Stella FitzGerald – Thinking Spiritually: My Journey to See through a Lens of Faith

In my eighth grade theology class, my teacher asked us: “What is the lens through which you see the world?” As I move through my life as a college student, I’m finding that I am constantly trying to answer this question. In a search for identity, clarity, vocation, self-compassion, and understanding, I have challenged myself to see the world through a lens of faith. I hope to share some insights about my life and the world around me in the form of essays, media sources, and meaningful conversations. This project is a medium of growth for me, and I am exploring the ways that writing about my thoughts and sharing them with others will help me to answer that same question: 

“What is the lens through which I see the world?”

Essays

Training Wheels 

The man at the bar asked me if I wanted the shot of Patrón with or without training wheels. I confidently replied, “no training wheels.” The next morning, my head pounding, I was really wishing I had been brave enough to say “training wheels, please.” I wish I had been brave enough to admit that I had no idea what I was doing or why I was doing it. Over the course of my freshman year, I’ve learned that admitting that “yes, I still need the training wheels,” is one of the hardest, most terrifying, yet most important things I’ve had to do. These training wheels are present in my academic, emotional, and social life. They don’t prevent me from falling sometimes, but they make getting back up and moving forward again a whole lot easier. 

During my first few weeks of college I felt like I had everything figured out. I was doing my laundry every week, excelling academically, attending all of my meetings and classes, and even volunteering at a homeless shelter. I quickly felt like an adult, and wondered, “Why does everyone make this seem so hard?” Nine months later, I feel like a toddler. Due to what feels like a slow deterioration of my personal life and an increase in my workload and commitments, I can barely keep my head glued on straight, much less act as a high functioning adult. I hold so much shame and disappointment for not being able to meet some self imposed standard and failing to sustain my September false self as I come to the real me in May. My emotions surrounding my spiral over the past year are heavy, and often cloud my vision when I think about my dreams and goals. However, I am more aware of my raw, real, and deep emotions that carry both positive and negative feelings. This clarity has allowed me to also be more aware of my true self beyond the facade. So why is this positive point of growth juxtaposed with a series of failures and an overall sense of  disappointment? 

On a facetime call a few months back, my best friend paused and said, “Have you ever really let yourself feel your emotions?” Her question prodded a deeper look at a personality flaw that has presented itself in my life this year: my need to be perfect, to fix what is seemingly broken, and to be in control. When I wasn’t really letting myself feel, I was completely in control. Now that I have started to actually sit with my feelings, everything feels out of control again. 

It’s a frustrating paradox that I am living with now: being emotionally aware yet feeling out of control. My perfectionist self has unrealistic expectations that make me think my behaviors are self destructive, causing me to fail in multiple areas of my life. It’s easy for me to get bogged down in the mess I feel I’ve created in my life, and to be paralyzed in disappointment. But I will only gain the momentum I need in order to move forward if I do so with radical vulnerability, honesty with myself and those close to me, and a commitment to self compassion. 

I’m known to always have a plan, which has proven to be a negative trait at times. But now my plan is a little unconventional. My plan is to be okay with feeling out of control, to embrace being a toddler again, and to graciously accept the training wheels. 

This gracious acceptance of help, and the vulnerability it takes to ask someone for it, has become an integral part of my relationship with God. Asking for help is so hard for me because it makes me feel weak and incompetent compared to my impressions of those around me. It’s comforting to know that I always have been and always will be a beloved child of God. I can give up all of my other labels and expectations when I am in relationship with Him. 

In the Collect for the Renewal of Life, we pray, “O God, the King eternal, whose light divides the day from the night and turns the shadow of death into the morning: Drive far from us all wrong desires, incline our hearts to keep your law, and guide our feet into the way of peace; that, having done your will with cheerfulness during the day, we may, when night comes, rejoice to give you thanks; through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

We are asking God for help when we pray for Him to “incline our hearts” and “guide our feet into the way of peace.” This seemingly simple act of turning to God for help requires the vulnerability and understanding that I have been searching for. 

I used to get so irritated when people would tell me to “pray about it.” I didn’t understand what this meant, or how this would help me solve whatever issue I was having. Now I think I understand that the juxtaposition of emotional awareness and a lack of control can only be met with the vulnerability to ask for help. To use the training wheels. This act of turning to God is exactly what I have been trying to figure out how to do. 

I’ll always be a child of God, and I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to take off the training wheels of his guidance. So in leaning into God’s inclinations for my life, I hope to find more places where I can practice this radical vulnerability. 

 

Laura Everett and the Theological Idea of Mending

I was struck by the theological concept of mending when Laura Everett, Executive Director of Massachusetts Council of Churches, spoke to the Marsh Fellows in one of our weekly meetings. Her perspective offered a unique strategy for repairing that which is broken. She says in an article, “Mending holds out the possibility of both utility and beauty, without the idolatry of the new or the wasteful disposal of the old. Mending appeals to our desire for visible results: Can we make this work again? Can we make this beautiful?” (Everett). Mending questions the functionality and worth of something, whether it’s an institution, group of people, or relationship. Even though I had never thought of my life in this way, I found it to be an incredibly helpful idea, especially when thinking about navigating relationships. 

Throughout my life, I have asked myself the same questions that Everett asks in her process of mending. Questions like, can we make this work again? And can we make it beautiful? And is this something worth repairing? 

In my previous romantic relationship, it felt like we were periodically checking in and asking, is this working? We transitioned into a long distance relationship after about a year of dating, and about four months later we were dealing with the crumbling of trust and communication. There was an incident of cheating, and I was faced with the dilemma of, will I stay? Do we want to make this work? As I took a step back and thought through what I wanted to do next, I was weighing the pros and cons, trying to gauge how much I had lost versus how much I still had and would have with this person. In Eliza’s song from the musical Hamilton, she says, “That would be enough.” In the days and weeks following this betrayal of trust, I felt like we were dealing with a series of “that would be enoughs.” We slowly and carefully started having conversations and spending time together in a way that started to nurture the wound that was causing the symptom of cheating. Looking back on that time, I am so glad that I chose to work through our problems and decided that the relationship was something worth repairing. We got better at asking ourselves questions like, “Do we want to make this work?,” as we moved forward for another year in our relationship, always trying to mend what was broken and make it beautiful again. 

My grandparents have never been overtly unsupportive of my sexuality or relationships, but they have always been uncomfortable. This discomfort creates a boundary of what we can speak about freely, and affects the way that they see me. It’s a delicate balance of them not being estranged, but the relationship certainly isn’t as fulfilling as it could be if this element could be respected and resolved. I’ve tried testing the boundaries to push them out of their comfort zone, but it causes a level of awkwardness that is mostly just stressful for me. This feeling of rejection has made me want to disconnect from them, and remove myself from the relationship. However, I don’t think the answer is always in the binary. When looking at complicated relationships, it’s not always as simple as do I stay or leave? Especially when dealing with family, they are often in your life in a way that is permanent. I think Everett’s concept of mending can also be applied when adjusting one’s mindset and behavior regarding a relationship. Instead of writing them off or trying to push their boundaries even further, I’ve learned that some relationships have a type of love that has blindspots, and that’s inherent in the relationship. I know that my grandparents love me and they support me in many other ways, but we’ve all unspokenly decided to let the discomfort be what it is. It wasn’t a full on relationship repair, but the pivot in my mindset that allowed me to be okay with a love that has blindspots, has made the relationship easier and more fruitful. 

The relationship that has been in the most constant state of mending has been that of my relationship with myself, and more recently my relationship with God. I have been doing work over the past year to better understand myself in hopes to become more connected with God. At times it has felt grueling because it doesn’t feel like much is happening in the moment or even after short periods of time. However in hindsight, I can see things like prayer, writing, and a heightened sense of self compassion have helped me to grow and sew patches over my flaws that are actually more beautiful than what was there originally. A commitment to prayer and a reliance on God has started to infiltrate and heal the wounds that have been created from my failures and weaknesses.

 

Yetzer Hara and Yetzer Tov

I often tease my parents about how they’ve had to deal with quite a difficult teenager. We sat at the dinner table one night as they pulled out the parenting book they claimed got them through my middle to high school years. The book was The Blessing of a B Minus, by Dr. Wendy Mogel. My dad told me about Dr. Mogel’s background and her work’s connection between her psychotherapy practice and her Jewish faith. She introduces this idea of yetzer hara and yetzer tov, which is directly translated as evil and good inclination. The teaching is more complex than those binaries, and Dr. Mogel argues that the yetzer hara can actually be a good thing because it teaches one to balance and strengthen their yetzer tov. For example, while the yetzer hara might manifest as a drive to pursue success in one’s career, that quality might also lead a person to focusing too much on money or success, and letting these qualities negatively affect their life. It’s this delicate process in finding balance between our positive traits and these same traits that can spiral into negative ones. 

I had already been talking about this idea with my therapist before my dad introduced the idea to me, and Dr. Mogel’s ideas on it resonated even more. For the past couple of years, I’ve had to balance my studies as a singer with my mental and personal health. I am a perfectionist, and as a performer, I work extremely hard to be as close to perfect as possible. This trait was really great in a lot of ways because it pushed me to practice daily, be thorough in every song, prepare adequately, do my research, create an organized method of learning music, and set up a routine to perform at my best. This drive is the reason that I have been successful and will continue to be. However, it’s also the reason that I would lose sleep while going over and over my songs in my head the night before an audition, or the reason I was often unable to adjust my plans when asked to by others for fear of losing control. I began to suffer from anxiety in my daily life even when I wasn’t thinking about music or performance, because I had trained myself in a certain way that helped me to operate in such a manner that would bring me success. 

In my first semester of college, I noticed a type of obsessive behavior that involved extensive planning and organizing of all aspects of my life, not just music, which became an exhausting and negative habit that I had to deal with. I also experienced an intense desire to be loved and understood by my peers, friends, and teachers, which gave me a sense of paranoia when I worried that someone didn’t like me or had misunderstood my intentions. I wanted my friends to maintain this idea that I was put together, successful, and independent, which in some ways was true, but oftentimes was not the reality. As I compare these personal traits that I observed to those present in my musical studies, it all starts to make sense. As a musician I was taught that although we strive for perfection, we must settle for excellence, and excellence requires preparation. This expectation created stress around being perfect in other areas of my life as well. My need to be liked by others comes from a long standing desire to be judged and critiqued in my music in order to get better and be seen as good or worthy in my art. Criticism has never been something that I shied away from, in fact it was always something that I leaned into because it pushed me to work harder and become better in whatever I was doing. It’s a juxtaposition where the things that make me great professionally were starting to hurt me personally and emotionally. 

I remember in my seventh grade year I met with the Director of the Voice at my school, Kendra Lipman, for a trial lesson to see if I should take private lessons. I had already had a few shows and solos that I had excelled in, and was expecting her to be blown away after hearing more of my voice. After we went through vocal exercises and a couple of songs, Mrs. Lipman looked at me and said “Thanks for coming in. We have a lot of work to do together. See you next week.” I left feeling a fire under me that made me want to go home and sing through everything we had just done again to make it better. I so badly wanted her affirmation and approval, and I remember feeling so excited to perform for her again in the next lesson. This process repeated itself every week for the next seven years, as she would be my teacher for all of high school and send me off into my undergraduate studies. I do the same thing with my new collegiate voice teacher now, and I still have the drive I had when I was twelve years old to be seen as good and to be affirmed. This desire to be seen and understood translates into all of my relationships, and I’m still learning how to keep it balanced so that it doesn’t become unhealthy. 

The idea of balancing one’s yetzer hara and yetzer tov has helped me to recognize that my greatest strengths can also be some of my biggest weaknesses. Nurturing the strengths while also being cautious of them seeping into my life in a negative way will be something that I will be working on for the rest of my life.

Devotions

After attending a Palm Sunday service in Boston yesterday, I was struck by the idea of loving boldly.

Palm Sunday – March 28, 2021

Mark 14: 3-15 

The woman in this story “breaks open the jar” and “pours the ointment” on Jesus’ head. The ointment symbolizes her love, and her action of breaking the jar open and giving up all of the expensive contents is an extravagant gesture towards Jesus. She loves boldly in this moment, without fear of rejection or judgment, and she will always be remembered for it.  

So I wonder, “what does it mean to love boldly and extravagantly?” When I reflect on my life, the times I have chosen to do so have been the most fulfilling. 

I didn’t run away from a romantic relationship because it strayed from my previous sexual orientation, but by leaning in, I found an incredibly important relationship full of love, and I discovered a huge part of my identity. 

During my first semester of college, I was comfortable being isolated and alone, and I chose to be less vulnerable with my friends because it felt safer. With time our relationship grew, and when they left for a short period of time in the spring, I found myself lost and missing them way more than I had expected. Once I let myself love boldly, not holding back for fear of rejection or judgement, I created relationships and connections that were so much deeper and stronger than before because they were rooted in love.  

Over winter break, I was struggling immensely with depression and anxiety, and one night I crawled into my parents bed. I remember sitting in my room beforehand, thinking that all I wanted was to have the vulnerability of a child with my parents again. And when I let myself be small and lay between them for a while, I felt such a refreshing kind of love and understanding that I had been missing. Acting on my instinct felt wrong because it was so raw, and I was scared to make my parents uncomfortable. But when I chose to love boldly, they received me with open arms and I was loved just as extravagantly and unconditionally back. 

The woman who anoints Jesus before his burial sets an example for how we should learn to love. God’s love pours through the woman in this story, and His love is overwhelming, extravagant, and bold. I hope to let God’s love pour through me. 

I was asked to write a few devotions for the Advent and Lent series through Marsh Chapel. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the process of writing and publishing these devotionals helped me to find my voice for a type of writing that holds scripture and the human condition in one place.

Advent – December 8, 2020

Psalm 27: 7-14 

Hope is when she called out for help during a relapse, asked for more from life, and went home to recover with her family despite the immense shame she felt. Hope is when he waits in line outside in the blistering cold, desperate for the warmth of mediocre oatmeal and coffee, knowing he will be back the next day. Hope is when loneliness overcomes me, when all I want is my home, and I take time to do things that bring me peace. Hope is when we “wait for the Lord.” 
She must wait for God’s salvation from the demons in her mind. He must wait for God’s warmth in the shelter’s hot breakfast. I must wait for God’s comfort when I am alone, for that is what will bring me home. We all must “wait for the Lord.” 
The global pandemic and tense political climate that we are living in is unsettling, despite all of the burdens we are already carrying. My friend was struggling with preexisting pains of mental health problems, and the man at the shelter was struggling with poverty and hunger, and I am struggling with loneliness and homesickness in a new environment. Our brokenness, vulnerability, and isolation is highlighted in this time, and it is easy to feel overcome by it. 
In these situations to “wait for the Lord” is to find the corners of our world that are filled with God’s eternal love. His love is underlying in every situation, every place, every dark corner. That is where we will “take heart,” when we are given the grace to see the love of God that is all around us. 
In this Advent season, let us encourage each other to wait, to hold our brokenness, vulnerability, and isolation on the cross, and trust in God’s eternal love.

Lent – March 4, 2021

The Lord’s Prayer – “Hallowed be thy name” 

When I was rejected from a prestigious music school after my college audition, I felt a kind of disappointment that was very new to me. For me, rejection usually meant that I had done something wrong, I wasn’t prepared enough, or it wasn’t the thing I was best at. For this institution, however, I was well-prepared, and I truly felt like I had given an excellent performance. In this case, my best simply was not good enough. The disappointment was new because I had to face that even though I was in one of the healthiest and most successful stages of my career, I was just not good enough to get in. After the audition, I felt like I had lost my purpose. I wasn’t the best anymore, and I couldn’t get over the fact that I had been rejected by an institution so renowned and respected. I lost respect for myself as a musician, and entered a haze of disappointment and numbness. I was angry and sad, and I was irritable with my friends and family. When I look back on it, I am not sure if I was idolizing this school, my voice, the idea of being the best, or having my value determined by others. I think it was a combination of all of those things, coming together as one false idol that overcame me for weeks. It was a slow transition back into normalcy where I started singing and respecting myself as a musician again. 
In hindsight, I wish that I had seen the false idol I was making out of the whole situation. As a performer, I have to be very careful not to let my music and perfectionism seep into my daily and emotional life, because it negatively affects the way that I live and operate. Lately I’ve been trying to remind myself that I am small, and that only God is holy. To pray “Holy is your name,” is to remember the trap of false idols in our lives. Praying this is gently refocusing on God as primary, and keeping self, success, and affirmation as secondary. Of course I still have my dreams and I will keep vigorously working towards them, but I’ve realized that I will only be able to achieve what I want in a healthy way if the only thing I worship is God. When my anxiety and perfectionism feels overwhelming, it is comforting to know that nothing is as important when put in the context of God. In a way He’s the “bottom line” that will always be there. When everything else is stripped to its core, praying God’s name reminds me that only God is holy.

Lent – March 11, 2021 

The Apostles’ Creed –  “I [We] believe in God, the Father almighty”

I had my first anxiety attack over winter break. Even though I was sitting next to my parents on our couch, I was unable to reach or call out for help. Although my parents are the most supportive figures in my life, they cannot be inside my mind and heart during a moment like this. During my anxiety attack last week, I was able to use what I had learned about contemplative prayer and centering into God’s presence for a few minutes. I repeated the words “I know that I am known” continuously, and was able to gain peace and control over my brain again. It reminded me that bringing God into the small, vulnerable moments is often when we can receive his love the most. The mantra “I know that I am known,” is not so different from the ritual of reciting the belief statement “I believe in God, the Father Almighty.”
When I call God the “Father almighty,” I find power in recognizing God as my holy parent. Similarly to the mantra that helped me to manage a panic attack, this belief statement brings my burdens into perspective and puts them all into God’s hands. When I pray, I am remembering that I am fully known, which leads me to peace and calm. Peace feels almost impossible and completely inaccessible in moments of anxiety, yet God is the one thing that is constant, and thankfully, the one thing I can always access.
My parents had no way of knowing what was going on in my heart or mind in that moment sitting next to me. It felt so isolating that the people physically and emotionally closest to me couldn’t help me. However, I find comfort in knowing that God does know my heart and mind and can access it whenever I invite him to. By calling God “Father almighty,” I invite him into my heart and mind, and because of that I will never be alone.