Reflections from a Recovering Queer Catholic; how my Self-Discovery Process Impacted my Mental Health
Meet Bonnie DePaul, one of our MHI Associates and Certified Dare to Lead™ Facilitators (CDTLF). She recently composed this piece and posted it within a CDTLF-exclusive group. She has given us permission to share her story in recognition of Pride Month and to help raise awareness of the mental health challenges faced as a result of societal attitudes and to promote inclusion.
Note that the opinions expressed within the content of this article are the author's.
“You can't get to courage without rumbling with vulnerability." Brené Brown
Vulnerability requires risk, uncertainty, and emotional exposure. The most courageous thing we do is discover and embrace who we are and show up in the world as our authentic selves. When I reflect on this through my white, queer, former Catholic lens, my coming out process and discovering who I 'really' was put me on the path to authenticity.
Rumbling with Vulnerability-Shame vs. Guilt.
In her research, Brené Brown clarifies the difference between shame and guilt. Her definitions have helped me reflect back on my experience as a closeted queer Catholic. In simplistic terms, Brené Brown illustrates the difference between guilt and shame. Guilt: I did something bad. Shame: I am bad.
I grew up immersed in Catholicism. Church every Sunday and all the extra compulsory days like Good Friday, Ash Wednesday, and New Year's Day. I wore a uniform to high school, learned about protesting by joining the 'chain of life' at age 9, and was awarded Catholic Student of the Year in my graduating year of high school. I was taught and believed to my core that it was a sin to be gay and attracted to someone of the same sex. Sex was for reproduction. When I started to realize that I might be queer, shame washed over me. From as young as I can remember, I knew I wanted to be a mother. I was so scared to be gay because I truly believed I could not be gay and a mother. I would have to choose. I was living life with an intensely painful feeling and belief that I was flawed and therefore unworthy of love, belonging and connection.
As a teenager, I knew that I wanted to make a difference in the world, and at that time, I figured the best way to do that was to become the Pope. At age 15, I knew I had obstacles to overcome because I was a woman, and I thought if I could be the first woman Pope, I would change the rules so women could be priests. So, I spoke with the Priest of my parish about the role of women in the church and told him that I wanted to be the Pope and wondered how he could help me with this. I remember his face of shock! And despair and scrambling for words before walking away from me. I stood there fighting feelings of shame and the inner critic. Who did I think I was? But, of course, I can't be the Pope. I was not worthy of such a position of power.
After I was brushed away by my parish priest, I started to look outside the Catholic Church. I learned that Bishop Victoria Matthews was elected Anglican Bishop in the Diocese of Toronto on 19 November 1993. The first woman bishop in Canada. I didn't know much about the Anglican church, but from my teenage perspective, it seemed very similar to Catholicism with a few differences: women can be in leadership roles in the church, not much mention of Mary and communion was given while kneeling in front of the altar instead of lining up in the aisle. So, I called Victoria Matthews, and to my surprise, she called me back. She talked to me about women's role in the church and listened to my 15-year-old thoughts about Catholicism and my journey to becoming the first woman Pope. Little did I know that in a few years, I would discover who I really was (gay!), and my Catholic membership was metaphorically pulled.
I remember going to church with my brother when I was 19 or 20 years old. I was out to myself but not to my family yet. That day the bishop happened to be visiting, and he was there to share the Catholic Church's opinion of same-sex marriage. He shared a petition and expected the congregation to sign. The petition was gathering signatures of people against same-sex marriage. Catholics needed to uphold the sacred connection between man and woman, Adam, and Eve. My whole body went into a cold sweat. I felt sick and had to leave the church but was terrified because I was with my brother, and what would he think? Would he ever speak to me again? I took a deep breath, chose courage over comfort, and walked out of the church. Almost immediately, my brother walked out as well. I cried and cried. In that awful moment of betrayal, I knew who I was. And it was ok with God, Spirit, the creator, and it was ok with my brother.
The place I had spent my whole life was abandoning me because of who I love! Nothing had changed about me. No penance was great enough to abolish the sin of being my authentic self. At that moment, I chose the real me. I stopped going to church. I found a community of queer folks where I belonged - a chosen family. It was a brave and safe space to show up as my authentic self, and it felt so good!
Reflecting on my journey of discovering and loving who I am, I realize I did not experience Catholic guilt but rather Catholic shame. Catholicism told me I was bad. Not my actions, but me as a person am flawed. Catholic doctrine convinced me that sex was only for reproduction, and it would be a sin for me to have children. Shame kept me quiet. As long as I believed that I was innately bad for being queer, I could not show up as my authentic self. Once leaving the church, my journey to self-acceptance and worthiness was wonderful, hard, painful, and liberating.
"Shame hates it when we reach out and tell our story. It hates having words wrapped around it—it can't survive being shared. Shame loves secrecy... When we bury our story, the shame metastasizes. " Brené Brown
It has been 30 years since I expressed my desire to be Pope, and the Catholic Church still excludes women from being priests and continues to fight against the sacrament of marriage for same-sex couples. I cannot enter the arena when the voice of the church remains a powerful and well-supported critic. However, I will be there as soon as the Catholic Church is ready to take off its armour and stand in the arena with me!
How did my self-discovery process impact my mental health?
When I was coming out, mental health was not a concept we spoke about. My thoughts of ending my life, debilitating depression, and substance use were everyday experiences in my coming out journey. The fear of being 'caught' and the fear of ridicule and violence were how I navigated public life as a queer woman for many years. Living in shame and isolation absolutely leads to significant and lasting mental health challenges.
Later in life, I was diagnosed with depression and panic disorder. These diagnoses were given to me while I was trying to become pregnant. My experience with the healthcare system, as a queer woman wanting to get pregnant, only reinforced my feelings of worthlessness again. I needed a referral to a specialist who supported artificial insemination in the LGBTQ+ population to get pregnant. My family physician at the time (only 16 years ago) refused to make the referral, telling me she did not believe LGBTQ+ people should have children or be parents. She stated that she would treat medically necessary problems but would not refer them. Oh no! The shame washed again. Luckily, by this point, I had built enough internal pride and confidence that I found another physician who did refer me! The next step before becoming pregnant was to pass an interview with a social worker who would determine if my partner and I were "fit" parents. I have spent my whole career working with children with complex needs. I have a degree in child development. Why did I have to prove my ability to be a parent when heterosexual couples can become parents without any prerequisite test? The social worker was concerned about how the children would be exposed to male figures without a dad. She was worried about the impact two loving moms would have on the children. To pass the test, we had to illustrate how we would include men in our children's lives. Luckily, I have four brothers, and I gave the Social Worker their names, which seemed to suffice.
It is no surprise that I was diagnosed with depression and panic disorder. No human being can sustain their mental health when flooded with shame!
Has the mental health of LGBTQ+ folks improved?
Dr. Lori Ross, Associate Professor in the Social and Behavioural Health Sciences Division of the Dalla Lana School of Public Health, University of Toronto, presented evidence-based concerns to the House of Commons in February 2019.
"LGBT people experience familial and societal rejection, higher rates of childhood sexual and physical abuse, violence, stigma, prejudice, and discrimination. Many members of our communities also experience other forms of discrimination, such as racism, which add to their stress. For example, suppose you've been openly discriminated against by your family and others, attacked for who you are or experienced discrimination in employment. In that case, it's no wonder you might be dealing with depression, anxiety, PTSD and suicidality.
Our first opportunity to examine LGBTQ2 mental health in Canada using population-based data started in 2003 when a question about sexual identity was first added to the Canadian community health survey or CCHS. Analysis of this early data revealed that those who identified as lesbian, gay or bisexual were significantly more likely than heterosexuals to report a lifetime mood or anxiety disorder as well as lifetime suicidal ideation"
The transgender population experiences an even higher rate of mental health challenges. "Trans PULSE data estimates the prevalence of depression among trans people in Ontario to be more than 60%."
"Our job is not to deny the story but to defy the ending—to rise strong, recognize our story, and rumble with the truth until we get to a place where we think, Yes. This is what happened. And I will choose how the story ends." Brené Brown
We are all part of the story of the LGBTQ+ experience. I wish all queer folk, young and old, the gift of stepping into their story and choosing the ending without fear of repercussion. Queer folks need collective, widespread acceptance and support to work towards the mental health and well-being we all deserve.
About Bonnie DePaul MEd. CDTLF
Bonnie has 20 years of formal leadership experience. She has a Master’s in Education and is Certified by Dr. Brené Brown as a Dare to Lead™ Facilitator.
She is passionate about living authentically. Choosing courage over comfort means taking steps towards growth and expansion. Bonnie helps individuals, teams and organizations understand and explore their call to courage.