Author: Lauri Ann Lumby

A Time of Reckoning

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While the United States is not the center of the universe, it does act like it. And, what is unfolding in the United States as we approach the presidential election, is a microcosmic reflection of the macrocosm. As I’m not a political analyst, I can only speak of this unfolding through the eyes of what I see and the sensations of what I feel. It’s not good, and the whole world seems to be responding as the evils of our world and humanity’s participation in these evils come to a head. It’s not good.

Something wicked this way comes.

Actually, the wicked is already upon us. Now, it’s up to humanity to decide if we will continue to participate in evil or make a change for the good.

Evil, in this case, is anything and everything rooted in fear: bigotry, prejudice, racism, sexism, genderism, greed, gluttony, lust for power, vengeance, envy, sloth, and pride. Evil is anything that profits from division and seeks only to separate. Evil is anywhere and everywhere in humanity’s addiction to possession and accumulation at any cost. Evil destroys the environment and our access to clean air, water, and healthy food for the sake of money or power. Evil creates enemies out of our fellow human beings simply because they are perceived as different or undeserving in some way. Evil separates human beings into tribe, nation, nationality, political party, race, gender, and religion instead of recognizing we are of one human race.

This evil is present and the powers that be are harnessing this evil for their own sake – forcing humanity to make a choice. Evil desires for us to choose evil, to participate in separation, to create enemies, and to harbor hatred toward our fellow human beings. Our survival depends on us making another choice.

This is the moment of humanity’s reckoning. Do we choose the evil that evil wants us to choose and further our own destruction, or do we choose love instead, and just maybe live to see another day?

As St. Paul said in his letter to the Corinthians:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. (1Cor 13: 4-8a)

Humanity stands at a crossroads and we are being given the opportunity to choose. What will be humanity’s choice – the weapons of evil or the forces of Love? The path of our own destruction or the path of our salvation/survival? What do you choose?

No Longer Human Functioning

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I came to the full realization this weekend that I can no longer function as a human being. I’m not sure if this is a function of age and wisdom – coming to know myself more fully and wanting to honor what resonates with and reflects who I am, or if I am finally willing to accept the fact that I am not, in fact, human. Likely it’s a both/and.

With what I know about myself and what I see in the actions of most humans, I don’t know how I could possibly be one of them. Instead, I feel more like an alien species that was dropped on this planet and forced to live among strangers. Never, in my entire life have I wanted what human beings seem to want, and if I did, I wasn’t being honest with myself, or I didn’t know myself well enough to understand that what many humans want would kill me.

And yet, I have spent most of my “human” incarnation, agreeing to the rules human beings seem to have set out for themselves and instead of receiving what has been promised for living by these rules, I have only ever gotten sick – physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.

Humanity’s rules, it seems, are toxic to me, and I’ve had several recent reminders of how sick I become when trying to live by what is expected of other human beings. So, instead of continuing to force myself to comply with humanity’s rules and standards, I’m accepting the fact that what would be called “normal human functioning” is no longer available to me – if it ever was.

For the sake of my own wellbeing, and in acknowledgement of my true alien nature, I no longer consent to the rules of humanity that are toxic to me and will only live my life in the way that feels natural to me.

What comes naturally to me is a quiet, gentle life where I am free to do what feels life-giving to me. What feels life giving to me is meditation and prayer, supporting others with my gifts in a way that empowers and for which my gifts are received and for which I am appropriately compensated, time for learning and study, peaceful enjoyment, one-on-one time with close friends, and rest. In other words – a simple life. If this desire for a simple life makes me an alien, then I guess that’s what I am.

She Abides

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Several years ago, my youngest sister gifted me with a large wall-handing made of weathered wood and carved with a feather and the word abide. I had a sense of what abide meant, but I wanted to be sure, so I looked up the meaning. Merriam-Webster provided me with several options:

a: to bear patiently : tolerate

b: to endure without yielding : withstand

c: to wait for : await

Today, I find myself again reflecting on the word abide and it perfectly describes where I find myself at this stage of my personal journey, especially in relationship to the outside world.

Today, I abide. I sit in quiet observation of the unfolding of humanity’s journey – knowing there is nothing I can do to change that which I find intolerable – things like hatred, division, and all the various isms. I endure the horrors I watch unfolding while refusing to yield my inner peace to things outside of my control and turning to my inner practice when the violence and hatred becomes too much for my sensitive nature.  I wait in hope that this time, humanity will get it right, while knowing they may not, and preparing myself for the worst.

Being able to abide requires a certain measure of inner strength and wisdom. Wisdom wrought through years of seeking and failing to facilitate change in the tide of humanity’s fate. Strength gained through the multitude of rejections I have faced along the way. Humanity doesn’t care much for change-makers. The institutions who benefit from the status quo, welcome change-makers even less.

Abiding doesn’t mean I’m giving up my visionary gifts or the impulse to support the healing and transformation of humanity. Abiding simply recognizes that now may not be the time.

So, I wait. I wait and watch. I hold on to hope without clinging to expectations. I have stepped aside, providing space in which humanity can walk its journey without interference or distractions. I abide in the contentment and peace I have so diligently cultivated awaiting the moment my gifts might be welcome, knowing they may never be. I abide in the reminder that the only one I can save is myself while providing an example that others may one day choose for themselves – and that the choice is up to them.

It’s Not My Job to Save the World

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Before I dive into this reflection, I want to state that in no way, shape, or form, is this reflection definitive. Instead, it is part of an ongoing exploration of perceived mission, purpose, and calling. In this reflection, the central focus of the quandary is around what it means to be an empath and how we are, or are not, called to use this gift.

In the world of pop culture spirituality, the word empath has been increasingly tossed around. Some, including me, have jumped on the bandwagon, taking empath as a title, as well as a superpower, and in doing so, waving the banner of the special nature of this gift.

Is being an empath a superpower? Is it a gift Divinely imparted to those special few who are called to “hear the cries of the world,” who then employ their equally special gifts of healing to save the broken world?

Or is being an empath a defense mechanism that we developed so that we might carve out a safe place for ourselves in an otherwise violent world?

Ultimately, I believe the ability to feel the emotional state of those around us, along with the expanded sense of empathy that allows us to feel global phenomenon (like collective fear, approaching storms, pending earthquakes, solar flares, etc.) is a function of both nature and nurture. It seems to be true that some people are born with heightened sensitivities. There is also a strong argument for empathy as a developed skill born out of our own need to be safe.

Regarding the latter, further developing the empathic abilities that may have already been within me, has proved immeasurably helpful. It has given me the ability to sense danger, to read people’s emotions and intentions, to know when someone is a safe person to be around, and when one is pure evil. Being an empath has also helped me in interpersonal relationships – especially with those for whom I care, because it allows me to sense when they are upset, disturbed, angry, etc. which then allows for a healthy and helpful conversation. It allows me to intuitively know when someone might need support, but maybe doesn’t know how to ask.

There is a place for being an empath in my life that has shown itself to be healthy and helpful.

There is also a place where being an empath has gotten me in trouble.

We live in a culture (and I am of a gender) in which we are conditioned to be co-dependent. We are told it’s our job to make other people happy, to be a champion for the voiceless, to fight against injustice, and ultimately….to save the world. Being an empath without proper boundaries can feed this co-dependency, making us believe we are some sort of champion for the downtrodden, and savior of the world. The gift of empathy can further give us the feeling of being special or set apart from others, thereby feeding our ego and our pride.

Empathy is a gift, but it can also be a curse. For one thing, I’m not sure it’s safe or good for us to feeeeeeeel everything!  I know it’s not good for me. Feeling everyone’s feelings, every emotion, every intention, then heap on the collective fear and violence of our world, and I am bound to short circuit – which is exactly what I did last week. It became too much. My anxiety was off the charts. I felt like a cat full of static from having been brushed the wrong way. This short-circuiting caused me reach out to my doctor who authorized an increased dosage of my sertraline which has slowly eased my sense of being flayed.  I then took some time off to rest and reflect.

In the midst of this reflection, I was reminded that it is not my job to save anyone, let alone the world. Despite all I’d been taught and conditioned to believe, the only person I have the power of saving (and even this is debatable) is myself. I can’t change other people’s behaviors. I can’t change their beliefs. There is literally nothing I can do to rescue them from the trap they have created for themselves. My experience of being an empath does nothing to help those around me (except as I mention above), and my so-called healing powers will do nothing to solve the crisis in the Middle East, or to absolve the fear and unhealed wounds that would cause someone to inflict violence on another.

The only thing I can do with the sensitivities I have, the knowledge I’ve gathered, and the wisdom I’ve gained, is to:

  1. Care for myself.
  2. Be a source of support for others seeking to care for themselves.

Period. Other people’s crises are none of my business. Another’s pain is not mine to heal. I can do nothing to force evil to become good. I can’t change the direction of the tide. Humanity is on a course of its own making and there is not a single thing I can do to fix or change it.

So for today, I’m setting aside my superhero cape, laying down my bullhorn, and stepping away from humanity’s pain so that I can place my focus where it needs to be – on myself. Only in saving myself (with God’s help) can I ever hope to be a guide and support for others who also want to save themselves.  

The Effects of Trauma

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Trauma is weird. Trauma is weird because we don’t always know we’re experiencing trauma until its effects accumulate and begin to come out sideways. Trauma is also weird because every person experiences trauma differently.  Some traumas are obvious and expected, others are not. If you are in a war zone and having to deal with constant life-threatening situations, you would expect that you might experience some adverse effects from that trauma. Some people, however, seemingly don’t. If you are in a physically abusive marriage or suffered sexual assault, you would expect to suffer the effects of these traumas. One does not necessarily expect disappointment, heartbreak, loss, or betrayal to be experienced as trauma – but for some they are.

Trauma is weird. My trauma is not from war or physical abuse. What I can now identify as the traumas that eventually led to a diagnosis of CPTSD (Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), I did not necessarily think of them as traumatic at the time. I’m a strong, independent woman and that’s how I got through those traumas – truly by sheer force of will and stubbornness – mixed in with a good dose of resentment. I made myself survive.  I forced myself to weather the storm. I pushed myself through it all – never attending to the deep heartbreak I was feeling because at the time I was just trying not to collapse under the weight of it all.

Well….eventually that all caught up to me. All that forcing did was push the trauma deeper and deeper into my psyche where it built up and accumulated until it started coming out in symptoms of depression, anxiety, hypervigilance, and eventually full-blown and traumatic panic attacks. I’m also convinced that all of this pent up trauma is what made me vulnerable to the bizarre ear infection that permanently damaged my vestibular nerve – causing my now ongoing issues with vertigo, etc. which now prevents me from driving any distance without great effort and no longer allows me to drive on the freeway – dramatically hindering my previously taken for granted freedom of mobility.

Trauma is weird. I have tried to explain my trauma in the past and to those listening, it just doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t really make sense to me either. I can point to the situations, experiences, individuals and say – “it’s their fault.” But really, my trauma is less about fault and more about cause. The cause, if I’m truly honest with myself, was LOVE, and the trauma that one experiences when that love is betrayed.

That’s it in a nutshell. Every trauma I’ve experienced has ultimately been about the betrayal of love.

The easiest for me to speak about is my ecclesial trauma because in this case, there are no innocent bystanders who might be hurt by my words. I feel perhaps I’ve written of this ad nauseum, but in a nutshell – I once passionately and deeply loved the Church and the mission of Love I embraced on their behalf. I found my calling in the Church. I was enthusiastically supported in that calling, both financially and otherwise by the Church. I had planned to continue my formation and advancement in Church ministry as far as would be allowed for a woman. Then I wasn’t. All because I took Jesus’ call to Love seriously and accepted that call to heal and teach. It’s a long stupid story and on the outside to call this trauma might seem trite, but I can honestly attest that leaving the Church was harder for me than divorce and the trauma I suffered that ultimately led to my leaving is the greatest heartbreak I have ever experienced. My Church turned its back on me. If you understand the nature of spiritual abuse, you get it.

The other traumas I will continue to hold close to my heart. Suffice it to say, all were deep and indelible betrayals of love. When trauma is a result of betrayal, it becomes personal – and that’s a whole different kind of trauma – which is why it’s so difficult to describe and even more challenging to explain. It’s not as a result of a hit, a punch, or war, it because of a broken heart.  

No matter the cause of the trauma, the effects are mostly the same: anxiety, depression, panic attacks, chronic illness, hypervigilance, memory issues, situational avoidance, disassociation, feelings of overwhelm and cognitive impairment, auditory and visual processing disorders, chronic pain, and so much more. There are medications and therapies that help mitigate the effects of trauma, but in my experience, the effects never fully go away and are always lying in wait to rear their ugly head again – like recently. For whatever reason, my trauma decided to rear its ugly head causing ongoing increased anxiety and breakthrough panic. Whatever I had been doing proved to be no longer enough so now I’m (by doctor’s orders) taking a break from external stimuli, adjusting to an increase in medication, and looking at what other lifestyle changes or adaptations I need to take to continue to care for my trauma-affected mind, spirit, and body.

As an aside, I’m profoundly grateful to my employer who allows for accommodations so that I can continue to work and make a living. AND there are not enough supports in our system for people who have suffered the effects of trauma. For many, work is literally impossible and for the majority, there are not enough accommodations available to help them be part of providing for their basic needs without doing further damage to themselves. If my nervous system had its way, I’d be living in a cabin deep in the woods and all my needs would be provided for so I could just take care of myself, living as gently and quietly and softly as I need. Just sayin!

Going to Ground

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Monday morning, I posted my ballot for the United States’ 2024 presidential election. As I handed my ballot to the postal worker, I heard, as a distinct command:

“Your work is done here.”

Indeed. It feels as such. I have spent the past almost sixty years sowing seeds of love, speaking truth to power, and shining a light on all that is not of love in our world. Whether I wanted to or not, I have been a beacon of light – revealing truth and unveiling falsehood. Whether by my words, my actions, or simply my presence, I have been like an acupuncture needle, inserting love so that what is not of love might be released from our world. My presence has been welcome by many and a bane to some – especially to those who are either living a lie, or who benefit from a system rooted in fear, power, and control.

I say none of this from a place of vanity or pride. Being love in a world that wants to hate is a thankless and difficult job. Rejection comes aplenty and in a capitalistic world – certain financial struggle. When part of your mission (I didn’t ask for this!) is to be a catalyst for the collapse of systems sustained by greed, hatred, division, power, etc., you are woefully unable to live in or by the rule of said-systems. The vehicles of deception and manipulation through which wealth is amassed are not available to me – I couldn’t deceive or manipulate if I tried – and I wouldn’t want to.

But here I’ve been dutifully showing up day after day after day for ALL OF IT – casting seeds of love – all while watching humanity not learn a single thing. If anything, the divide has become greater and the violence, greed, and hatred more acute. Humanity has lost its compassion (if it ever had any).  Rather, those lacking in compassion have grown louder and more apparent while those of us who have been trying to sow compassion have grown weary.

We’ve done all we can. Now, humanity has to decide – will it choose compassion and love or will it continue to choose division and fear?

As of today, humanity has not made its choice. But I have. I choose love and will continue to choose love. I’ve done all I can to plant those seeds and to be a presence through which love is made real in our world. Especially as it relates to the current decisions upon which rests humanity’s fate – I’ve done all I can do.

I have no more words to offer that might encourage one to make the choice for love instead of fear. As such, I’m going to ground. As the world works out its fate, I will be safely tucked away in a sanctuary of my own making. One of three-foot thick earthen walls invisible and impenetrable to those who have not been invited. To those who have, the coffee is always on, I have snuggle blankets aplenty, and a comfortable place for you to rest your weary soul. Perhaps after humanity has decided its fate, the world will welcome our presence and yearn to hear our wisdom and we will rise again like the seventeen-year cicada ready to share our songs of love with the world. In the meantime, we tuck ourselves safely away as we wait and watch.

The Burden of Other People’s Shame

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 1 Comment

We live in a world that is psychologically and emotionally underdeveloped. As a result, we are continually living under the burden of other people’s unhealed wounds, unacknowledged fears, anxiety, or shame.

We are globally conditioned to accept the projections of other people’s wounds as our own, often resulting in feelings of guilt or shame for things that are not even ours to carry.

We are so conditioned by these patterns of projected blame that as I write these words, the majority of those reading might have no idea about what I’m speaking. Let me put it plainly:

When we suppress, repress, or ignore our own unacknowledged fears, anxiety, or shame, and when we deny our past wounds and trauma without doing the work of healing them, they are bound to come out sideways in actions and behaviors that are harmful to ourselves, and others, and sometimes both.

Let me provide an example of this pattern of projected blame of which I have been guilty in the past:

As a divorced mother of two, finances have often been tight. As a result, I have suffered anxiety around money. Afraid there wouldn’t be enough to pay our bills, and anxious about unexpected expenses or (not unreasonable) requests from my kids. In the early years after divorce, I often found myself snapping at my kids when they would ask for money for essential and non-essential needs, or complaining about back to school shopping and all the added expenses that came up that time of year. It wasn’t my kids’ fault that money was tight or that I was anxious about money, but I’m certain that it is possible that my reactions to expenses a) caused them to feel guilty b) may have instilled anxiety about money in them. ☹ Eventually, I caught my actions, but the damages had already been done. (Sorry M and W!) I continue to have anxiety around money and guilt when I spend money, but at least I can acknowledge it and no longer project blame over my own fear onto other innocent parties.

This is just one simple example of how we, as humans, project blame, guilt, shame, anxiety, on to other innocent parties, instead of taking the time to identify our own wounds, acknowledge them, cease from making them someone else’s fault, and do the deep inner work of healing them so that we are a) no longer doing harm to ourselves and b) no longer doing harm to others.

I’m convinced that these unacknowledged fears, shame, guilt, past traumas, etc. are the cause of every single conflict in our world, from the simplest misunderstanding between friends to the global catastrophes of war.

As it relates to war, here’s another easy example. The holocaust of World War II was wholly a result of Hitler’s Germany needing a scapegoat from the traumas of WWI. The easy scapegoat was a race of people that unwittingly became the projection of these unhealed wounds. 6 million people were violently imprisoned and killed because of these projected wounds. One race of people made to carry the blame for another group of people’s shame, grief, fear, etc. Fast forward to today, and the recipients of that projection (Benjamin Netanyahu and his followers) are now projecting their own unhealed wounds by enacting their own holocaust against the Palestinians.

Unhealed wounds of shame, guilt, anxiety, trauma, etc. projected outward simply create more of the same. Wound begets wound. Shame begets shame. Hatred fosters hatred. Unhealed trauma is likely to cause trauma to another.

Let me make this really personal by asking a few questions:

  • When have other people blamed you for their anger, impatience, frustration, etc., saying that it is somehow YOUR fault that they are feeling that way?
  • How often have you been blamed for other people’s failures?
  • When have you been made to feel ashamed for who you are and/or who you want to be?
  • When has another tried to make you the cause of their unhappiness, sense of lack, inability to be successful or to perform?
  • When did you then find yourself reacting by trying to make the other party happy, take over a task for them, rush over to ease their anger, etc.?

The truth is none of this was ever your fault. Instead, it was the other party’s inability to acknowledge and take responsibility for their own SHIT.

The conflicts between human beings will never be resolved until we begin to take responsibility for our own shame, unhealed wounds, etc. and stop making it everyone else’s problem. While we cannot control what other people (or nations) might do, we can begin this healing by taking responsibility for ourselves and we can start that work today.

We can also stop taking responsibility for other people’s blame.

Is it Vestibular, PTSD, HSP, or Empathy?

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Yesterday, I had to leave work early. I had to leave out of a combination of stimuli that triggered – perhaps all – of the conditions I have: chronic vestibular neuritis, PTSD, HSP (highly sensitive person), along with my ability to feel the energy and emotions of others (empathy) so much so that it overwhelms my nervous system. The result was a combination of overwhelm, PTSD symptoms (inability to concentrate, focus, etc), anxiety, and a blaring migraine with a bit of dizziness. While any one of these conditions could have caused the symptoms I experienced, upon reflection, it was a combination of stimuli and conditions that created the perfect storm, making it near impossible for me to continue working while the stimuli not only continued, but increased. Thankfully, I have an understanding employer who is fully aware of my sensitivities and the deficits that sometimes accompany this combination of sensitivities. My work is also flexible, some can be done from home, and my responsibilities for that day were relatively minimal. My employer gave me a supportive smile when I told her I was going home, as she was aware of the challenges I was facing that night.

Not every employer would be so understanding or supportive.

I know I am one of the lucky ones.  In America, 2% of the population are considered empaths, 6% will have PTSD at some point in their lives, 15-20% are diagnosed as HSP, and over 35% of adults over the age of forty suffer from vestibular disorders. I suspect these figures are understated! My point is that a whole lot of people suffer from one or several of the conditions with which I sometimes struggle, and very few employers are understanding of or willing to make accommodations for said-conditions. With none of these conditions does one appear “sick.” For most of these conditions the symptoms are difficult, if not impossible, to describe, causing many, including medical professionals, to believe the issues might be “in your head.”

Literally, vestibular disorders are in our heads! For myself, I have chronic inflammation of the vestibular nerve which makes me sensitive to movement, sound, smells, lights, barometric pressure – and so much more. When I’m “triggered,” the results vary. Sometimes I just feel icky. Other times I’m bowled over by vertigo. Sometimes the vertigo isn’t full-on spinning, just a feeling of disorientation or unease. I sometimes get aura migraines, and other times full-body migraines where I can do nothing but lay on the couch with lights off and a blanket over my head. I NEVER know when the symptoms might arise but there are certain things that are consistent including driving (especially at freeway speeds), snow and rain, windshield wiper movement, low barometric pressure, and red wine. Ironically, red wine is also one of the remedies I have found for when I have a full-on migraine. Weird.

PTSD is even more subtle for me and thankfully with medication I haven’t had a panic attack in several years. I continue, however, to find myself sensitive to crowds, loud noises, a multitude of stimuli, and certain situations and/or conversations. One thing I’ve come to notice, which I don’t remember having before the experiences that brought about the PTSD – I now have some sort of auditory processing disorder – which could also be related to the vestibular issues. The disorder goes like this: if I’m in a crowd of people and someone, or multiple someones are talking to me, I literally can’t hear them.  All I hear is “wha wha wha wha.”  As one friend described it  – “Charlie Brown’s teacher.”  I can hear the sounds, but I cannot make out the words.  For years I thought I was hard of hearing.  My hearing tests all prove to be in the range of normal, and yet, these symptoms persist.  As an office manager, this condition makes my job difficult and overwhelming at times, and I have to repeatedly ask people to repeat themselves while explaining about the processing disorder.

As it relates to HSP and being an Empath, (insert shoulder shrug emoji).  If you are either of these, you get it. If not, there’s likely no way to explain it. The best way to describe both of these is that I feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeel  everyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyything. Your emotions. Sometimes your thoughts. Pending earthquakes, hurricane, or other global phenomenon. I sometimes know when something bad is about to occur. I can read your energy. I feeeeeeeeeel if you are a good or bad human being. I can tell by your body language if you’ve been abused. Sometimes I see it. It’s bad enough when it’s only one person I’m feeling, or one global phenomenon…….but if it’s a room of people or the whole planet is losing its shit, it becomes overwhelming which makes it difficult to stay fully present, to think clearly, and to remain focused. On some days it’s so bad that I can’t perform normal administrative tasks or even read a book or magazine for pleasure. After periods of intense stimuli, I just don’t have the bandwidth.

So yeah…….with (what felt like) a hundred people in the building and their children talking, making messes, asking for attention, some of them screaming…..I had had enough. Was it due to vestibular issues, PTSD, HSP or Empathy?  The answer is YES.  All of the above.

Again, a huge thank you to my employer and for the universe who put me in their path so I could have a supportive place to work from which I could escape if things become too intense. And my heart goes out to those who aren’t equally supported in their place of employment or who struggle to find employment due to what can often be debilitating symptoms – symptoms that are so invisible that disability won’t even take a look at them.

What Privilege Taught Me to Believe

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 1 Comment

and how those beliefs were undone

I didn’t grow up wealthy, but I did grow up privileged. I was born white to middle class parents, raised in a predominantly white third-generation neighborhood of white-collar professionals and tradesmen. In most of the homes around us, the men worked, and the mothers stayed home. The children were feral and unsupervised, only because everyone believed we were safe. We had a roof over our head, three square homecooked meals a day, new clothing (unless you were a younger sibling), and a basement full of toys. We enjoyed piano and dance lessons. Our parents sent us to private school.

Life was good and in that state of perceived safety and abundance, we believed in the promise of “The American Dream” – a good education and hard work was the path to success and the harder you worked, the more successful you would become. We were also taught that welfare was for lazy people and we should judge them and treat them accordingly. There was a clear dividing line between us (hard workers) and them.  And a not-so-subtle dividing line between us (white people) and them (people of color).

All of this happened along side a devout Catholic upbringing. God was the old man in the sky. We were undeserving of God’s love. God’s love had to be earned and could be taken away. And abortion was a mortal sin. We were even invited to join the school’s “Pro-Life” club from whom we would get a bright shiny silver bracelet marking us as “soldiers of Christ” in the war against abortion (this was all on the heels of Roe vs. Wade). As a young adult, I volunteered at a pro-life “clinic” for women facing unexpected pregnancies.

In addition to all of this: we were raised Republican. We were told Republicans were good and were looking out for the good of the people and that Democrats were communists – and that was bad! I remember knock down drag ‘em out fights between certain family members who (gasp) belonged on different ends of the political spectrum. The Democrats were good people, but clearly delusional – at least that’s what we were led to believe.

In college (YES!  I attended university, which was mostly paid for by my parents – another privilege), I joined a sorority (more privilege), continued attending mass and attended adult faith formation classes. I voted for Ronald Reagan, and later, for George H. W. Bush.

Other than being a brunette, I was the stereotypical white girl of privilege.

But then, life happened.

My previous stance on abortion was the first thing to go. In the volunteer position, I witnessed first-hand the violent tactics often used by the Pro-life movement in dissuading women from seeking an abortion. There was no compassion shown, only judgment, accompanied by violent and graphic images of late-term abortions. There was a reason I wasn’t allowed into the “counseling” room at the clinic. Additionally, with over 40% of pregnancies being unplanned, I was bound to eventually meet a young woman, likely a friend, who would have to face a sometimes-difficult choice. As statistics would have it – I did – come to know of several friends who at one time had to face an unplanned pregnancy. Further, I knew of several who had no choice but to seek the termination of the pregnancy for medical issues related to either the baby, or their own survival. Abortion, it turned out, wasn’t so black and white.  How could I judge a woman (or a couple) who was having to face the most difficult decision of their life – one that would stay with them their whole life. The decision to terminate a pregnancy (no matter what the circumstances) is a wound that does not heal.  It changes, but the pain will always be there on some level. Compassion told me to put myself in the others’ shoes and support them through a very difficult decision. And to understand that at any point, I could find myself in a similar position forced to make a similar difficult choice.

The second thing that went was my belief in the American Dream. The first of this leaving happened in my own professional journey. Sheepskin in hand, I went out looking for work. And this is a FACT – not once in my 40 years of being in the post-college workforce have I made more than $26,000 per year.  NEVER.  Not once.  This was not for lack of effort, work, skills, or abilities. Now at a ripe almost 60, it is not for lack of education, experience, or expertise. The universe has imposed some sort of invisible ceiling between myself and money – never even surpassing (which was also the big privileged promise) the salary of my father.

Hard work and a college education, as it turns out, is NOT a guaranteed path to wealth.

No matter how much someone else wants to tell you otherwise.

Then I experienced poverty. Thankfully not poverty of the sort that far too many suffer, but I have faced an enduring period of financial struggle – the likes of which has had me utilizing some of those so-called “communist” programs. I have received rental assistance and energy assistance. I qualified for Food Stamps and could have been using the Food Pantry (I chose to use neither, but at a grave consequence to me financially – eventually leading to bankruptcy). I have enjoyed the profound benefits of the Affordable Healthcare Act – in fact, my life depends on it. Finally, I am on an income-based repayment plan for my graduate school student loans (if anyone wants to argue with me about student loan forgiveness, DON’T!!!!!  I will direct you straight to Matt Taibbi and his expose’ on the criminal nature of the student loan industry!!!!!) 

Beyond my own personal experience, I have witnessed hundreds, if not thousands struggling with similar or much worse circumstances. I have seen, through clear eyes, that the so-called “American Dream” is a lie and that there are, indeed, systemic obstacles to Americans realizing that dream. This fact of reality breaks my heart and inspires me to share my own journey beyond the lies that come with privilege.

As it relates to Catholicism.  This may be the biggest irony of them all. I have always been a woman of faith (whatever that means). I was a devout Catholic until the local Church made it clear I was no longer welcome. Jesus is my teacher and Mary Magdalene has become a guide. I sometimes pray the rosary and turn to Michael the Archangel in times of anxiety. I cherish my Catholic upbringing – for good and bad – but mostly, for what I learned about social justice:

Jesus calls us to love.  Period. And he was quite clear about what love looked like:

  • Judge not lest ye be judged.
  • Love your neighbor as yourself.
  • Everyone is your neighbor.
  • Welcome immigrants and foreigners.
  • Feed the hungry.
  • Set prisoners and captives free.
  • Clothe the naked.
  • Heal the sick.
  • Give sight to the blind.
  • Welcome “the other” to your table.
  • If someone asks for your cloak, give them your shirt as well.
  • Love one another.  Period.

As it turns out, it is my faith that has called me to depart from the politics in which I was once immersed and toward a political stance that supports the needs of the all. As my own life has shown me, even privilege does not guarantee that life will provide us with what we need. It has also shown me that by our own efforts, our own needs may not necessarily be met. There’s a little story in scripture that seems to provide a solution to this quandary:

All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. (Acts 2: 44-45)

If a sharing among the common good was good enough for Jesus and his earliest disciples, then it’s good enough for me. This is what love has taught me.

Appropriating the Magdalene

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / Leave a comment

a warning written in blood?

This morning, another Magdalene appropriator was brought to my attention. Knowing this person and their long history of taking credit for other people’s work, or outright stealing their work for their own uses, I first became afraid, then enraged. How dare this person (who I know)…

I tried.  I really tried to write something – appropriate? Scathing? Eeking of black magic? But I found I just couldn’t.

I just couldn’t because, it’s already been done!

“The true Magdalene stands on her own.”

These are my very own words!  (Read full blog here).

The Magdalene doesn’t need my defending. Neither does the work I do on her behalf and in her name.

As a dear friend reminded me, “I wouldn’t be too worried about it. Those drawn to her (said appropriator) are not on the same frequency as you are.  You don’t want that low vibration. It’ll make you sick.” Right on that.

As one of my current training participants celebrated:

My work has no “whoo.” 

Meaning – it’s the real deal!  Rooted in scholarship. Anchored in contemplative prayer. Centered in scripture. Facilitating human development resulting in self-actualization.

For those willing to do the work.

No whoo. No one blowing smoke up someone’s ass telling them what they want to hear.  No one taking advantage of other people’s insecurities or vulnerabilities to make themselves rich. NO SHINY OBJECTS!

Straight up Mary Magdalene continuing the work of her beloved teacher by showing people how to be love.

No wonder I couldn’t write what I originally intended. It’s not what the Magdalene would have done. Instead, it seems she intervened by staying my blood-dipped pen, forcing me to remember that I am not the one doing the work – She is!  And…

The Magdalene takes care of her own.

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