Photo By Aleera (flickr.com)
Perhaps secrets don’t work in my family. Perhaps my older sister (M) asked directly and my mother didn’t want to lie.
When I came out atheist to my mother in October we agreed that I’d be the one to tell my siblings; I didn’t want her to feel obligated to be my secret keeper or play defense for me. So when my mother called me last night to chat, she admitted that during a conversation about me, she told M that I was an atheist.
I can only imagine what sorts of things they discussed that would lead my mother to feel it was necessary to tell M about my deconversion. Did my recent politically charged discussion with M come up? Did my off-handed Facebook comment about “Fred Phelps and his god” ruffle some curious feathers? Was M concerned about my lack of morals and sex life? Perhaps they spoke about how distant Mom and I have been lately and Mom wanted to tell her why.
I know guessing and making things up in my mind won’t help me know the truth (hint, hint, Christians!), so I’ll stop there. Did it hurt that my mother didn’t let me tell M about being an atheist? I’m surprising myself when I answer: No, not at all, actually. More than anything else, it let me off the hook. I was putting off outsing myself for “the perfect moment”—which of course would never come. So now that I don’t have to worry about how to say it, I can think forward to how I should present my thoughts and answers to M when she comes to me with questions. She might not; she might not want to tell me that she knows. We’ll just have to see.
Why am I so calm about this? I was filled with anxiety just a few months ago about how my family would react to my coming out. Maybe it’s the lack of reaction (since I wasn’t there) that keeps me feeling peaceful—as if it was a success already. Maybe it’s because I feel so much more confident in who I am and how being an atheist is not wrong. When I found myself feeling guilt or embarrassment about being an atheist, I was acting out of the lessons and patterns I was given as a Christian. I may finally be breaking free of that training… bit by bit.
photo by lintmachine
Because my dear mother is worried. She came to me tonight expressing a desire to talk about “the elephant in the room” which is, apparently, my atheism. In a very polite manner, she expressed her concern:
Ever since I came out to her in October, she has been reading more godless blogs (perhaps mine… rut roh!) and experiencing the snarky, jabbing, “haughty ridicule” (as she called it) that sometimes accompanies heathen venting sessions and social commentary. I freely acknowledge that some atheists are bitchy, chip-on-the-shoulder finger-pointers.
What worries her is that I might become like the people described above: sour in attitude, uncharitable in speech, and antagonistic in practice.
Should she be worried? Yes. I have to admit I am almost all of the above things at one time or another towards Christianity or woo in general. I consider myself an anti-theist and have no issues mocking certain ideas that are, in fact, ridiculous. Sometimes I make fun of other people because of their behavior, silly superstitions, or unbelievably ignorant beliefs.
I’m sorry Mother; I may be what you dislike… at least in part.
Even so, I want to make clear to the people of faith reading this blog that I empathize with you a great deal. I spent my entire life surrounded by the best kinds of Christians (with a few crazies thrown in). I know what it’s like to yearn after Jesus, follow the Spirit, trust in God, pray, see others come to the Lord, feel a mighty work in my life, and so forth. I know all of those things, and I honestly do understand where you’re coming from. I hope my knowledge of the Bible, theology, and the way passionate believers feel will make me a more ecumenically minded atheist (once I get past all the fun bitchitude). I hope I will soften more and stifle some of my most rude comments out of respect for people that are genuinely doing their humble best to follow what they believe and think is right and true.
But when it comes to the stubbornly ignorant, the bigoted, the anti-scientific, the hateful, the hellfire-and-brimstone theocratic blowhards… all bets are off–Godless Girl puts on the gloves.
Photo by cbguille (flickr)
{See my previous post for backstory}
My mother and I decided to eat out last night. After our almost-discussion the day before, the elephant in the room was just too cumbersome. We needed to finish our talk, and I was finally–after over a year of evasion and privacy–ready to tell her.
When our hefty plates of stir fry were placed in front of us, she grinned. “I’m glad your roommate walked in last night.” I grabbed a chunk of meat and stuffed it into my mouth. “I knew that if we had said more, then I would have gone down the path of ‘Well what about this?’ and gone down the path of debate instead of doing what I wanted to do which was understand your journey and see what brought you to where you are today.” She clearly knew what I had to say, but wanted to let me vocalize it all.
I told my story.
. . . . .
My hand shook. I stared as it carried vibrating forkfuls of food towards my mouth–too quickly, I thought. I could barely swallow in time before having another bite to chew. I didn’t feel control over my own movements, so they happened anyway; I simply observed. The clichéd tremble amused me, and I chuckled to myself, which I’m sure came across as puzzling to my mother who sat across from me, leaning back from her empty plate as I continued to work at my food–barely touched.
The need to fill the silence between my mother and I was a desperate itch. I ached to scratch it, but I bit my food with vigor and stared at my stupid, shaking hand instead.
I had just told her I was an atheist. She’d listened to my story, and now she sat silenced, glossy-eyed, and buried beneath her thoughts. As I inhaled my food, I tried to imagine what she felt. Disappointment came to mind first. Probably a caring sort of pity, too. Perhaps she was praying. No, I knew she was praying. My mother always prayed. This is probably the first time she thought twice about praying aloud in front of me.
“I can see how it would be hard for you to deal with all of that alone,” she said.
No more silence.
. . . . .
After the big “moment of truth”, we started discussing various topics and thoughts: We talked about the Catholic church, masculinity and femininity, how she used to be an atheist, evidence for miracles, and that she doesn’t believe Christianity requires people to leave their reasoning skills behind.
Aside: You should know that my mother is one of the most thoughtful and faithful Christians of my acquaintance, and she’s also one of the most respectable, wonderful individuals I’ve ever known. When people talk about blind faith and dumb believers, they are not speaking about this woman.
At the end of our conversation, she mused, “This is astonishing…” I nodded, smiling. “You’re the girl who came home from camp in 7th grade and said, ‘Sorry Mom, I’m going to be a missionary.’”
“I know.”
“Astonishing…”
Who should I tell next?
Olin Thang on 
Cortez Frisch on 
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