The Building 

​The​ preacher stood on the stage, one hand on the microphone and one hand on her heart.

"This Jesus I'm talking about," she said, with the conviction in her soul coming out of her mouth, "it's not a religion. It's a relationship. Just like you would have with a friend, only better, only more, because Jesus saved you!"
The crowd responded, encouraging the preacher to continue.
"Good word!" one congregant responded. So, the preacher, feeding off the encouragement the crowd offered up on a golden platter, pressed on with her sermon.
"This is not a religion—it doesn't come with a set of 'dos and don'ts'. There are no rules. God doesn't force you to change. He isn't forcing you to be in this relationship—it's totally up to you! When God created us, He created us to have freedom of choice, which means we can be as close to him as we want to be. Christianity is the only belief system where the creator came to his creation. It's the only belief system where God seeks out the people and the people don't have to seek out their God."
The preacher spoke with passion. She believed in her message with all her heart. She would have died for her belief and lost her soul in the process. She wouldn't lose her soul for the God she spoke about, she would lose it for the church and trying to impress those within the church.

This preacher had spent her life surrounded by the Christian faith and beliefs and, in her mid-teens, became heavily involved in the church.
All else fell by the wayside as she focused her passion, her time, and her energy into being part of the church and serving God. While it was said over and over that there was nothing anyone could do to impress God, that God loved every one of us, not for our works but for our humanity, the preacher watched those around her and saw how hard they worked. And she did the same. Friday nights, Saturday nights, Sunday mornings, Sunday afternoon leadership meetings, mid-week prayer meetings, weekend conferences, Easter services, special Christmas services. There was nothing she wouldn't do, nothing she would say no to.

Except for the friends with who she no longer spent time, worrying that they were unequally yoked, not on the same page, that they would taint her and corrupt her new view of the world. 
She no longer drank and decided never to date again unless it was with the intent to marry.
She was happy to sacrifice these things though—none of them was as important to her as the God she loved so dearly. She thought she was serving God; all of her sacrifices were to advance God's kingdom. Sacrificing time with family and time for self-care was worth it because she was doing something which stretched far beyond her. The legacy she was building would surpass her lifetime; it would last for generations to come. She no longer desired to work in mainstream roles; she only wanted to become a preacher, a pastor, spending all her time at church, changing the lives of all those she encountered.

And then, she was given a chance to speak on stage, in front of people—the ultimate honour. She secretly idolised those who spoke every week. How did they know so much about God and life and saving souls? People looked up to them, she looked up to them. Their height on the stage declaring to this young and deeply impressionable, want-to-be preacher that they were closer to God than she was. So, she trusted what they said. She didn't ask any questions because there was no way they would lead her astray. And now it was her turn to talk to everyone about communion—the ultimate sacrifice of God, the giving of his son. This was the reason she was doing all she was doing, the reason she was giving so much of herself. So she spoke, hands and voice shaking, her words flowing too fast, without taking a breath. It finished just as quickly as it had started.
It wasn't a good communion talk, so the budding preacher, youth pastor, maybe even one-day senior pastor, sat down with those she trusted so they could offer her constructive feedback on how to become better, be more prepared, set herself up for success next time.

Again, and again, and again, they gave her the chance to speak. She wasn't great—but they constantly told her that God had a great plan for her, God was doing his work, God was mending her self-esteem issues. It was like they knew exactly what her deepest fears were, and they did, God was telling them everything they needed to know about her. Her confidence slowly increased—but only whenever they told her she was good enough. When she was alone, she would feel guilty, like a fraud, and imposter. She would think about drinking, she would masturbate and lust after males, and feel jealous of her colleagues' nights out. She would lie to others (and herself) and when she was alone, she would swear. She would often speed in her car and she had developed a shopping addiction. She would feel, say and do all the things she was meant to be free of now that she was connected to the church, connected to God.
She was doing everything she was meant to do though. She was up the very front every weekend, she was encouraging the preacher, jumping and dancing to the music. She was there weekend in and out, one of the first to arrive and one of the last to leave. She raised her hands in worship, showing God that she had an open heart. She tithed her money, the first 10% of her wage, before tax, went to the church. She "faith promised" her money and anything extra she earned, or was given, went straight to the church because God had given that money to her so she should pay it forward to the church. She didn't agree with sinful things such as being gay or abortion. She certainly didn't believe in sex before marriage, and to make life easier for men, she made sure she dressed as modestly as possible by covering the three B's—boobs, bum and belly. She tried to read her bible and pray every day. She listened to Christian music so that God could talk to her through it. She believed that her faith was the only true faith and that everyone else had been deeply misled, which was the devil's fault. She never questioned the bible or any person that presented the bible. She went to week-long conferences, and she went overseas on mission trips. Any outreach focuses the church had, she would be there, helping however she could. Community assignments, school outreach, children, youth, Christmas extravaganzas. She pulled people up on their lack of commitment to the church as it showed their lack of commitment to God. And finally, when she was given a department to lead, she expected the same from all those in it—it was an honour to be there, an honour to serve God and an honour that the church would even allow them to serve, so she forced them to take it seriously. There were lives at stake!

For someone who believed that you didn't need to work for God's love, she was certainly working very hard.

But there was one thing she couldn't do; she couldn't speak in tongues and she could never understand why. She was so ashamed and embarrassed. So, she made it up, she pretended she could. But she would go home and cry because she knew the truth and she believed it was God holding back from her, which she couldn't understand. She was doing everything right. She was following all of the rules that weren't rules; she was walking the walk and talking the talk. She started to feel that it must be all about how you presented yourself, so she would get dressed in her coolest clothes, sit at the front of the church, clap, dance, raise her hands and pretend. Pretend, pretend, pretend. And no one saw past the façade she had built.
The more she went on, the more she lost herself in pretending, in pushing herself to be all that the church needed her to be. When she found out she was pregnant, she was devastated, fearing the church wouldn't want her anymore after she had become a mum. And when her beautiful baby came into the world, her mental health declined even further. But she had become so good at pretending, and people who love God don't struggle with mental illness because God is the giver of life. She continued going to meetings, clapping her hands, preaching on stage, pretending, pretending, pretending.

Until one day, she did the wrong thing and could no longer pretend.

She cheated on her husband.
​
Alexis, let's stop for a moment. I need to take a breath.
I need you to know that this preacher, she was me.

​

I sat in the car, preparing myself to run. It was more than mental preparation that was taking place; there was an internal monologue taking place within me.
“Kate, it’s only five kilometres. You’ve done this plenty of times!”
“Getting out of the car is winning half the battle.”
“It’s okay if you need to walk.”
“It’s not about time. It’s not about pace. It’s just about doing it.”

How was it possible that a five kilometre run was causing me anxiety? I was right, I had done this before. Plenty of times. This wasn’t new to me. Yet, here I was, my heart beating faster and faster, my body clammy with sweat. I had run a handful of marathons, heaps of ten kilometre runs. I had run up mountains, completed an ultra. Five kilometres was nothing in the grand scheme of things and, yet, within this moment, it was huge and terrifying!
Again, I was reminded that anxiety isn’t restricted to a certain time or place, instead occurring at random and often for seemingly no reason. It doesn’t come with a trigger warning and isn’t based on convenience.
The difference between now and many years ago is that, in the past, I would have driven away, I would have let the anxiety inside me win. I would have gone home, climbed into bed and rested for the day. Today was different; acknowledging my anxiety, I left the car and walked to the starting line. Everyone gathered to listen to the safety briefing. Meanwhile, I stood at the back, hoping (and praying) I wouldn’t see anyone I knew, and if I did, that they wouldn’t talk to me.
The siren sounded to let everyone know the run had started and I took off. The second I started, it was as though I left all my anxiety back at the starting line. Although it was only a short time I was running for, I used the time to reflect.
Motherhood is just a series of contradictions. I long to be alone, but the second I am, I wish that you and Solomon were there. You spend half of your time with your Dad, so I overcompensate when I am with you. I also don’t want to leave Solomon for longer than required because I don’t want to miss out on his life either.
I immerse myself in you both, not knowing who I am when you aren’t there. I don’t know what I have to offer the world when you aren’t around. My worth rises and falls based on who I am to you. And that’s bloody scary. I want you to see what it means to be a female who isn’t just a mum.
I realised that I have always based my worth on what I do—the jobs I have, what I do (or did) in church, what I’m creating, crocheting, or writing, and how much I’m running. I realised that I’ve never based my worth on who I am. And I wonder if anyone does? All humans have value, but does anyone base their worth on that? Society pushes us to value what we do, what we contribute. Even now, at the young age of 9, you’re being asked what you want to do when you grow up. Even now, you have reports written about what you do and don’t do; your performance is either celebrated or criticised. Even Solomon, at the age of 1, is being judged by what he can and can’t do. Can he walk? Can he talk? Can he feed himself? When we start looking at the big picture, we see that our foundation, our worth, and our value is based on what we do and what we contribute to society. While I do believe we need to contribute to society, I don’t believe our value as a human should be based on that alone.
And so, this trap, which we all fall into—focussing on ‘doing’ rather than ‘being’—means that when I’m not with you and Solomon, when I’m not doing something, I don’t know who I am or what I should be doing.
And when you two are not with me, I don’t have a distraction; I have nothing to hide behind. When I am left with just me, I am forced to look internally. There is a touch of fear within me when it comes to being alone; I used to be very good at it, but now I avoid it. I surround myself with people. The only time that I’m alone, in the car, I listen to a podcast.
I used to work so hard on myself and my personal growth. I think this was deeply connected to my running. Running offered me the time to get lost in my thoughts and force me to look within myself. The parallels between running and life continue to astound me.
As I’ve stopped running, so have I stopped working on my personal growth and development. Different life stages require different parts of us, and it makes sense to me that a new born requires a different amount of effort and energy than a 9-year-old—which explains a lot. I miss myself and I miss knowing myself. I miss knowing who I am when I’m not with children, not working and not around other people. I miss intimately knowing my life’s direction and the trajectory I want it to take. Looking internally scares me a little now. What if I don’t like who I find inside? What if you don’t like who I find?
In becoming a mum again, I have experienced a loss of self. One which I tried hard to hold onto. I promised myself that when Solomon was born, I wouldn’t lose myself again, but I don’t know if it can be avoided. I think it’s a part of life, the way it ebbs and flow. I think you re-discover yourself in every stage of life, and moving forward means losing the old you in favour of the new you. In every new stage, maybe even every new day, you are meeting a new, unknown version of yourself.
Maybe I never actually lost myself in the journey of motherhood and life, maybe it’s more that I’m finding a new version of myself daily.
So, here I go again, looking and searching and discovering. At 33, I thought that I would know who I am; I thought I would know what my life was meant to look like. That was, until this morning, when I realised that if I ever stop learning about myself it’s because I’m dead. I will forever be changing, shifting, and learning that my worth isn’t based on what I do—because what I do changes from day to day.
So, right now, when I have an 20-month-old and 9-year-old, it makes sense that I don’t know who I am away from you two, but I will. One day, when I’m not feeling like all I do is cook and clean and breastfeed, I will learn who I am again.
But, for now, while I’m in this phase, I will try and appreciate it for what it is.
Instead of feeling lost when I’m not with you both, I’ll enjoy the silence and getting to know who I am again.

I still miss you though, and that's okay!