Amends

In 2013, my therapist asked me a question that still resonates: “I’m curious. What was it in your childhood that enables you to be functional today? I’ve worked with many patients who have been through far less than you have, yet they struggle to function."

After pausing to reflect, I replied, “Prayer. As a child, I prayed a lot. Prayer was my solace, especially during my most challenging times.”

My deepest fear was the prospect of becoming an orphan. Whenever mom travelled, I’d kneel beside my bed, clasp my hands, and pray for her safe return, reciting the Lord's Prayer in French.

During one of these sessions, a vision of mom materialized from a cloud as though she were an angel. Her face radiated love; her arms were outstretched, and she mouthed my name. As quickly as it appeared, the vision vanished. Despite repeated efforts to conjure it up again, that mystical experience never recurred. Yet, it left me with a sense of purpose: I was put on this Earth to help people.

My early education in a French Catholic school introduced me to spirituality and underscored the importance of prayer. However, the act of confession unnerved me. The dark, closet-like booth and the practice of confessing my sins to an unseen figure through a hole in the wall were intimidating. Plus, no priest could have dislodged the amount of shame I carried.

As I grew older, my connection with God waned. However, in my 30s, upon being introduced to the concept of making amends, that connection began to rekindle. Regrettably, I acted hastily and carelessly. I rushed to make amends with an ex-boyfriend, in a misguided effort to win him back—a choice I now recognize as manipulative.  

Today, I'm committed to diving deeper into spiritual programs, taking the time to examine where my behaviors diverge from my core values. I’ve discovered that resentments and fears lie at the root of my self-seeking behaviors. I remain grateful to that therapist for posing that question—one that I continue to ponder and explore.