Religious origins/references: does language matter?

Does it matter if you use words and phrases influenced by religion? Do you avoid it?

“Oh my god” versus “oh my goodness” – obviously I don’t believe in god but I say “oh my god” all the time. It’s a phrase that’s used so much that I feel it has lost any kind of religious meaning. I’m afraid if I say “oh my goodness” I will be mistaken for the uptight Christians afraid to say “god”. Do you use either of those phrases?

What about “grateful” versus “thankful”? I’m really not sure if “thankful” has any religious meaning to it, but I always think, “who are you thanking?” I don’t know but I try to avoid it. I always say “grateful”.

I say “Jesus!” when I’m scared, surprised, or annoyed. If I’m really worked up I say “god fucking damn it!” 

I swear a lot, and consequently, so does my six-year-old daughter. I don’t make a big deal about it – just as long as she doesn’t do it at school. Her teachers haven’t called us yet so I think we’re in the clear.

At daycare, they have told my daughter that “god” is a bad word. I told her I disagree but I also don’t want her to get in trouble.

I’m guessing none of us use the term “blessed”. I absolutely hate that word and I cringe every time someone uses it. Several years ago I was interviewed by SZ magazine – a magazine for those affected by schizophrenia. It was for an article about my artwork. When the article came out, I was quoted as saying “blessed”. I was so pissed. I would NEVER use that word!

How do you feel about these words and phrases? Do you avoid them? Do you use them?

Are Christians getting louder?

Oh, man.

I have a new coworker. She is the sweetest girl – very open and genuine, and although she is much more outgoing than I am, I really like her. 

But she talks about god – a lot. It’s pretty uncomfortable. She sits right next to me.

It’s not just her. There’s been a lot of god talk at work lately – and from people I work with directly on a regular basis.

I mentioned the other day that I’m not a fan of Christmas and my coworker made a point to tell me that he always says “Merry Christmas” to everyone. I didn’t think of it at the time but I wish I had said, “I always say ‘Happy Holidays’ because I want to be considerate of EVERYONE.” I always think of these things after the fact.

Yesterday, I co-facilitated a women’s support group with a coworker who actually advised people to pray. We are not a faith-based organization and I just assumed she knew it was against the rules. I went straight to my supervisor after the group because I’m too scared to confront her myself. Things are going to get really awkward but I just can’t let this one slide.

Last year, when my atheist poetry book was released by Freethought House, several of my coworkers knew about my book, including my supervisor and HR director. I was really nervous to tell them about it but they were surprisingly accepting of it. In the end, I was really happy I told them because I became more confident and relaxed.

But since then, things have gone downhill and I have retreated to my little shell, frightened of my coworkers. Quite frankly, frightened of everyone. 

My husband and I are big fans of The Voice and it just seems there was a lot of religious music this season. In fact, I’ve seen it on a lot of shows lately. It’s just everywhere.

It doesn’t help that it’s Christmas time. I fucking hate Christmas.

I realize I live in a conservative state where Christianity is just a part of life, but I just feel like I’m surrounded – more than usual – and I’m scared. I wouldn’t have a problem with Christianity if Christians didn’t feel so threatening. I just want to go to work and not have to hide who I am. 

I don’t really know how to make this situation better.

Is it just me, or are Christians getting louder?

I’m guessing with this post people are going to suggest I move. I would like to move but unfortunately, with my family’s current financial situation, it just isn’t an option at the moment. Maybe in the future. A girl can dream, right?

Where are my artists?

Art is my first love. My mom was an artist and when I was little, I wanted to be just like her. 

As I grew up, other interests took over and my passion for art was swept aside. It took a life-changing event to bring that passion back – and in a big way. I had struggled with mental illness for years and in my early twenties, I was finally diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder. It was a name and an explanation for my struggles. Recovery was a tough road but through art, I found my voice. 

Decades have passed and I’ve followed in my mother’s footsteps. For several years, I was a drawing/painting machine. I was cranking out the work and doing shows almost every month. It was pretty crazy and I had to dial it back a few notches when I got pregnant. 

Then I completely stopped. Maybe I just needed a break. That was seven years ago.

Present day: covid restrictions are dropped, I’m happy and healthy, and I’m finally back at work. I work for a supportive arts program where I facilitate art, writing, and music groups for people in recovery from mental illness and/or addiction disorders. It’s literally my dream job.

My participants encourage me just as much as I encourage them, and a few months ago, my love for art was revitalized. 

I’ve started painting a lot at work, and it’s sort of an experiment. I have muscle tremors in my hands from a medication I take that makes it really difficult to use a paintbrush. I really want to paint so it was time to improvise. I’ve discovered that I have a little more control when I lose the paintbrush and put my fingers directly on the canvas. Now I just paint with my fingers every day and experiment to see what I can do. It’s different but it is incredibly satisfying to get my hands dirty. 

Experimenting with finger painting inspired me to experiment with other aspects as well — especially color.

You know who else loves finger painting? My six-year-old daughter. I paint at work and then I come home and paint with my daughter.

This is really different than before. I’m not cranking out paintings for shows. I’m not even planning on entering any shows. I’m exploring the medium. I’m relaxed. I’m just really enjoying myself – the painting and the company. I’ve learned that art is just an amazing way to connect with others.

I’m thinking this is how art should be.

 

I’d love to hear from other artists. What’s your story? What are you into?

The hardest part about going to treatment was leaving my daughter.

Today marks the one-year anniversary of my admission to an eating disorder treatment center in Chicago. I spent two months at the center where I was treated for symptoms of anorexia, avoidant/restrictive food intake disorder (ARFID), and rumination disorder. It was painful, it was traumatic, and it probably saved my life. I came home to Toledo last Valentine’s Day and nothing has been the same.

The hardest part about going to treatment was leaving my six-year-old daughter. I knew it would be hard, but it was even more difficult than I could imagine. During my stay in treatment, I couldn’t even talk about my daughter without uncontrollably sobbing. It was torture because as soon as anyone found out I was a mom they wanted to ask me about my kid. Around Christmas time my daughter drew me a bunch of pictures and sent them to me. I was so upset when I opened the package that they had a staff member follow me around for the rest of the day. It never seemed to get easier. I always cried.

Back up to fall 2021 – in the months prior to my admission I was engaging in eating disorder behaviors day in and day out, and unfortunately, my young daughter witnessed all of it. There was one night when I threw up during dinner and my husband and daughter didn’t even flinch or look at me. They continued to finish their meals while I cleaned up. That’s how frequent my behaviors were – my family didn’t even see it as out of the ordinary anymore.

Then I made the best decision I could for my little family by going away for treatment. It was inconvenient and I missed my family so much, but we felt it was necessary. I knew my daughter was in good hands and I was going to do my best to get better.

The other patients at the treatment center knew how upset I was talking about my daughter but they still took the time to commend me for doing what was best. I was told I was giving my daughter the best gift I could give her and that I was becoming a good role model. One young woman told me, “I wish my mom would have gone to treatment. Things would be different for me.” I cried so much but I found their words to be motivating. I wanted to get better for my daughter.

I came home a better mother. I used to be really distracted but now I am focused when I spend time with my daughter. I will do anything to keep her healthy – mentally, physically, and emotionally. I don’t ever want my daughter to go through what I did, but at the same time, I want her to know there is help if she is ever struggling. 

Unfortunately, I’ve faced criticism about leaving my daughter. Just before going to treatment, a relative called me to tell me how horrible this was going to be for my daughter which made a very difficult decision even harder. I was so sick and I couldn’t believe with the state I was in that anyone would want me to not go to treatment.  Since coming home my unsupportive family members have made a point to remind me how hard I made things for my daughter — and it really hurts. They have no idea what I went through — or even what my husband and daughter went through — yet they still have an opinion about it. Leaving my daughter was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I did what was best for all of us.

Despite the negativity and pain, I’m still here. Still focused on recovery – and motherhood. I know I made the best decision but I shouldn’t have to explain that to my loved ones. My husband reassures me that I did the right thing. I know in the long run my daughter and I will both feel the benefits of my time at the center. I went to treatment to show my daughter healthier habits so hopefully, she won’t end up where I was. 

I was at the treatment center for only two months but recovery is forever. It has been a year now and we are all still feeling ripple effects. I am much happier now. I know what I need to focus on and I do it from a healthier place. I am grateful for the treatment center, but I really hope I never have to go back.

Three Year Anniversary on FtB!

Three years ago today I published my first post on Freethought Blogs. What was once a fun little side project has now become my main outlet as a writer. Life as an atheist in the Midwest isn’t always easy so I’m happy to be a part of a community where I am accepted. 

Thank you for letting me share my life – everything from the release of my poetry book to parenting my daughter to the treatment of my eating disorder. I really appreciate all the support you have shown me. I enjoy sitting at the downtown library every week writing my posts and I always look forward to your comments. I’ve learned so much from you. I have spent most of my life feeling unheard so I am grateful that you have given me a place to use my voice. The everyday life of a mom in Ohio seems insignificant, but when I write, I feel like I’m a part of something so much bigger.

I love Freethought Blogs and I plan on sticking around for a while. Thank you for everything! 

Proselytizing: Do Christians Need Instructions to Talk to Atheists?

I don’t remember quite how old I was – eleven or twelve maybe – when there was a knock on the door of my childhood home and I was home alone. They seemed insistent. Got me out of bed even. I opened the door to see the older couple who lives at the end of the road. Turns out they were Jehovah’s Witnesses. This was the nineties in a very rural area so the thought never crossed my mind to just not answer the door (which is what I do now). They asked if my dad was around. I said no. At that point, I thought they would leave but instead, they asked me, “Do you ever wonder if there isn’t a god?” I said yes and they whipped out a pamphlet. I don’t remember exactly what the pamphlet said or how long they stuck around, I just remember how awkward I felt. They got me out of bed to talk about god. I didn’t know them well but they weren’t strangers, either. I know proselytizing is an important part of Christianity, but who the hell ever thought that it was okay to talk to the little girl down the road about god?

If anyone does that to my daughter, there will be hell to pay.

Apparently, there are instructions on how to talk to atheists. It looks like Christians have to think long and hard about ways to defend/spread their religion. I think that’s funny because it is so easy to poke holes in their arguments. 

I recently read these two articles:

Great Questions to Graciously Engage Your Atheist Friend

How to Talk to Atheists with Clarity and Confidence

Reading the articles I felt like I was behind enemy lines watching them try to crack a secret code. Have you seen these articles before?

My whole entire life I’ve felt awkward around Christians and proselytizing is why. Keep that shit to yourself. How about live and let live?

“Mistreated” — A Poem from My Book, Free to Roam

This is a poem from my book, Free to Roam: Poems from a Heathen Mommy. It was published by Freethought House and released in 2021.

 

Mistreated

 

Beads of envy line your forehead—
in your sick game,
you brought fire to the fight.
My impressionable spirit whets your appetite for attention.

Peck away at my frazzled brain.
My secret thoughts run down your chin.
Sour doubt and anxiety
appease your fickle cravings.

You could be anywhere—
watching, waiting, stewing in your misery.
Nowhere is safe.
You assert your crumbling power with fear.

A captive victim of your abuse—
your overbite stabs at my fragile existence.
You’ll never know the cost of your actions—
a price I’ll pay for the rest of my days.

I want vengeance
but I want freedom even more.
You’re gone but still very much present
in my broken brain.

Thoughts of progress are fleeting,
pain erodes hope.
Your suffocating grip lingers.
I’m shackled from my next chapter.

The cold shadow of trauma
blankets my world.
Maybe with time
healing light will creep back in.

My poetry book gives an atheist perspective on being a Midwest Mom. It is for sale on my publisher’s site freethoughthouse.com, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon. (Signed copies are available at freethoughthouse.com.)

Does anyone hate Christmas as much as I do?

Ugh. I really hate this time of year. The busy stores. The stupid movies and ads on TV. The music. It really gets under my skin — every fucking year.

Obviously, I don’t agree with the religious side of Christmas. I hate being reminded of how dominating Christianity is where I live. But it’s much more than that.

Why can’t a holiday just be on the scheduled day it’s supposed to be? Why does Christmas have to last two fucking months? Sometimes I see Christmas shit in stores in October. Don’t you dare overshadow Halloween!

And then there are the gifts. I love how stores so thoughtfully send catalogs through snail mail (even though you don’t ask for them) just so your kids can get their hands on them. My six-year-old daughter circled every fucking toy in the Meijer catalog the other day.

Not to mention my husband and I don’t have a lot of money. We always go into the new year broke. I mean really, what is the point of all this?

I am the biggest Scrooge and I really don’t have a point to this post. I just wanted to bitch and I’m hoping you get me and want to bitch, too.

I say we make Christmas a second Halloween or second Thanksgiving. Who’s with me?

How often do you dream at night? Do you remember your dreams?

I recently read a book about how to write short stories and the author suggested keeping a dream journal for inspiration. I always keep a journal on my nightstand because sometimes ideas come to me at night but I had never actually kept a record of my dreams. I decided to give it a try and it’s been interesting. I’ve been doing it for about three weeks now. Writing down your dreams as soon as you wake up when you can still remember them is key. 

I typically go to bed at 10 pm and wake up at 3 or 4 in the morning to drink some water. (I take lithium and it causes excessive thirst.) Then I go back to bed and get up around 7 am. I almost always stick to this routine. What’s interesting is almost every time I get up at 3 or 4 I’m writing down dreams. Then again at 7. It seems like I actually dream quite a bit.

Tornados and sex (not at the same time) seem to be common themes in my dreams. Many of my dreams are filled with anxiety like I go somewhere and can’t find parking or I’m late to an appointment. I think the most interesting dream I’ve written down so far was that aliens invaded and I went outside and it was snowing, except the snowflakes were actually tracking devices that embed into your skin. Maybe that one could inspire a story.

I am on antipsychotic medication for schizoaffective disorder, and when my meds aren’t quite right, I have nightmares. Recently I ran out of one of my medications and didn’t have it for a few days. It was my fault. I was lazy and thought I’d be okay – I’d get to it later. My nightmares often involve being haunted by ghosts. I ended up having a really crazy nightmare – I was hit by a train and a soldier saved my life, but in the process, he lost his own life. He was angry about it and came back and haunted me. I was laying in bed and his ghost was at the foot of my bed crawling toward me. The next morning my husband said he could hear me whimpering in my sleep. Needless to say, I was at the pharmacy ASAP. 

Do you write down your dreams? Do you remember your dreams? If you’re an artist or writer, have your dreams ever inspired your work?

My Sad Healthcare Story – Every American Has One

I want to tell you about a very unfortunate situation I was in and why I support universal healthcare and paid maternity/paternity leave.

Eight years ago I worked for a community mental health agency and I absolutely hated it. The job involved a lot of driving and driving is something that makes me really anxious. I should have never accepted the position but it paid more than my previous job. 

At the same time, my husband and I wanted to start a family and in 2015 we found out we were expecting.

Many pregnant people in the US are familiar with FMLA – the Family Medical Leave Act. It allows you to take off up to twelve weeks unpaid from your job for a medical reason. For most American mothers it is the only way to have maternity leave.

There’s a catch – to apply for family medical leave, you have to have been with your employer for at least a year. So when I got pregnant, I was stuck at my miserable job. If I found a new job, I wouldn’t be able to have maternity leave. Let’s be real – no one is going to hire a pregnant person anyway.

My daughter came and I took eight weeks off. Family Medical Leave is typically unpaid but my employer required me to use all of my sick and vacation time while I was off. It only covered about two weeks and it turned out to be disastrous. 

When my eight weeks were up, I went back to work and my daughter went to daycare. She was tiny and it was gut-wrenching to leave her with strangers. As many parents know, when you send your kid to daycare they get sick – a lot. My daughter had only been at daycare for a week when I had to take her to the hospital for a fever of 104.

So here I am with a sick kid and no sick or vacation time to stay home with her. I had no options. I took a day off anyway and when I returned to work I got written up for it.

I continued to work at my miserable job but I was also looking at job postings. Then an amazing opportunity came up for my husband. He started a new job and it was good money – and we desperately needed money. Since you have to work for an employer for three months to get health insurance, I stayed at my job so my husband could go on my insurance. I stopped looking for a new job and stayed put.

Also, let me tell you how horrible the health insurance was at that job. My annual salary was only $20,000 and the health insurance offered had a $5,000 deductible. 

My husband was working at his new job and finally got health insurance. A few months later, I was laid off. Getting laid off should be terrifying, but I only felt relief.

Working at that job was one of the darker periods of my life and I was absolutely stuck there for nearly four years.

Today, I only work part-time so I am on my husband’s insurance which thankfully, is pretty good. My husband and I both have chronic health conditions so going without insurance just isn’t an option.

That’s it. That’s my sad story. That’s why I will always push for universal healthcare and paid family leave.

 

Fellow Americans, what’s your sad story?