How Sexism in the Church Almost Ruined My Life
In July 2014, my husband Daniel, our two young boys, and I took a full U-Haul from Cleveland, Tenn., to Richmond, Va., for Daniel’s new job as a teacher at a Christian private school. The move had pushed us past broke, into donations from relatives, but we were eager nonetheless. After many years, my husband had finally figured out what he wanted to do with his life. He was thrilled for the opportunity to become a teacher, and I—coming off of a y…

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I say this all the time, but I desperately need to start writing in here again.  More for my own sanity than anything else.

For the last few days I’ve been thinking about what’s made me happy and what I would regret if I didn’t at least try.  The people who know me would say that I have done plenty, and that I should be proud of myself.  They have me in this set category that I’ve never been comfortable with.  My reality is not their reality, and I don’t blame or hate them for what they can’t see.  Rather, I tend to alienate myself more.

I’m the one who says it’s not good enough.

I’m the saboteur.

And as much as I would like to say that this is my manifesto, my promise to myself – it’s not.  I’m just the reminder that I’m no longer in my 20’s, and this rut has me trapped.  I’m fearful that I’ll start to regret, and frankly I’m just too young for that.