Be An Annoying, Uncomfortable, Revolutionary Catholic

I have been making a very serious mistake for years, but am only just now realizing it.

It must have began during college, while I was in my first committed relationship with a boy we’ll call “X.” Our relationship started at the end of our senior years in high school, and continued halfway into our freshman year of college. While still in high school, X and I’s relationship remained in a small bubble of Catholic education and peers. It consisted of meeting parents, curfews, family dinners, and after-school dates. It meant proms at our respective single-sex schools and long phone calls on the days we couldn’t see each other.

While surrounded by our familiar, it seemed obvious what “cheating” meant: he only dated me, I only dated him.

There was never a discussion about what “counted” as cheating and what didn’t. We didn’t consider that we could possibly have different ideas of what being faithful entailed. Did it mean he couldn’t have friends who were female? Did it mean I couldn’t have friends who were male? Did it mean I couldn’t text or call another boy? Did it mean he couldn’t hang out with other girls when I wasn’t present?

Those are the types of questions X and I would have discussed while still in high school, had we ever talked about setting boundaries. Setting boundaries. 

But college happened. Everything was exciting and new–new roommates, new classes, new routines, new dates, new [no] curfews…and for a little while, it was great. Ice cream dates by the lake at midnight because we could, breakfast dates before class, double dates with new college friends…

And that’s where the whole no boundaries thing became an issue; although, I didn’t realize it at the time. Ironically, it wasn’t lack of parental presence or even the wild freedom that automatically comes with college. It was the introduction to strange, different people. When I say “strange,” I don’t mean it colloquially. I mean it by its actual definition: “not previously visited, seen, or encountered; unfamiliar or alien.”

I met people from all over the world, and so did X. We attended our state’s largest university, and, as it turns out, students travel from far-away places pretty regularly to attend our alma mater. This allowed for cultural awareness and growth, and diversity in our circles–all amazing, wonderful consequences of a melting pot.

With new friends came new ideas, new beliefs, and new “norms.” These are also wonderful consequences of diversity, because even if you find yourself at odds, such situations will force you to find your conviction or to question your previous knowledge. Maturity. 

X and I were both raised in very Catholic, conservative environments. We both attended Catholic schools for the entirety of our lives until college; therefore, most of the people we interacted with grew up with similar backgrounds. Even if our friends were not practicing Catholics, they came from some sort of strongly held religious belief. Even if they weren’t conservative in a political sense, they were modest, focused persons. Nearly everyone at our high schools aimed for high academic success–it wasn’t “cool” to skip classes or fail. Those who had significant others dated them for years–determined to be sweethearts and go off to college together.

While I can’t speak for the teenage boys, I am comfortable saying that at least within my high school circle of girlfriends, we did not discuss sex very often. If it came up, it was mostly in relation to virginity and waiting until marriage, or gossiping if we knew of a girl who had slept with someone. There was never any “when are you going to do it with X?” type questions…because the answer, as far as we were concerned, was “I’m not.”

So, it wasn’t very often you ran into more than a handful of students who were labelled “rebellious” or “weird.” They were labelled as such because they were either blatantly fighting the religious agenda, known for doing drugs, or purposely altered their outward appearance in drastic ways. Of course, there were the girls who bragged about the various sexual favors they performed with their boyfriends, but again, there weren’t many. Nothing was “wrong,” per say, with these students, they just weren’t the “norm” at my high school. They were the outsiders.

At a public state university, they were the norm, and I was the outsider. The sudden reversal of roles was hard to adjust to, especially given the amount of students in college versus high school. My graduating high school class consisted of about one hundred girls. My graduating class in college had over three thousand people. Three thousand different personalities, socio-economic backgrounds, races, cultures, religions…and I was one of the “weirdos.”

X and I were weird probably in the colloquial meaning, but we were definitely weird in the sense of being foreign and unfamiliar to others. In a class of thousands, we were the odd ones. It wasn’t the “norm” to be in a serious relationship. It wasn’t normal to have a strong faith, let alone believe in God. It was strange to not regularly drink and/or experiment with drugs. And it was definitely weird to be a virgin.

Looking back, I wish I could take my eighteen-year-old self by the hands and tell her that she never has to justify herself to anyone. I wish I could tell her that people randomly inquiring about her sex and love life is not normal, and telling them to mind their business is a perfectly acceptable answer. But of course, I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be liked and accepted. And I figured, well, it must be normal to talk about intimate details of your relationships with other people. This is how you bond as an adult. These are my friends, and friends talk about personal things with each other.

At first, these questions from my “best friends” (whom I had met only two months prior at the start of the semester) seemed intrusive, but relatively harmless. They were just trying to get to know me better, right? Who cares if they know I’m a virgin? Who cares if my boyfriend and I don’t sleep together? They’re just curious!

And over time, because I entertained their inquiries, intimate topics became a part of our regular conversations. Statements like “oh yeah my girlfriend and I did xyz last night,” or questions like, “have you guys tried xyz before?” would have usually made me blush. Instead, I became desensitized to such discussion.

It was rampant–it wasn’t just my friends who talked that way. Standing in line at lunch was a great way to overhear frat boys brag about the drugs and sex they participated in the night before. Waiting for my professor to arrive proved to be the best time for girls to remind each other of the drunken shenanigans they had found themselves in earlier that week. Attempting to study in the library was fruitless–unless I wanted to witness unspeakable things in the stacks.

And there I was, dating X, surrounded by thousands of people who thought my behavior was terribly odd.

What do you mean you don’t go to strip clubs? Wait, you’ve never seen porn? Come on, it’s not like it’s hard drugs…it’s weed, what’s your problem? You’re such a prude; why are you wearing that? You’re still going to church–what’s the point? Can’t handle a few shots–what a cheap date. Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you *laughs while continuing offensive behavior*

…I wish I could tell eighteen-year-old me that friends don’t ask those questions, don’t pressure you into anything, and most certainly do not talk to you in a condescending manner. But I thought, what do I know? I’m obviously the minority…I must be wrong.

X and I eventually broke up. It was a mixture of growing apart, feeling like I wasn’t in the right relationship, and realizing how much I loathed the people he chose to surround himself with. While I wasn’t choosing the best and the brightest friends either, his were extremely immature, to the point where creating a private social media page to gossip about me seemed like a good idea to them. Yeah. You read that right.

When your own boyfriend defends and participates in bashing you on the internet, you no longer feel like an outsider. You are one.

For the next few years, I made a lot of mistakes. Big problems, small infractions, colossal I’ve-hit-the-bottom-now-what-do-I-do moments…all of it. You name it, I probably did it, came in contact with it, or am familiar enough with it to not be shocked. All because I wanted to belong.

But that is another blogpost for another day.

My reason for mentioning my poor life choices is to show the gravity of how I felt–like a complete and total stranger to everyone around me. I felt like I couldn’t relate to anyone, and they couldn’t relate to me, unless I participated in their antics and lived their lifestyle, too. So that is what I did. Or, I at least passively approved of their lifestyle, if I didn’t actively participate in it.

So when first date conversations started with, “how many people have you slept with?” I didn’t even flinch. I answered, we laughed, and I thought about how lucky I was to be on a date.

I dated four men in college and law school before I got to my husband. And with all four, I put up with the same absolutely absurd behavior, under the guise that they were normal, and I was not.

Every single one of them watched porn behind my back. Whenever I would catch them in a lie, they would justify their behavior by accusing me of not being “available” enough to them in whatever way they wished. And I better not accuse them of cheating, because those women on the screen weren’t even real. I needed to relax.

Every single one of them talked to multiple women at the same time, despite dating me “exclusively.” When I confronted each one of them, I received the same answer–no one likes a clingy, paranoid girlfriend. I had trust issues.

Every single one of them somehow drunkenly ended up at strip club after a night out with the guys. When I expressed my heartache, I was told it wasn’t considered “cheating” because they hadn’t had sex with any of the strippers. I was told they couldn’t even remember how they got there; their friends must have taken them in the middle of a blackout.

Every single one of them would compliment my body to their friends liberally, in front of me, and expect me to either say “thank you” or be quiet. Like I should be grateful for the recognition that my ass looked good in my jeans, and I should allow other men to enjoy the view, too.

Every single one of them would make a remark about another woman’s looks in front of me, as if to dare me to challenge them. Why can’t they look, as long as they don’t touch? Why was I being so insecure? Why can’t I lighten up?

I’m sure by now you’re thinking, you have a serious lack of taste in men. The common denominator is you and your stupidity. Why would you stay with someone like that?

While you are correct in thinking I had poor taste in men and was behaving stupidly, please take into consideration that again, I had fallen for the illusion that I was wrong. This is the way men behave, this is what women voluntarily put up with, and if I didn’t like it, too bad. That’s how the real world works.

Now, I’m not trying to hate on all men. There are obviously plenty of amazing men out there–I’m married to one! The women I surrounded myself with were also part of the problem. Whenever I would go to one of my girlfriends for advice on how to handle one of the many aforementioned issues, none of them told me to leave the person I was dating. Not. One.

Instead, they were victims of the illusion, too. Or, perhaps, some of them actually believed what they were saying, but either way, they fed into the “men’s” conduct.

As far as porn went, they all thought I was ridiculous to ask a man to “give it up.” It isn’t real, those women will never actually meet your boyfriend, it keeps him busy and away from you. And, shockingly to me, some of these women suggested I watch it with him, so I wouldn’t feel as insecure about it, and that way I would know what was going on.

“Look at it as a bonding experience! It’s a way for you to learn more about your partner and take care of him.” Yes, I have actually been given this advice from another woman, and no, I didn’t take it.

These girls even watched it themselves on their own time. Why was I so upset?

When it came to advising me about a guy “talking” to various women, my girlfriends completely understood why I was upset, and even divulged to me their frustrations with their own significant others for doing the same. However, their advice was to “let it run its course,” or, if I really wanted to “lose him over something so small,” break up with him after x amount of chances. But only do that if I was absolutely positive I didn’t want to get back together, because he would most definitely just call one of those women and be with them the minute I broke it off. Don’t make that decision hastily. I could miss out.

This advice, I fell for. I know, how stupid. But look, if all of the women I surrounded myself with and talked to felt this way, then obviously, I had something gravely wrong with my thought processes. And, in order to belong to not only my boyfriend but also to my “friends,” I altered myself. I lowered my standards.

They laughed at me if mentioned strip clubs. Now I was just being petty. How could I seriously be upset about a strip club? Hadn’t I been to one? How could I possibly judge anyone over a strip club when I hadn’t even experienced it myself? What an uppity, snobby thing to do. Women go to strip clubs all the time, especially for their bachelorette parties. They’re fun and no one is getting hurt. I needed to relax. And then they would inevitably begin planning a “girls night” to the nearest strip club, and insist on me tagging along, so I could see there was no reason to fuss about it.

Again, I didn’t take this advice. Still have never been to a strip club, still plan on never doing so. Thankful I dodged that bullet.

I remember one incident in which I mentioned to a friend of mine that I felt disrespected whenever my boyfriend would catcall me in public or offer his friend to gaze at me, and she rolled her eyes and refused to talk to me for the rest of the day. Puzzled, I confronted her the next morning and she told me how angry she was with me for being upset over nothing. Her boyfriend never paid her “compliments” like that, and I should be thankful mine did. Okay, then.

I thought I would get a hearty, “what an a**hole!” when I angrily told them about a boyfriend’s inability to keep his thoughts to himself when it came to checking out other women. Nope.

You’re SO annoying, Cailin. He’s just doing that to tease you. All you do is complain about your boyfriend and he’s amazing. It’s like you can’t stand being happy, or you just have to have drama in your life. Shut up already.

So again, I adjusted myself. I didn’t want to be that annoying friend, and I didn’t want to be a nagging girlfriend. Most importantly, I didn’t want to be alone.

The problem with this conduct, besides the enormous amount of damage I was doing to myself, was the amount of damage I was unknowingly doing to others. What started as a means to fit in and belong turned into my actual perception of the world.

I expected men to ask me inappropriate questions while on a first date. I expected to have to “deal with” issues of porn and strip clubs, no matter who I dated. I expected recreational drugs and excessive alcohol to be common occurrences. And worse, I thought friendship meant constantly cracking sexual jokes at a significant other’s expense, or in a condescending manner to those who didn’t partake. While, thankfully, I rarely initiated this type of “friendship,” I never did anything to stop it, either.

So when my friend introduced me to her new boyfriend during a house party and he smirked at the boys and mentioned how good she looked on her knees, I ignored her when her eyes met mine. I kept my mouth shut. I let the others laugh at her expense. I rolled my eyes and shrugged at her, what are you gonna do–boys, right?

One night I spotted a girl alone, crying outside of her dorm room and I asked her what was wrong. She told me her boyfriend had gotten so drunk he passed out in the parking lot of a strip club, and now she didn’t know where he was or who he was with or if he was even okay. She was worried sick about him. I suggested she shower, eat something and try and go to sleep. She gave me a look of horror and asked, “what kind of girlfriend would I be if I just went to f***ing sleep?” And even though I thought to myself, a self-respecting one, I stayed quiet. Who was I to judge?

When a guy I had never met before drunkenly got in my face and called me the “c” word in MY OWN APARTMENT, I didn’t kick him out. I laughed; I blamed his behavior on his intoxication. I let him take me on a date a few weeks later. Because that’s just how the world works, and there wasn’t anything I could do to change it. If I could just stop being so stuck up and self-righteous, everything would be easier. I could fit in, and people would like me.

Except, I wasn’t me. People didn’t like me. They liked that I allowed them to do whatever they wanted, say whatever they were thinking, all with a silent smile. No nagging, no complaints, no “holier than thou” vibes coming from this girl. I was “cool.” I belonged. I had boyfriends. I had friends.

But I was terribly, deeply unhappy. I had stopped attending church. I rarely prayed, unless I needed a favor. I was always at odds with my parents. I began to think my family was crazy, that I was the only normal one, the only one who truly understood how people operated outside of our familial circle.

One day, after repeating the cycle of break-up and get-back-together for nearly two years, I finally had the nerve to completely sever myself from the last boy I dated before I met my husband. After a month of complete devastation, I made a promise to myself: after five years of carefully treading water in order to be “normal,” I would no longer do so. I would rather drown.

And drown I did, for a little while. I dragged myself back to church and stood in the longest confessional line in the world. I hadn’t received reconciliation in two years. I felt like a complete and total idiot, because I was one.

I went on one “date” with a law classmate about two months after the break-up, and about a month before I met my husband. It really wasn’t a date, more like a I-think-I-like-you-so-let’s-go-to-this-party-together type of thing. His friends, their party, and he picked me up. Not only did he basically abandon me in a house full of strangers, he also decided to smoke weed without even mentioning it to me. Now, I’m not saying he needed my permission–we barely knew each other–but considering he was my ride home, a little heads up on the drugs would have been nice.

I WENT OFF on this guy. I unleashed all of the resentment I had been carrying around for years onto him. I resented myself, I resented every man I had ever dated, and I resented all of my supposed friends who never truly looked out for me. And this poor guy got it all at once. While he absolutely deserved to be chastised, he probably didn’t deserve quite the severity I gave him. Needless to say, we never spoke again after that night.

I stopped allowing my friends to stick up for my ex-boyfriend whom they all “loved” so dearly. I stopped asking them for advice, period. When they involved themselves with drugs or pills, I suddenly disappeared from their lives. When they came to me with their toxic relationship problems, I stopped sugar-coating it. I told them to break it off or suffer the consequences; at that point, it was their own damn fault if they were unhappy.

I started inviting my friends to church, and not one of them accepted. I stopped shrugging my shoulders when men would crack sexual or sexist jokes–I spoke up, loudly. I made a point to embarrass them. I didn’t care if they thought I was nuts–I didn’t care if they liked me. I already knew I didn’t like them. 

I started laughing at my friends’ actions instead of being neutral. I started questioning their logic. What do you mean you “let” your boyfriend watch porn? Aren’t you enough? What’s his problem? What a jerk. And they were shocked. They stared at me, accused me of being insecure with myself and claimed they just weren’t like that. They were “confident in their relationship.” And instead of saying “to each his own,” I challenged them.

I’m not insecure. In fact, I’m the complete opposite. I’m so secure in myself that I am confident enough to demand whoever I’m dating to cut the porn habit. I demand respect. Why won’t you do the same?

Suddenly, my friends list was extremely short. No one wanted to be around religious, opinionated Cailin. No one wanted to hear my advice, because it wasn’t the same advice they had heard a million times before. No one wanted to invite me anywhere, because not only was I not interested in drugs, but now I would confront them and demand they stop. No one wanted to be friends with someone who rocked the boat.

I was no longer likable, I was no longer easy-going, I was no longer accepted. But I was me. And as it turns out, I prefer being alone. I prefer the company of my family, not of my “friends.”

And then I met my husband. He never cracked a sexual joke at my expense, or at all, for that matter. He didn’t ask me anything about my sex life on the first, or second, or third date. He had never, and still hasn’t, been to a strip club. Porn has never been an issue in our relationship. He has never so much as glanced at another woman, let alone voice whether or not he finds her attractive. He doesn’t drink excessively, or without asking me first. Drugs were always, and continue to be, irrelevant.

And do you know what he loves the most about me? My voice. My opinions. My thoughts. The fact that I will cut down anyone who oversteps my boundaries. All of the things that made me an outsider, he loves. Ironically, I am still an outsider–but because of that label, I have found the soul to whom I belong.

I am still working out the kinks of my past behavior. I strive to improve every day, for the sake of myself, my husband, and my daughter. Because of them, I continue to fight against what society deems as “normal,” and to be myself, unapologetically. I cling to my faith more than I ever have before, and I question everything. I no longer strive to be comfortable, or to be accepting of others’ indiscretions. I no longer care if I offend you.

Pope Benedict XVI once said, “The world offers you comfort, but you were not made for comfort. You were made for greatness.”

For five years, while in undergrad and part of law school, I was just that–comfortable. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t myself. I wasn’t doing anything worthy of mine or anyone’s time. I was just there–existing–and desperately trying to feel as if I belonged.

God did not create me, or you, so we can live mediocre lives. We are not called to fit in. We were not made in the image and likeness of our Creator, just to attempt to blend in with rest of the population.

I was not given my perfectly crafted individuality, just to throw it away like an ungrateful child, and to demand to receive the same gift another was given.

Pope Benedict XVI tells us to be uncomfortable. Pope Francis tells us to be annoying–to stop being “lukewarm” when it comes to the Church and our faith. My mom repeats his words regularly to our family: “be an annoying Catholic! Don’t be quiet! Defend your faith!”

Let me tell you, I am annoying. It’s easy to be when you no longer care if people like you, and when you stop caring what “normal” entails. And, having a spouse who loves every little annoying thing you do certainly helps.

One last quote–one that I feel encompasses the entirety of this post:

“I ask you, instead, to be revolutionaries, to swim against the tide; yes, I am asking you to rebel against this culture that sees everything as temporary and ultimately believes that you are incapable of responsibility, that believes you are incapable of true love. Have the courage to swim against the tide. And also have the courage to be happy.” –Pope Francis