Remembering the three Georges of my family who served King and Empire, Queen and Country.
Their womenfolk still brag about them.
Sunday, 11 November 2012
Lest We Forget
Remembering the three Georges of my family who served King and Empire, Queen and Country.
Their womenfolk still brag about them.
Saturday, 10 November 2012
Attention Single Girls in Catholic Offices in USA
One of your fellow readers needs your help. We all know how bad the economy is right now, in the USA as much as anywhere, and how scary it is to be a single woman without a decent job. Please read the following and if you have any leads, please get in touch with the reader through me: seraphicsingles@yahoo.com
From: R
To: Seraphic Single
Sent: Saturday, November 10, 2012 4:08 PM
Subject: single girl job hunting
Thanks, Seraphic, for your blog. I have a very high respect for your advice and constant attention to us poor singles who are so often shunted to the side of the congregation.
I'm 25 and am currently unemployed. I recently left (a month and a half ago) a job that was horrible for me on many levels, and with that decision knew a wonderful, never conflicted peace. Even now, I have no regret about getting out of there.
However, I am job searching and my beloved area of expertise, (for which I have two Bachelor degrees) is difficult right now because it's not the "season" for church ministry job openings (see spring and summer when most people have quit). I have made a lot of connections, even making contact with an archdiocesan vocations director and all of my well-connected friends to find a job in this field, but still, nothing (that is not located in the middle-of-cornfield USA).
I am scared of being unemployed, as I only have a month and a half left of savings to live on (and pay my student loans) and I don't know where I will go if I run out. My mother is poor and living across the country, my sister is newly married and living in a small apartment, and I have very little contact with my extended family. I feel very much alone in that I have no parents to really look out for me and obviously am Single.
But I recently was offered a job working in a restaurant, and as it would only really offer me enough to barely get by on (probably will have to acquire a second job). Also, and more importantly, I know I would hate working there. They want to set me as a "key employee" somewhat like a manager but not, and a feeling of dread fills the pit of my stomach when I think about having to do that in an industry for which I have no aspirations. Before the interview I felt as if I would "do anything" I just wanted to work, like the old American Spirit. But I find after further contemplation there is this pit pit pit in my stomach.
Am I being unreasonable? Which fear here is less important to listen to, the fear of being unemployed or the fear of being stuck in a job I hate? Certainly the money will eventually run out, but should I wait until then before I take something I so clearly am not cut out for?
Thanks again for your time. The advice of my loved ones is split both ways. I am of course praying about this, but for some reason I am unable to discern God's voice as clearly in this....
Cheers,
R.
***
Dear R,
I am not sure what to advise, but I know I have a lot of readers in Church jobs, including Single Catholic girls with some clout in various Catholic offices (publishing, diocesan, etc.). Would you like me to put up your letter on my blog? And where would you be willing to go? New York? Chicago?
If you like my idea, please write a postscript in which you say what your degrees are in and how long you have been in ministry. I will put it up ASAP, and ask anyone who thinks she knows of a job to get in touch with me.
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
***
Seraphic,
I DO like your idea! Very much so!
My first choice would be Chicago, and then I am also willing to do DC, New York or Boston. I have a degree in Catholic Theology, as well as one in Catechetics (religious ed) with a concentration in Youth Ministry, and I have 5 years of experience, 1.5 of which were in full time ministry with military teens. I'm looking for a parish (or something similar) youth ministry position.
Thank you so much. I wish I could really communicate my appreciation!! At the least, I'll offer Sunday Mass for your intentions.
Cheers,
R.
***
Girls, anyone? R. didn't say so, but I think at this point she would be willing to consider jobs in her field in any large-to-medium sized city in the east and mid-west.
From: R
To: Seraphic Single
Sent: Saturday, November 10, 2012 4:08 PM
Subject: single girl job hunting
Thanks, Seraphic, for your blog. I have a very high respect for your advice and constant attention to us poor singles who are so often shunted to the side of the congregation.
I'm 25 and am currently unemployed. I recently left (a month and a half ago) a job that was horrible for me on many levels, and with that decision knew a wonderful, never conflicted peace. Even now, I have no regret about getting out of there.
However, I am job searching and my beloved area of expertise, (for which I have two Bachelor degrees) is difficult right now because it's not the "season" for church ministry job openings (see spring and summer when most people have quit). I have made a lot of connections, even making contact with an archdiocesan vocations director and all of my well-connected friends to find a job in this field, but still, nothing (that is not located in the middle-of-cornfield USA).
I am scared of being unemployed, as I only have a month and a half left of savings to live on (and pay my student loans) and I don't know where I will go if I run out. My mother is poor and living across the country, my sister is newly married and living in a small apartment, and I have very little contact with my extended family. I feel very much alone in that I have no parents to really look out for me and obviously am Single.
But I recently was offered a job working in a restaurant, and as it would only really offer me enough to barely get by on (probably will have to acquire a second job). Also, and more importantly, I know I would hate working there. They want to set me as a "key employee" somewhat like a manager but not, and a feeling of dread fills the pit of my stomach when I think about having to do that in an industry for which I have no aspirations. Before the interview I felt as if I would "do anything" I just wanted to work, like the old American Spirit. But I find after further contemplation there is this pit pit pit in my stomach.
Am I being unreasonable? Which fear here is less important to listen to, the fear of being unemployed or the fear of being stuck in a job I hate? Certainly the money will eventually run out, but should I wait until then before I take something I so clearly am not cut out for?
Thanks again for your time. The advice of my loved ones is split both ways. I am of course praying about this, but for some reason I am unable to discern God's voice as clearly in this....
Cheers,
R.
***
Dear R,
I am not sure what to advise, but I know I have a lot of readers in Church jobs, including Single Catholic girls with some clout in various Catholic offices (publishing, diocesan, etc.). Would you like me to put up your letter on my blog? And where would you be willing to go? New York? Chicago?
If you like my idea, please write a postscript in which you say what your degrees are in and how long you have been in ministry. I will put it up ASAP, and ask anyone who thinks she knows of a job to get in touch with me.
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
***
Seraphic,
I DO like your idea! Very much so!
My first choice would be Chicago, and then I am also willing to do DC, New York or Boston. I have a degree in Catholic Theology, as well as one in Catechetics (religious ed) with a concentration in Youth Ministry, and I have 5 years of experience, 1.5 of which were in full time ministry with military teens. I'm looking for a parish (or something similar) youth ministry position.
Thank you so much. I wish I could really communicate my appreciation!! At the least, I'll offer Sunday Mass for your intentions.
Cheers,
R.
***
Girls, anyone? R. didn't say so, but I think at this point she would be willing to consider jobs in her field in any large-to-medium sized city in the east and mid-west.
Crowds of Drunk Men
To be philosophical about it, it could have been worse. The guy at the tail-end of the crowd of eight (or ten or whatever) only grabbed the top of my head as I passed. In that space of time, he could have broken my nose.
However, I didn't get a sense of violence from either this guy or the guy in front of him who had made a grab at my friend and missed: I just felt a wave of disrespect. I am not sure how if it was merely Disrespect for Women or Disrespect for LOCAL Women. All I really know about these guys was that they were all white ("very white" observed my friend) and that they weren't speaking English. I am good at recognizing languages, but I hadn't been paying attention.
I hadn't been paying attention because my friend and I had had a small dinner and cocktails at our favourite cocktail bar before donning our berets and long wool coats (mine tweed) to go back into the dark evening and walk to a ceilidh dance. We were cozy and comfortable and looking forward to the dance, which was only a brisk walk over Edinburgh's South and North Bridges and down Clerk Street, hey presto. We were chatting and although I saw the big group of 20-something men--too old to be language students--coming towards us, it simply did not occur to me to get out of the way.
It has been over fifteen years since a random stranger on a Toronto street suddenly screamed in my ear, and about that since a former-Yugoslavia demonstrator on another Toronto street blew a shrill whistle in my ear. (Idiot--I supported his political opinions and would have said so, had he asked.) But I cannot remember anyone grabbing me in the street, and I always put that down to a certain inner intimidation factor. I have a rapid, don't mess-with-me walk.
And although I have seen way more than my fair share of assaults in Edinburgh, I have not seen men lay hands on women. Solitary men or pairs of men (especially under 30) are at much more risk of attack by men than "lassies" or, in our case, "wifies." The idea that however "hard" a man you are, ye cannae lay hands on a lassie or wifie (especially if unrelated to you by blood or affection) was deeply entrenched in the Scottish male psyche for a long time. Thus, although not as safe as they could be, the Bridges are not Tahrir Square.
My pal thought the men were tourists. I hope they were tourists. Because if they weren't tourists, they live here. And as aggravating as it is to experience a gang of drunken tourists acting as though they owned the streets of your town (like hundreds of "England" fans in Frankfurt in '06), it is way worse to imagine blue-collar continentals working out their resentment of Edinburgh life by grabbing at (they would have presumed) Scottish wifies as they passed.
Or is it? Did the nationality of the idiot who grabbed the top of my head and give it a shove matter one whit? Would it not be fairer to assume that he would have behaved the exact same way in his native country, towards women of his native country? And I am reasonably certain he would be much less likely to behave this way had he not been in a big group of male drinking buddies, which makes the issue of the Group and the Drink rather more important.
One way to avoid harm as a woman in an urban environment, even in elegant little , Edinburgh at 8 PM at night, with a friend, wearing a beret and a tweed coat as if you were your own Edinburgh great-granny, is to avoid crowds of drunk men. As angry as I am this morning at the thuggish way this particular man acted in his crowd towards me, I am also a little angry I allowed myself to be caught unawares. Usually it is easy to avoid crowds of drunk men; all you have to do is back up or speed up and cross the street. But I wasn't paying attention.
However, as I said, it could have been worse.
(Idiots.)
However, I didn't get a sense of violence from either this guy or the guy in front of him who had made a grab at my friend and missed: I just felt a wave of disrespect. I am not sure how if it was merely Disrespect for Women or Disrespect for LOCAL Women. All I really know about these guys was that they were all white ("very white" observed my friend) and that they weren't speaking English. I am good at recognizing languages, but I hadn't been paying attention.
I hadn't been paying attention because my friend and I had had a small dinner and cocktails at our favourite cocktail bar before donning our berets and long wool coats (mine tweed) to go back into the dark evening and walk to a ceilidh dance. We were cozy and comfortable and looking forward to the dance, which was only a brisk walk over Edinburgh's South and North Bridges and down Clerk Street, hey presto. We were chatting and although I saw the big group of 20-something men--too old to be language students--coming towards us, it simply did not occur to me to get out of the way.
It has been over fifteen years since a random stranger on a Toronto street suddenly screamed in my ear, and about that since a former-Yugoslavia demonstrator on another Toronto street blew a shrill whistle in my ear. (Idiot--I supported his political opinions and would have said so, had he asked.) But I cannot remember anyone grabbing me in the street, and I always put that down to a certain inner intimidation factor. I have a rapid, don't mess-with-me walk.
And although I have seen way more than my fair share of assaults in Edinburgh, I have not seen men lay hands on women. Solitary men or pairs of men (especially under 30) are at much more risk of attack by men than "lassies" or, in our case, "wifies." The idea that however "hard" a man you are, ye cannae lay hands on a lassie or wifie (especially if unrelated to you by blood or affection) was deeply entrenched in the Scottish male psyche for a long time. Thus, although not as safe as they could be, the Bridges are not Tahrir Square.
My pal thought the men were tourists. I hope they were tourists. Because if they weren't tourists, they live here. And as aggravating as it is to experience a gang of drunken tourists acting as though they owned the streets of your town (like hundreds of "England" fans in Frankfurt in '06), it is way worse to imagine blue-collar continentals working out their resentment of Edinburgh life by grabbing at (they would have presumed) Scottish wifies as they passed.
Or is it? Did the nationality of the idiot who grabbed the top of my head and give it a shove matter one whit? Would it not be fairer to assume that he would have behaved the exact same way in his native country, towards women of his native country? And I am reasonably certain he would be much less likely to behave this way had he not been in a big group of male drinking buddies, which makes the issue of the Group and the Drink rather more important.
One way to avoid harm as a woman in an urban environment, even in elegant little , Edinburgh at 8 PM at night, with a friend, wearing a beret and a tweed coat as if you were your own Edinburgh great-granny, is to avoid crowds of drunk men. As angry as I am this morning at the thuggish way this particular man acted in his crowd towards me, I am also a little angry I allowed myself to be caught unawares. Usually it is easy to avoid crowds of drunk men; all you have to do is back up or speed up and cross the street. But I wasn't paying attention.
However, as I said, it could have been worse.
(Idiots.)
Friday, 9 November 2012
Auntie Seraphic & Crushed Catholic Girl in NYC
I found this in yesterday's combox. My heart bled a little bit. By the way, I wish Edinburgh eavesdroppers wouldn't read this one. How am I supposed to give women advice with you guys lurking around reading what I have to say about sexuality? It's embarrassing, and there's no point pretending you don't because my electronic spy can see you. Have a heart. If you wouldn't ask me in person, don't read it here. All you boys should read this instead. Meanwhile, it is annoying when you don't talk to me at parties because you feel like you've been talking to me all week. Poor me, sitting like a bump on a log.
Anonymous said...
Any other tips for making the squashed banana Scooters more attractive?
I have two buzzing around me, and they do nothing for me physically or emotionally. But the Scooters are "nice guys", and Catholic, and likely willing to marry me without sleeping with me first. And they are very interested in me.
But I just can't bring myself to envision sleeping with them ever. Or rather, I try to--and end up in tears (self-pity moment here).
But another very hopeful romantic-bubble appears to be popping, I'm in my late 30s, and I wonder if there is anything I can do to open my heart to the men who DO want to be with me? (To give you a fuller picture, I did go on several dates with the Scooters in question, even let them--on separate occasions, natch--kiss me a couple times. It was baaaaad.)
I suspect you would never counsel any one to marry someone whose company they didn't particularly enjoy, but is there ANY way to make the un-attractive more attractive? A version of "fake it till you make it?" I am dead serious.
Thank you, thank you---
Crushed Catholic Girl in NYC
Dear Crushed,
I would never counsel anyone to marry someone she did not want to sleep with, unless it was a Josephite marriage of convenience between two people who would rather just be sexually abstinent. And even then I might ask why in today's society they thought this a good idea, and what would happen if one or the other later changed their minds about sexual abstinence.
If you weep or your flesh creeps at the idea of sleeping with someone, don't marry him. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to him.
Now, if a woman over 30 weeps or her flesh creeps at the idea of sleeping with any man, that does not suggest she has a vocation to the married life---at least not without a lot of therapy first, if a homosexual orientation is ruled out. However, as you mentioned a crush bubble about to pop, I am guessing here that these are not the issue. The issue is that you are not sexually attracted to either of these two men, and currently they are the only marriage prospects on the horizon.
The first thing I will say is that you don't have to get married to be considered a success as a woman. So if you never meet a man you want to sleep with who wants to marry you, this is not a failure. It is a perhaps unfortunate circumstance, like war or a car accident. It is not your fault. There are social forces afoot that have made the ancient cycles of human life more difficult, and that's not your fault. And there's also God's Plan, about which I am all for asking Him about. I think it perfectly acceptable to say "What are You up to? What's my part of the Plan? Throw me a clue, here, Lord."
The second thing I will say is that the essence of marriage is sex and doing the laundry. You can avoid a lot of scrubbing if you try, and unless you live above a Historical House, you can have a dishwasher, but you can't avoid either sex or laundry, so if you are married, you have to enjoy both or you will be miserable. It is not nice having to sleep with or wash the socks of someone you don't really respect, and what woman really respects a man who makes her think of squashed bananas?
The third thing is that sometimes Scooter does become more attractive the better you get to know him, but sometimes heart and skin just say "Uh-uh." And you must believe them because although your brain will lie to you about sexual attraction, heart and skin will not. (Heart and skin will lie to you about other stuff, however, so keep a balance.)
One of my problems with internet dating is that women often decide on the strength or weakness of a photograph if they are attracted to the man or not. But many very attractive men simply are not photogenic. Some look like pug dogs. They might growl as sexily as Alan Rickman (no looker) does or make us laugh as hysterically as Bill Murray (also not a looker) does, but if we reject on the strength of a photo or even a quick scan of a face, forget meeting a lot of sexy-sounding, funny men. We are not men; we are not so naturally hung up on looks.
My first thought on seeing my now-husband's photo (sent by a kind reader) was "Blah! A beard!" My second thought was "Never judge a man by his photo!" And my first thought on seeing my now-husband in the bus station was "Blah! I am blinded by his tweed jacket! But at least he's not ugly." And then within five days he was The Most Beautiful Man in the World, possibly because he practised his first confession on me. This may have set up feelings of intense intimacy and so--kind of like what happened to yesterday's letter-writer--I got all hooked. Thank heavens B.A. is actually a really great guy like his friends (the kind readers) kept telling me.
Actually getting to know B.A. made me stop saying "Blah!" But getting to know another Catholic guy I am thinking of--quite a nice guy, if you like small, thin blond men with watery blue eyes, blond eyebrows and no eyelashes--did not make me think "Oh yes, he's for me." Quite the opposite. And he goes down in history as the one guy who kissed me with absolutely no regard whatsoever for my will and---ick. Ick, ick, ick. Fortunately he ran away immediately after, just as he did later when I sat down and gave him the Bad News, although I don't think he wept on the first occasion.
Anyway, on paper I should have snapped up Mr Lashless Weeper because he was one of the few actually devout, church-going Catholic men I knew who was interested in the same kind of artistic pursuits and Goth clubs as me. But I did not, and I am pretty sure I would not have succumbed any more in my late 30s than I did in my early 20s, even if he was still magically 24 or whatever he was. I am just too respectful of my own personal eroticism... Listen, am I the only Catholic woman who writes online about this stuff?
The answer to "Can I force myself to become attracted to my suitors, if I have forced myself to kiss them and the thought of going all the way with one or the other makes me cry?" is no. Once upon a time nobody cared if women enjoyed sex, and many people thought we shouldn't, or thought we would just get used to it, but the fact is there is nothing that makes you hate a man you used to like more effectively than having to have sex with him when your body/psyche doesn't like sex with him.
And I'm sorry about that because I know there are women who would gladly forgo sexual enjoyment and just lie back and think of England just so long as they could stop being lonely and maybe have a baby, but that just won't work. (Believe me on this. Sometimes it literally doesn't work, if you develop this syndrome, for example) And the contemporary man doesn't just want sex, he wants to be praised for it, too.
Hang in there, kid. A little bird told me that super-trad Catholic websites have more eligible men between the ages of 35 and 50 than they have women, so there are other single men out there. And whether you eventually marry or not, it is not the end of the world if you kiss both Scooters good-bye.
I hope this is helpful.
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
Anonymous said...
Any other tips for making the squashed banana Scooters more attractive?
I have two buzzing around me, and they do nothing for me physically or emotionally. But the Scooters are "nice guys", and Catholic, and likely willing to marry me without sleeping with me first. And they are very interested in me.
But I just can't bring myself to envision sleeping with them ever. Or rather, I try to--and end up in tears (self-pity moment here).
But another very hopeful romantic-bubble appears to be popping, I'm in my late 30s, and I wonder if there is anything I can do to open my heart to the men who DO want to be with me? (To give you a fuller picture, I did go on several dates with the Scooters in question, even let them--on separate occasions, natch--kiss me a couple times. It was baaaaad.)
I suspect you would never counsel any one to marry someone whose company they didn't particularly enjoy, but is there ANY way to make the un-attractive more attractive? A version of "fake it till you make it?" I am dead serious.
Thank you, thank you---
Crushed Catholic Girl in NYC
Dear Crushed,
I would never counsel anyone to marry someone she did not want to sleep with, unless it was a Josephite marriage of convenience between two people who would rather just be sexually abstinent. And even then I might ask why in today's society they thought this a good idea, and what would happen if one or the other later changed their minds about sexual abstinence.
If you weep or your flesh creeps at the idea of sleeping with someone, don't marry him. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to him.
Now, if a woman over 30 weeps or her flesh creeps at the idea of sleeping with any man, that does not suggest she has a vocation to the married life---at least not without a lot of therapy first, if a homosexual orientation is ruled out. However, as you mentioned a crush bubble about to pop, I am guessing here that these are not the issue. The issue is that you are not sexually attracted to either of these two men, and currently they are the only marriage prospects on the horizon.
The first thing I will say is that you don't have to get married to be considered a success as a woman. So if you never meet a man you want to sleep with who wants to marry you, this is not a failure. It is a perhaps unfortunate circumstance, like war or a car accident. It is not your fault. There are social forces afoot that have made the ancient cycles of human life more difficult, and that's not your fault. And there's also God's Plan, about which I am all for asking Him about. I think it perfectly acceptable to say "What are You up to? What's my part of the Plan? Throw me a clue, here, Lord."
The second thing I will say is that the essence of marriage is sex and doing the laundry. You can avoid a lot of scrubbing if you try, and unless you live above a Historical House, you can have a dishwasher, but you can't avoid either sex or laundry, so if you are married, you have to enjoy both or you will be miserable. It is not nice having to sleep with or wash the socks of someone you don't really respect, and what woman really respects a man who makes her think of squashed bananas?
The third thing is that sometimes Scooter does become more attractive the better you get to know him, but sometimes heart and skin just say "Uh-uh." And you must believe them because although your brain will lie to you about sexual attraction, heart and skin will not. (Heart and skin will lie to you about other stuff, however, so keep a balance.)
One of my problems with internet dating is that women often decide on the strength or weakness of a photograph if they are attracted to the man or not. But many very attractive men simply are not photogenic. Some look like pug dogs. They might growl as sexily as Alan Rickman (no looker) does or make us laugh as hysterically as Bill Murray (also not a looker) does, but if we reject on the strength of a photo or even a quick scan of a face, forget meeting a lot of sexy-sounding, funny men. We are not men; we are not so naturally hung up on looks.
My first thought on seeing my now-husband's photo (sent by a kind reader) was "Blah! A beard!" My second thought was "Never judge a man by his photo!" And my first thought on seeing my now-husband in the bus station was "Blah! I am blinded by his tweed jacket! But at least he's not ugly." And then within five days he was The Most Beautiful Man in the World, possibly because he practised his first confession on me. This may have set up feelings of intense intimacy and so--kind of like what happened to yesterday's letter-writer--I got all hooked. Thank heavens B.A. is actually a really great guy like his friends (the kind readers) kept telling me.
Actually getting to know B.A. made me stop saying "Blah!" But getting to know another Catholic guy I am thinking of--quite a nice guy, if you like small, thin blond men with watery blue eyes, blond eyebrows and no eyelashes--did not make me think "Oh yes, he's for me." Quite the opposite. And he goes down in history as the one guy who kissed me with absolutely no regard whatsoever for my will and---ick. Ick, ick, ick. Fortunately he ran away immediately after, just as he did later when I sat down and gave him the Bad News, although I don't think he wept on the first occasion.
Anyway, on paper I should have snapped up Mr Lashless Weeper because he was one of the few actually devout, church-going Catholic men I knew who was interested in the same kind of artistic pursuits and Goth clubs as me. But I did not, and I am pretty sure I would not have succumbed any more in my late 30s than I did in my early 20s, even if he was still magically 24 or whatever he was. I am just too respectful of my own personal eroticism... Listen, am I the only Catholic woman who writes online about this stuff?
The answer to "Can I force myself to become attracted to my suitors, if I have forced myself to kiss them and the thought of going all the way with one or the other makes me cry?" is no. Once upon a time nobody cared if women enjoyed sex, and many people thought we shouldn't, or thought we would just get used to it, but the fact is there is nothing that makes you hate a man you used to like more effectively than having to have sex with him when your body/psyche doesn't like sex with him.
And I'm sorry about that because I know there are women who would gladly forgo sexual enjoyment and just lie back and think of England just so long as they could stop being lonely and maybe have a baby, but that just won't work. (Believe me on this. Sometimes it literally doesn't work, if you develop this syndrome, for example) And the contemporary man doesn't just want sex, he wants to be praised for it, too.
Hang in there, kid. A little bird told me that super-trad Catholic websites have more eligible men between the ages of 35 and 50 than they have women, so there are other single men out there. And whether you eventually marry or not, it is not the end of the world if you kiss both Scooters good-bye.
I hope this is helpful.
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
Thursday, 8 November 2012
Auntie Seraphic & Sense vs Sensibility
Ah! Who can find a cure for the common crush? But if someone did, would this not interfere in a terrible way with artistic endeavour? I suspect much of the Nineteenth Century collection in the National Museum in Kraków was inspired by people's crushes on other people.
It's a terrible conundrum. No pain, no art. Life-long emotional tranquility for everyone, or Widor's "Toccata in F" and Dryden's "Hidden Flame"?
On the other hand, maybe this pain = art thing is a myth of the Romantics. And it could be that art is a natural therapy for depressives, which is why so many depressives dedicate so much time to it. But back to telegrams from campus life:
Dear Auntie Seraphic,
First, I’d like to say that your blog is one of my very favourites. The good, common-sense advice that you provide in your posts is a great comfort, and I'm very grateful that you provide it.
The short version of the situation I am writing to you about is that I have a crush on a NCB, and I need someone to tell me that I should not ask him if he wants to meet up for coffee or something, because the temptation to do so is very great. However, I will elaborate further now, and apologize in advance for any rambling.
I am in my second year at university, as is the NCB in question, and we’re both [active in] our university Catholic society. I met him last year and would see him fairly regularly after Mass and at various Catholic events, and always found him very easy to get along with. I considered him a friend but never more than that, as I never saw him outside of chaplaincy-organised events, and he is a very outgoing, friendly person so whenever I did see him he would generally be talking to several other people as well as myself. Also, for about half of last year I was battling with a completely irrational crush for a boy [...], and after I had overcome said crush I was busy making sure that it didn't sprout up again, so my attentions were otherwise engaged.
This year I returned to campus a couple of weeks before the start of term to settle into my new accommodation, and in the first few days of my being here I received a message in my Facebook inbox from the NCB around whom this narrative is focused. The message said that he hoped I’d had a good summer, and that he was looking forward to seeing me soon, and would I be up for meeting up at some point, perhaps next Wednesday for coffee? This message took me rather by surprise, as I had not heard, nor expected to hear, from him all summer. However, I knew that I got on well with him and the more I thought about it the more I thought that it would be nice to see him again, so I replied saying yes, and we exchanged a few more short messages about when and where we would meet.
Now, I’m not a girl who gets asked out for coffee an awful lot, and I was really completely at a loss when trying to work out if this was merely a friendly gesture or if he had other intentions. The way that he’d asked me out of the blue seemed to suggest that he’d been thinking about me, but I also knew that he is a very friendly person, and it would not surprise me if he met up with friends for coffee all the time. (If you were to tell me at this point that I was overthinking the whole thing, I would agree with you).
We met up for coffee at the time we’d arranged, and went for a walk afterwards, and it was really good to see him and talk with him about various things. He told me about a difficult family situation that had made his summer quite a hard one. He did not make it clear what had motivated him to ask me to go for coffee with him, but I reasoned that he may have wanted to know that he had friends at university that understood what he was going through and who could give him support, as the issue he is having to deal with is a very difficult and on-going one.
This was fine with me. But, of course, to complicate matters I soon became aware during these proceedings a seed of a crush on him had been planted. I thought it would probably fade in a few days, but it sprouted. Fast-forward five weeks or so to the present day, and here I am, with feelings blossoming all over the place, and not a clue of what to do with them. I see him every week at Sunday Mass, and generally also at [X and Y]. He is always very friendly, and will give me a hug whenever he sees me, and talk to me, but has not asked me if I want to meet up with him since that solitary and confusing coffee incident.
Now, dear Auntie, my supposings tell me that he does not have the same feelings for me as I do for him, but this does not help me very much regarding what to do with these feelings of mine. If I did not feel this particular way about him I think I would have had no qualms before now about asking him if he wanted to meet up outside of chaplaincy events by now, as he is a really great person and I would have wanted to be better friends with him anyway. I am sorely tempted to try and put my feelings aside and suggest such a thing just so that I can become better friends with him, but even if I could muster up the courage and composure to do that without betraying the extent of my feelings, would this be breaking the rules of sense of how to behave? Agh.
I have been praying pretty much daily about the whole situation ever since I realized how much it was distracting my poor heart, and asking God to look after it all, which I trust He will one way or another. But if you could shed some light on anything that I have said, and give me some advice on what I should to, it would be greatly appreciated!
Many thanks,
Sense vs Sensibility
Dear Sense vs Sensibility,
I am sorry that your friend is having a difficult time with his family and had a hard summer. It must have been a great relief for him to go back to school and be once again among his Catholic chaplaincy friends. And it seems to me not that unusual for a contemporary young man, needing to talk but not knowing who to talk to, to ask a female friend to have a coffee with him so he could unburden himself.
Because I am afraid that is what I think this coffee date was about: free therapy. I wouldn't blame him for that--friends naturally turn to friends for emotional support--although I wish young men were a little more aware that when they speak intimately to young women about their problems, the emotional closeness can make the young women experience strong feelings of attachment.
So that, my dear S vs S, is what I think has happened. He reached out for emotional relief, you naturally thought it was a date, he told you all, and you felt emotional closeness and therefore attachment. Boom. Big crush now.
So what to do? Well, I think you should do what you want, but always remembering that any guy who does not think you are so marvellous he simply must be around you all the time and buy you coffee is slightly defective and definitely not boyfriend material.
It is good to have friends, and it is not good to avoid Catholic chaplaincy stuff when you get so much enjoyment and support from it, so I think you should keep on being friendly with him as before. I wouldn't say, "Hey, let's have coffee again!" because he might construe this as an invitation to talk about his lousy family situation again, and begin to associate you with the lousy family situation.
The important thing is to tell yourself the absolute truth and remind yourself of it as often as you need to, like a mantra: This boy is a nice guy and a friend, but he's just not that into me, so he's kind of defective.
I'm sure my male readers will feel indignant that I am encouraging women to think they are defective just because They're Just Not Into Us, but that's too bad: it's a useful mental habit to get into. Love the man who loves you, that's my motto. This can also work as a way of thinking well of the men we're just not that into who are into us: Scooter may have all the sex appeal of a squashed banana, but he does have good taste in women.
Anyway, hang in there, remember that Mr Family Problem is kind of defective, and if it helps, when you are around him, focus on what about him (besides ridiculously not being that into you) you don't like: his monobrow (if he has one), his horrible sneakers, his terrible clothing combinations. If all goes well, he will return to the Friend Zone part of your mind.
By the way, you might want to keep in mind that he does have this terrible family situation going on and therefore might not be emotionally available for a romantic relationship right now.
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
Hmph. These modern young men and their hugs. Why do they never hug me? I am pondering a banner: Hugs for Married Women! Just kidding, B.A.
It's a terrible conundrum. No pain, no art. Life-long emotional tranquility for everyone, or Widor's "Toccata in F" and Dryden's "Hidden Flame"?
On the other hand, maybe this pain = art thing is a myth of the Romantics. And it could be that art is a natural therapy for depressives, which is why so many depressives dedicate so much time to it. But back to telegrams from campus life:
Dear Auntie Seraphic,
First, I’d like to say that your blog is one of my very favourites. The good, common-sense advice that you provide in your posts is a great comfort, and I'm very grateful that you provide it.
The short version of the situation I am writing to you about is that I have a crush on a NCB, and I need someone to tell me that I should not ask him if he wants to meet up for coffee or something, because the temptation to do so is very great. However, I will elaborate further now, and apologize in advance for any rambling.
I am in my second year at university, as is the NCB in question, and we’re both [active in] our university Catholic society. I met him last year and would see him fairly regularly after Mass and at various Catholic events, and always found him very easy to get along with. I considered him a friend but never more than that, as I never saw him outside of chaplaincy-organised events, and he is a very outgoing, friendly person so whenever I did see him he would generally be talking to several other people as well as myself. Also, for about half of last year I was battling with a completely irrational crush for a boy [...], and after I had overcome said crush I was busy making sure that it didn't sprout up again, so my attentions were otherwise engaged.
This year I returned to campus a couple of weeks before the start of term to settle into my new accommodation, and in the first few days of my being here I received a message in my Facebook inbox from the NCB around whom this narrative is focused. The message said that he hoped I’d had a good summer, and that he was looking forward to seeing me soon, and would I be up for meeting up at some point, perhaps next Wednesday for coffee? This message took me rather by surprise, as I had not heard, nor expected to hear, from him all summer. However, I knew that I got on well with him and the more I thought about it the more I thought that it would be nice to see him again, so I replied saying yes, and we exchanged a few more short messages about when and where we would meet.
Now, I’m not a girl who gets asked out for coffee an awful lot, and I was really completely at a loss when trying to work out if this was merely a friendly gesture or if he had other intentions. The way that he’d asked me out of the blue seemed to suggest that he’d been thinking about me, but I also knew that he is a very friendly person, and it would not surprise me if he met up with friends for coffee all the time. (If you were to tell me at this point that I was overthinking the whole thing, I would agree with you).
We met up for coffee at the time we’d arranged, and went for a walk afterwards, and it was really good to see him and talk with him about various things. He told me about a difficult family situation that had made his summer quite a hard one. He did not make it clear what had motivated him to ask me to go for coffee with him, but I reasoned that he may have wanted to know that he had friends at university that understood what he was going through and who could give him support, as the issue he is having to deal with is a very difficult and on-going one.
This was fine with me. But, of course, to complicate matters I soon became aware during these proceedings a seed of a crush on him had been planted. I thought it would probably fade in a few days, but it sprouted. Fast-forward five weeks or so to the present day, and here I am, with feelings blossoming all over the place, and not a clue of what to do with them. I see him every week at Sunday Mass, and generally also at [X and Y]. He is always very friendly, and will give me a hug whenever he sees me, and talk to me, but has not asked me if I want to meet up with him since that solitary and confusing coffee incident.
Now, dear Auntie, my supposings tell me that he does not have the same feelings for me as I do for him, but this does not help me very much regarding what to do with these feelings of mine. If I did not feel this particular way about him I think I would have had no qualms before now about asking him if he wanted to meet up outside of chaplaincy events by now, as he is a really great person and I would have wanted to be better friends with him anyway. I am sorely tempted to try and put my feelings aside and suggest such a thing just so that I can become better friends with him, but even if I could muster up the courage and composure to do that without betraying the extent of my feelings, would this be breaking the rules of sense of how to behave? Agh.
I have been praying pretty much daily about the whole situation ever since I realized how much it was distracting my poor heart, and asking God to look after it all, which I trust He will one way or another. But if you could shed some light on anything that I have said, and give me some advice on what I should to, it would be greatly appreciated!
Many thanks,
Sense vs Sensibility
Dear Sense vs Sensibility,
I am sorry that your friend is having a difficult time with his family and had a hard summer. It must have been a great relief for him to go back to school and be once again among his Catholic chaplaincy friends. And it seems to me not that unusual for a contemporary young man, needing to talk but not knowing who to talk to, to ask a female friend to have a coffee with him so he could unburden himself.
Because I am afraid that is what I think this coffee date was about: free therapy. I wouldn't blame him for that--friends naturally turn to friends for emotional support--although I wish young men were a little more aware that when they speak intimately to young women about their problems, the emotional closeness can make the young women experience strong feelings of attachment.
So that, my dear S vs S, is what I think has happened. He reached out for emotional relief, you naturally thought it was a date, he told you all, and you felt emotional closeness and therefore attachment. Boom. Big crush now.
So what to do? Well, I think you should do what you want, but always remembering that any guy who does not think you are so marvellous he simply must be around you all the time and buy you coffee is slightly defective and definitely not boyfriend material.
It is good to have friends, and it is not good to avoid Catholic chaplaincy stuff when you get so much enjoyment and support from it, so I think you should keep on being friendly with him as before. I wouldn't say, "Hey, let's have coffee again!" because he might construe this as an invitation to talk about his lousy family situation again, and begin to associate you with the lousy family situation.
The important thing is to tell yourself the absolute truth and remind yourself of it as often as you need to, like a mantra: This boy is a nice guy and a friend, but he's just not that into me, so he's kind of defective.
I'm sure my male readers will feel indignant that I am encouraging women to think they are defective just because They're Just Not Into Us, but that's too bad: it's a useful mental habit to get into. Love the man who loves you, that's my motto. This can also work as a way of thinking well of the men we're just not that into who are into us: Scooter may have all the sex appeal of a squashed banana, but he does have good taste in women.
Anyway, hang in there, remember that Mr Family Problem is kind of defective, and if it helps, when you are around him, focus on what about him (besides ridiculously not being that into you) you don't like: his monobrow (if he has one), his horrible sneakers, his terrible clothing combinations. If all goes well, he will return to the Friend Zone part of your mind.
By the way, you might want to keep in mind that he does have this terrible family situation going on and therefore might not be emotionally available for a romantic relationship right now.
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
Hmph. These modern young men and their hugs. Why do they never hug me? I am pondering a banner: Hugs for Married Women! Just kidding, B.A.
Wednesday, 7 November 2012
Poor Mr Toad
I thought the average reader would be more familiar than British agony aunt Bel Mooney with the attitudes displayed in this letter, but I wasn't expecting such passionate responses to my post.
I've had a furious response from a Catholic woman for cutting Mr Toad some slack, and an agonized one from a Catholic man because I call him a toad at all. The Catholic man is also confused that I said men should not expect women to be like hermetically sealed aspirin bottles, for after all we're all supposed to be virgins before we marry.
The reason why I posted the letter in the first place (besides amusement at Bel's astonishment) is that I thought it applied to two ancient worries of men and women: first, women's worry that we will be rejected and reviled (or even killed) for our sexual sins; and second, men's worry that the women they love will lie to them.
There is also the worry of immature men, or men in immature, deeply patriarchal societies, that oh-so-important Other Men will laugh at them because of the behaviour or condition of "their" women. It makes me incredibly angry that some men still care more about the opinion of male strangers, acquaintances or enemies than they do for the happiness of the wives and children who love them, but I'm not sure what I personally can do about that. Learning Polish is way hard; you can forget about Arabic or Dari.
To retell the story of Poor Mr Toad and Mrs Toad, I think it necessary to stress that they are British, presumably non-Catholic and married in 1972. Christian Britain arguably ended in 1963; here is my long essay on the subject, and here is my short.
In 1972, Mrs Toad was 22, the Sexual Revolution was nine, and Mrs Toad had been sexually active (whatever that meant for her) for four years. The Sixties were called the Swinging Sixties for a reason, and the UK was on the cutting edge of them. All kinds of taboos, including sex with underage girls (although still illegal), had been thrown out the window.
By the way, since there had never been such widespread sexual license, nobody yet knew what the social and health results would be. You may recall Austin Powers' utter astonishment that he needed to use "protection", e.g. "I'm not a SAILOR!"
But not everyone had signed onto the revolution of 1963, and the future Mrs Toad found herself in love with an old-fashioned virgin guy who wanted to marry a virgin girl. Gulping, the future Mrs Toad eventually confessed to not being a virgin (good), but made up a story of how this came about, painting herself as a victim of pressure who was nevertheless very, very sorry (bad). Believing this lie, but (I'm guessing) also convinced by other things that he would be happy with the future Mrs Toad, Mr Toad married her.
Forty years go by and Mr and Mrs Toad had a happy life with children, friends, work, etc. Then Mr Toad found out that Mrs Toad lied back in 1972, freaked out, left and now says he wants a divorce.
Now, I do not think Mr Toad is a toad because he wanted to marry a virgin. He was a virgin himself, and probably knew squat about the realities of sexual life. Possibly he feared comparisons with other men or some hard man down at the pub saying "I 'ad yore missus, guv. Ho ho ho." Presumably he was not much older than 22 himself.
And I do not think Mr Toad is a toad because he freaked out because his wife told him a serious lie, a lie on which he may have based his decision to marry her. He's nearing retirement age, and apparently men get very sensitive around then.
I think Mr Toad is a toad because he has abandoned his wife, age 62, and not answered any of her letters, and allowed her to think he thinks she is next door to an adulteress.
The fact is that Mr Toad is married to Mrs Toad and married people vow to be faithful to each other in good times and in bad, for richer for poorer, and sickness and in health. We are not allowed to pretend the other is dead. Mr Toad looks like he is pretending that Mrs Toad is dead.
(As I said, I am glad Mr Toad is at least continuing to support the household financially. This makes him less toady.)
Therefore, although I am sympathetic to Mr Toad's need to grieve what for him was something very important, I am not sympathetic to his current treatment of his wife. It goes without saying that she ought not to have lied.
Now, let's talk about our own worries.
It is no longer 1972. It is 2012, and the Sexual Revolution is forty-nine years old. We know a lot more about sexual behaviour and sexual diseases than Mr and Mrs Toad did when they were 22.
Mr and Mrs Toad did not know, for example, that that funny Jimmy Saville was having sex with underage girls up and down the length of England, or that children were being raped in care homes, or that other children were being abused by clergymen on a much wider scale than The News of the World was reporting. Nor did they know the extent to which boys and girls were abused by family members, or the extent to which girls would be abused by their mothers' boyfriends as the revolution utterly destroyed family life for the working classes.
But we know, and I have come to the conclusion, my dears, that those women who are physical virgins on our (first) wedding day are as lucky as we are virtuous.
We were not messed with, or groomed, or overpowered, or tricked. When we got drunk (if we did), nobody took serious advantage of us. We were not put through the emotional wringer by someone we loved (or thought we loved) very much until we succumbed. Not to minimize the sufferings of chaste women who saw men they admired walk away because the women would not put out (sufferings I myself experienced), but being a physical virgin on your wedding day is definitely a case of "here for the grace of God am I."
We also know more about disease, although obviously not enough, since governments seem to feel it necessary to inoculate underage girls against the Human Papilloma Virus they might later catch from boys. (Why are boys not inoculated?) Hitherto, teenage girls have just had the Pill and condoms chucked at us, not to mention abuse from the campus condom crusader (whether in or out of an obscene costume) to whom we say "No, thank you."
We also know how hard it is to espouse a sexual morality different from that of the majority. Now women are afraid that we will be unloved both if we have sex and if we DON'T. If I had a zloty for every time I have read or heard "No man will want me now" AND "No man will want me if I don't compromise" I could buy a holiday home in Sopot.
And all this is on top of the fact that--big shock--women also experience sexual desire, possibly as strongly as men do. The difference is that we can immediately see how it is not in our best interests to have sex whenever the opportunity arises. And, yes, it arises more often then it does for men, or would if we didn't avoid going to bars on our own.
Oh, and not all women are naturally monogamous (monandrous, to be precise). Some of us make a conscious choice to be faithful every day. And, on top of this, and sorry to bust this bubble, it is not true that all marriages between virgins last forever. Churchgoing virgin + churchgoing virgin may make up the smallest number of future divorced people, but we still exist. It takes more than sexual inexperience to make a happy marriage, and sexual experience does not immediately cancel out the possibility. It all depends on the people involved.
I am sympathetic to the fears that some Catholic women have that we will be found unworthy of love because some men are pigs and others are prigs. And I am sympathetic to the fears that some Catholic men have that they will marry the wrong woman, be divorced and have to choose between sex/danger of hell and no-sex/long earthly purgatory. These are terrible fears to have, and if they dominate your life, I suggest you discuss them with both a priest and a therapist.
Meanwhile, I will write out a fictional dialogue between a fictional Catholic engaged couple, which more or less illustrates what I think many mature, loving, Catholic engaged couples sound like:
Fiance: Well, honey, since we're on the subject, I guess I probably should tell you about that time at high school when I did X. And I did Y and Z at college, too, and I felt pretty bad about it later.
Fiancee (mulls it over): Huh. Did you go to confession?
Fiance: When I got my head back on straight, I did.
Fiancee: Well, I can understand all that because when I was X years old I did Y, and I very much regret that now.
Fiance: So did you go to confession?
Fiancee: Yes, of course.
Fiance: I guess we're both sinners, huh?
Fiancee: Looks like it.
Fiance: One more reason to celebrate the Incarnation.
Fiancee: Well, exactly. Otherwise we wouldn't know God forgave us this stuff.
Fiance: So I guess we should get tested before we get married, then.
Fiancee: I already... You didn't get tested?
Fiance: Well, I really hate needles. Sometimes when I give blood I pass out.
Fiancee: Don't worry. I'll come with and hold your other hand.
I've had a furious response from a Catholic woman for cutting Mr Toad some slack, and an agonized one from a Catholic man because I call him a toad at all. The Catholic man is also confused that I said men should not expect women to be like hermetically sealed aspirin bottles, for after all we're all supposed to be virgins before we marry.
The reason why I posted the letter in the first place (besides amusement at Bel's astonishment) is that I thought it applied to two ancient worries of men and women: first, women's worry that we will be rejected and reviled (or even killed) for our sexual sins; and second, men's worry that the women they love will lie to them.
There is also the worry of immature men, or men in immature, deeply patriarchal societies, that oh-so-important Other Men will laugh at them because of the behaviour or condition of "their" women. It makes me incredibly angry that some men still care more about the opinion of male strangers, acquaintances or enemies than they do for the happiness of the wives and children who love them, but I'm not sure what I personally can do about that. Learning Polish is way hard; you can forget about Arabic or Dari.
To retell the story of Poor Mr Toad and Mrs Toad, I think it necessary to stress that they are British, presumably non-Catholic and married in 1972. Christian Britain arguably ended in 1963; here is my long essay on the subject, and here is my short.
In 1972, Mrs Toad was 22, the Sexual Revolution was nine, and Mrs Toad had been sexually active (whatever that meant for her) for four years. The Sixties were called the Swinging Sixties for a reason, and the UK was on the cutting edge of them. All kinds of taboos, including sex with underage girls (although still illegal), had been thrown out the window.
By the way, since there had never been such widespread sexual license, nobody yet knew what the social and health results would be. You may recall Austin Powers' utter astonishment that he needed to use "protection", e.g. "I'm not a SAILOR!"
But not everyone had signed onto the revolution of 1963, and the future Mrs Toad found herself in love with an old-fashioned virgin guy who wanted to marry a virgin girl. Gulping, the future Mrs Toad eventually confessed to not being a virgin (good), but made up a story of how this came about, painting herself as a victim of pressure who was nevertheless very, very sorry (bad). Believing this lie, but (I'm guessing) also convinced by other things that he would be happy with the future Mrs Toad, Mr Toad married her.
Forty years go by and Mr and Mrs Toad had a happy life with children, friends, work, etc. Then Mr Toad found out that Mrs Toad lied back in 1972, freaked out, left and now says he wants a divorce.
Now, I do not think Mr Toad is a toad because he wanted to marry a virgin. He was a virgin himself, and probably knew squat about the realities of sexual life. Possibly he feared comparisons with other men or some hard man down at the pub saying "I 'ad yore missus, guv. Ho ho ho." Presumably he was not much older than 22 himself.
And I do not think Mr Toad is a toad because he freaked out because his wife told him a serious lie, a lie on which he may have based his decision to marry her. He's nearing retirement age, and apparently men get very sensitive around then.
I think Mr Toad is a toad because he has abandoned his wife, age 62, and not answered any of her letters, and allowed her to think he thinks she is next door to an adulteress.
The fact is that Mr Toad is married to Mrs Toad and married people vow to be faithful to each other in good times and in bad, for richer for poorer, and sickness and in health. We are not allowed to pretend the other is dead. Mr Toad looks like he is pretending that Mrs Toad is dead.
(As I said, I am glad Mr Toad is at least continuing to support the household financially. This makes him less toady.)
Therefore, although I am sympathetic to Mr Toad's need to grieve what for him was something very important, I am not sympathetic to his current treatment of his wife. It goes without saying that she ought not to have lied.
Now, let's talk about our own worries.
It is no longer 1972. It is 2012, and the Sexual Revolution is forty-nine years old. We know a lot more about sexual behaviour and sexual diseases than Mr and Mrs Toad did when they were 22.
Mr and Mrs Toad did not know, for example, that that funny Jimmy Saville was having sex with underage girls up and down the length of England, or that children were being raped in care homes, or that other children were being abused by clergymen on a much wider scale than The News of the World was reporting. Nor did they know the extent to which boys and girls were abused by family members, or the extent to which girls would be abused by their mothers' boyfriends as the revolution utterly destroyed family life for the working classes.
But we know, and I have come to the conclusion, my dears, that those women who are physical virgins on our (first) wedding day are as lucky as we are virtuous.
We were not messed with, or groomed, or overpowered, or tricked. When we got drunk (if we did), nobody took serious advantage of us. We were not put through the emotional wringer by someone we loved (or thought we loved) very much until we succumbed. Not to minimize the sufferings of chaste women who saw men they admired walk away because the women would not put out (sufferings I myself experienced), but being a physical virgin on your wedding day is definitely a case of "here for the grace of God am I."
We also know more about disease, although obviously not enough, since governments seem to feel it necessary to inoculate underage girls against the Human Papilloma Virus they might later catch from boys. (Why are boys not inoculated?) Hitherto, teenage girls have just had the Pill and condoms chucked at us, not to mention abuse from the campus condom crusader (whether in or out of an obscene costume) to whom we say "No, thank you."
We also know how hard it is to espouse a sexual morality different from that of the majority. Now women are afraid that we will be unloved both if we have sex and if we DON'T. If I had a zloty for every time I have read or heard "No man will want me now" AND "No man will want me if I don't compromise" I could buy a holiday home in Sopot.
And all this is on top of the fact that--big shock--women also experience sexual desire, possibly as strongly as men do. The difference is that we can immediately see how it is not in our best interests to have sex whenever the opportunity arises. And, yes, it arises more often then it does for men, or would if we didn't avoid going to bars on our own.
Oh, and not all women are naturally monogamous (monandrous, to be precise). Some of us make a conscious choice to be faithful every day. And, on top of this, and sorry to bust this bubble, it is not true that all marriages between virgins last forever. Churchgoing virgin + churchgoing virgin may make up the smallest number of future divorced people, but we still exist. It takes more than sexual inexperience to make a happy marriage, and sexual experience does not immediately cancel out the possibility. It all depends on the people involved.
I am sympathetic to the fears that some Catholic women have that we will be found unworthy of love because some men are pigs and others are prigs. And I am sympathetic to the fears that some Catholic men have that they will marry the wrong woman, be divorced and have to choose between sex/danger of hell and no-sex/long earthly purgatory. These are terrible fears to have, and if they dominate your life, I suggest you discuss them with both a priest and a therapist.
Meanwhile, I will write out a fictional dialogue between a fictional Catholic engaged couple, which more or less illustrates what I think many mature, loving, Catholic engaged couples sound like:
Fiance: Well, honey, since we're on the subject, I guess I probably should tell you about that time at high school when I did X. And I did Y and Z at college, too, and I felt pretty bad about it later.
Fiancee (mulls it over): Huh. Did you go to confession?
Fiance: When I got my head back on straight, I did.
Fiancee: Well, I can understand all that because when I was X years old I did Y, and I very much regret that now.
Fiance: So did you go to confession?
Fiancee: Yes, of course.
Fiance: I guess we're both sinners, huh?
Fiancee: Looks like it.
Fiance: One more reason to celebrate the Incarnation.
Fiancee: Well, exactly. Otherwise we wouldn't know God forgave us this stuff.
Fiance: So I guess we should get tested before we get married, then.
Fiancee: I already... You didn't get tested?
Fiance: Well, I really hate needles. Sometimes when I give blood I pass out.
Fiancee: Don't worry. I'll come with and hold your other hand.
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
Auntie Seraphic & Psychotherapy
Recently a friend and I were falling about hooting with laughter because we had been showing each other the martial arts moves we had learned a zillion years ago and were still solidly tucked away in our respective muscle memories. We were wearing dresses and girly shoes, so it was all very incongruous.
The one thing about my super-sporty days that I always keep in mind when I sigh over the loss of my athletic frame is that I was furious quite a lot of the time. I thought I had got a raw deal from life, having been a good Catholic girl and yet punished with a terrible marriage that didn't seem all that sacramental and, the Church eventually ruled, was not.
I got out, but I was still steaming mad and had terrible nightmares to boot and was generally a mess. What I had going for me was a good job with a very decent salary and so I could afford to hire a therapist.
Now I know what you're thinking, and so did I, for first I tried the cheapo option by going to a group therapy session held by the local Catholic Family Services. Unfortunately, although the topic advertised for that week was "Verbal Abuse", the topic actually presented was "Lesbians Who Batter". A group of bright-eyed Catholic ladies obediently tried to think up hateful epithets they had heard for Lesbians for the sake of the (I suspect) Lesbian group leaders while I watched a fellow young woman, her eyes ringed with sleeplessness and despair, fall even farther into her secret mental hell. So I gave up on group therapy and called the Catholic psychotherapist advertising at the back of my parish church.
The first thing I have to say is that I am very grateful to that psychotherapist because she helped me really a lot. But the second thing I have to say is that her personal life was such a shambles that she had no right to advertise for Catholic clients at the back of a church. To her credit she soon took the sign down, but had I known what was going on, I would have changed therapists at once. And when I did find out--quite a nasty moment for the future Auntie S--I did.
Therefore, when the other day a reader wrote in asking for advice about seeing a Christian therapist, I had this to say:
Dear [Reader],
Thank you for your email! Choosing the right therapist is very important because a therapist can have an enormous influence over your day-to-day thought processes. My therapist and I went separate ways 10 years ago, and yet I can still feel her influence on my life and how I think.
There are a few things I would recommend.
First of all, ask your therapist how many clients she has. You do not want to get into a position where your therapist is financially dependent on you because you are one of her only three clients.
Second, ask your therapist if she is married, and if she has good relationships with family and friends. You also do not want to get into a position where your therapist becomes emotionally dependent on you in any way.
Third, tell your therapist that you are a Roman Catholic and that you take your beliefs as a Roman Catholic very seriously, and ask her if she feels comfortable working with a Roman Catholic client, especially as your views on sexuality may not match. You do not want to get into a situation where a therapist tells you that your problem is "a bunch of old men in the Vatican" or "man-made laws." Freud was virulently anti-Catholic, and so are many therapists. So are many American Protestants, so it is best to be careful.
If you ever are in a situation where your therapist begins to tell you inappropriate information about herself, this may be a red flag that the therapeutic relationship is no longer healthy. This is, in fact, why I ended my almost five years of therapy with my own Christian* therapist. She helped me a lot, but if I were ever to go into therapy again, I would certainly follow my own recommendations.
Therapy is a business, one in which you make yourself very vulnerable (as you do when you visit a doctor or stay in a hospital surrounded by strangers), and therefore you are perfectly within your rights to ask a therapist this information. And of course you might want to ask where she was trained and to what philosophy of therapy she subscribes. And then there is the touchy subject of price. One-on-one therapy, unless it is provided by your university or workplace is often expensive. However, my own experience was that it was worth it, and far superior to group therapy.
I hope this is helpful!
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
*P.S. My therapist was a liberal Catholic with axes to grind. It may be better to have a mainline Protestant therapist than a Catholic with axes to grind, be they liberal axes or ultra-conservative.
***
What I have to add today is that a therapist absolutely has to keep good boundaries. They may say this when you ask your initial questions about their practice, their personal life and their attitude towards Catholics. However, a financially secure person with a good emotional support network is much better able to maintain boundaries than a therapist with serious problems/drama. And the last thing you need is transference on a person with poor boundaries.
This is your psyche you are talking about, so don't put it in the hands of just anyone.
Update: I have very limited internet access this week. You can leave comments, but they will not appear until about 10:30 GMT the following day. Personal friends who normally call our house phone or send email should either text or call us on our mobiles. I will answer emails the following day; BA still has access to his email at the office.
The one thing about my super-sporty days that I always keep in mind when I sigh over the loss of my athletic frame is that I was furious quite a lot of the time. I thought I had got a raw deal from life, having been a good Catholic girl and yet punished with a terrible marriage that didn't seem all that sacramental and, the Church eventually ruled, was not.
I got out, but I was still steaming mad and had terrible nightmares to boot and was generally a mess. What I had going for me was a good job with a very decent salary and so I could afford to hire a therapist.
Now I know what you're thinking, and so did I, for first I tried the cheapo option by going to a group therapy session held by the local Catholic Family Services. Unfortunately, although the topic advertised for that week was "Verbal Abuse", the topic actually presented was "Lesbians Who Batter". A group of bright-eyed Catholic ladies obediently tried to think up hateful epithets they had heard for Lesbians for the sake of the (I suspect) Lesbian group leaders while I watched a fellow young woman, her eyes ringed with sleeplessness and despair, fall even farther into her secret mental hell. So I gave up on group therapy and called the Catholic psychotherapist advertising at the back of my parish church.
The first thing I have to say is that I am very grateful to that psychotherapist because she helped me really a lot. But the second thing I have to say is that her personal life was such a shambles that she had no right to advertise for Catholic clients at the back of a church. To her credit she soon took the sign down, but had I known what was going on, I would have changed therapists at once. And when I did find out--quite a nasty moment for the future Auntie S--I did.
Therefore, when the other day a reader wrote in asking for advice about seeing a Christian therapist, I had this to say:
Dear [Reader],
Thank you for your email! Choosing the right therapist is very important because a therapist can have an enormous influence over your day-to-day thought processes. My therapist and I went separate ways 10 years ago, and yet I can still feel her influence on my life and how I think.
There are a few things I would recommend.
First of all, ask your therapist how many clients she has. You do not want to get into a position where your therapist is financially dependent on you because you are one of her only three clients.
Second, ask your therapist if she is married, and if she has good relationships with family and friends. You also do not want to get into a position where your therapist becomes emotionally dependent on you in any way.
Third, tell your therapist that you are a Roman Catholic and that you take your beliefs as a Roman Catholic very seriously, and ask her if she feels comfortable working with a Roman Catholic client, especially as your views on sexuality may not match. You do not want to get into a situation where a therapist tells you that your problem is "a bunch of old men in the Vatican" or "man-made laws." Freud was virulently anti-Catholic, and so are many therapists. So are many American Protestants, so it is best to be careful.
If you ever are in a situation where your therapist begins to tell you inappropriate information about herself, this may be a red flag that the therapeutic relationship is no longer healthy. This is, in fact, why I ended my almost five years of therapy with my own Christian* therapist. She helped me a lot, but if I were ever to go into therapy again, I would certainly follow my own recommendations.
Therapy is a business, one in which you make yourself very vulnerable (as you do when you visit a doctor or stay in a hospital surrounded by strangers), and therefore you are perfectly within your rights to ask a therapist this information. And of course you might want to ask where she was trained and to what philosophy of therapy she subscribes. And then there is the touchy subject of price. One-on-one therapy, unless it is provided by your university or workplace is often expensive. However, my own experience was that it was worth it, and far superior to group therapy.
I hope this is helpful!
Grace and peace,
Seraphic
*P.S. My therapist was a liberal Catholic with axes to grind. It may be better to have a mainline Protestant therapist than a Catholic with axes to grind, be they liberal axes or ultra-conservative.
***
What I have to add today is that a therapist absolutely has to keep good boundaries. They may say this when you ask your initial questions about their practice, their personal life and their attitude towards Catholics. However, a financially secure person with a good emotional support network is much better able to maintain boundaries than a therapist with serious problems/drama. And the last thing you need is transference on a person with poor boundaries.
This is your psyche you are talking about, so don't put it in the hands of just anyone.
Update: I have very limited internet access this week. You can leave comments, but they will not appear until about 10:30 GMT the following day. Personal friends who normally call our house phone or send email should either text or call us on our mobiles. I will answer emails the following day; BA still has access to his email at the office.
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