1. Suffering is holy.

Growing up, I was taught that suffering is your ticket into heaven.  

If you were suffering, you were doing something right. It meant you were closer to Jesus. It meant eternal reward. If you experience adversity, offer it up to God. Be grateful for it.

Suffering is also vital for spiritual growth. It helps you develop virtues like perseverance, character, and hope. Suffering strips away superficiality and enjoyment of the physical world, and promotes reliance on God alone.

Which sounds noble. Until reality sets in.

Because what it actually teaches you is this: stay in situations that hurt you. Don’t question the pain. Don’t try to change your circumstances. And definitely don’t trust your feelings about any of it.

Bad marriage? God’s plan.
Lose your job? God’s plan.
Unhappy? Still God’s plan—so maybe just suffer better?

I’ve been told on repeat that whatever happens to you is exactly what God intends. Misfortune, illness, rejection—it’s all part of the master plan. And if you’re upset about it? That’s on you. Because feeling anything about it means you’re questioning God. Emotions are wasted energy.

Marriage comes to mind for me. The Catholic church doesn’t approve of divorce, which conveniently aligns with that whole God’s plan rhetoric. So if you’re in a loveless or abusive relationship, the message is simple: endure it. Divorce isn’t an option. That would mean going against God. 

And yet somehow, we’re also told we have free will. Maybe we’re meant to freely choose to suffer? (Make it make sense.)

What I believe now:

I don’t believe we’re meant to white-knuckle our way through miserable lives in the name of holiness.

God wants us all to live happy, productive, fulfilling lives. He wants us to experience joy and happiness.

I believe we’re allowed to change. To choose better. To leave what’s hurting us. To create lives that actually feel good to live. That are in alignment with our true selves.

And yes, I believe there’s power in connecting with God, Creator, Universe, whatever resonates, to co-create that life. Remaining open-minded, aware of signs, symbols, and synchronicities that come our way

But I no longer believe suffering is the requirement.

This one might be the hardest to admit.
Because I really believed it. And I feel ashamed.

2. God has…range. And not in a comforting way.

In the Bible’s Old Testament, I swear God was diabolical. Constantly threatening to wipe out entire cities if people didn’t worship him correctly.

At one point, God makes a bet with Satan (biblical gambling, if you will) letting him destroy Job’s entire life just to prove Job would stay loyal. Cool, cool. Glad you won the bet, God, but what about poor Job??

Then there’s the whole “testing faith” thing. Like asking Abraham to sacrifice his long-awaited son. Sure, it was just a test and God stopped him. But what if Abraham was quick on the uptake and God’s angel didn’t deliver the “just kidding” message in time?

And of course, we can’t forget the flood. God wiped out the entire earth. Every person, every animal, every living thing DIED. Except one family and a floating zoo. Total destruction. But hey, he proved his point, am I right? 

Don’t worry though, he sent us a pretty rainbow afterward as a promise never to do that again. Well, not with a flood, at least.

And then comes a hard pivot with the New Testament.

Now Jesus, who is also God, loves everyone. He’s super compassionate and loving. He mingles with whores and tax collectors (who, let’s be real, were the scum of the universe in 30 A.D.). He forgives everyone’s sins, no matter what they’ve done. As long as you’re sorry (and you really mean it), you’re good. Just tell a priest all your dirty, dark secrets and boom! Clean slate and all that.

It’s confusing AF.  

What I believe now:

My relationship with God is mine alone.

Not my mom’s. Not the Church’s. Not anyone else’s interpretation.

So now when someone tells me, “God told me you’re wrong about x, y, z….” I trust in myself, because I know my God didn’t say that.

I’m building a relationship that feels aligned, supportive, and expansive—not fear-based or conditional. And that has changed everything.

3. Love everyone! (Well not everyone.)

This one might be the hardest to admit. Because I really believed it. And I feel ashamed.

Growing up Catholic, I was taught to judge those who are different.

LGBTQIA+ community? Sinful.
People on welfare? Probably abusing the system.
Women’s bodily autonomy? Not up for discussion.

We talked about compassion, but practiced a lot of exclusion.

And I participated in it. I truly believed what I was taught. That’s the part I’ve had to sit with.

There’s one moment that blew things wide open for me.

During a heated conversation with my mom, she started yelling things like:
“What happens when [my son] wants a sex change?”
“What about when [my daughter] comes home pregnant and wants an abortion?” 

And without hesitation, I said:

“I will love them no matter what happens, or what they choose. Because that’s what a mother does.”

That was it.

That was the moment I realized we were operating on different definitions of love. Because my love for my children is unconditional. And the Catholic church teaches us that our love should be conditional.

And so the metaphorical hand flicked the ball that started rolling toward my disassociation with Catholicism.

Where I am now

I’m still untangling.

Still questioning. Still unlearning. Still deciding what actually aligns with me and what I truly believe.

It’s a process.

For the first time in my life, my spirituality isn’t inherited, it’s chosen—by me.

It looks like meditation.
Like talking to my God and guardian angels in my own words.
Like connecting with something bigger than me…the universe and its energy that makes up everything.

And honestly? It feels a lot more like truth.