Survivors' Voices: Hope, Part 2
The concept of hope can be a tough one for those who have been through difficult things - and maybe for all of us. Here are a few more thoughts from the Survivors’ Voices panel:
If my hope is limited to whether I believe the bishops and their inner circle will work to help victims heal and truly right the ship to prevent further harm to others - that would be a dead flame. Just this week I spoke with folks from two dioceses who really don't see this as a need or issue. Though they do scratch their heads and wonder why their evangelization efforts aren't working and people are still leaving the Church. As I sat to write this, I realized my hope is in the Lord who continues tirelessly to care for me behind the scenes. I still wish he could get me to thriving instead of gimping along. But I know better than to pray for patience. He'd only make me practice it. Survival mode sucks.
In 2019, I gave up hope. I wasn't planning to, but -- there was no denying it. In that moment, I realized that hope betrayed me. Or, more to the point, I allowed hope to betray me. For several weeks, I felt cast adrift… and it was rough. I found my grounding again when I replaced “hope” with “openness” – and began to detach from the specific outcome I wanted. More recently, I rediscovered some words about finding hope in different areas by changing what we hope for:
“I started to hope that I could heal; I started to hope that I could create a different life than I expected but a good one none the less; I started to hope that I could find joy and happiness again; I started to hope that I could live an exciting and enthusiastic life even though ____ ; I started to hope for new and rewarding friendships; I started to hope that a future without what I had expected can still be good.”Hope keeps us going when things seem overwhelming because of obstacles that stand in our way. For instance, having hope for better days or that there is a chance of achieving a goal helps us to persevere. However, there is a type of hope that I believe is detrimental and can keep us stuck in adverse or toxic situations clinging to crumbs of hope, dismissing red flags that are pushed aside as we cling to hope that "this time" will be different. I call that false hope. Hoping for someone who is abusive to turn about face and be healthier without hard work to change behavior is futile. Therefore, to be life enhancing, hope needs to be rooted in actual possibility. If I hope to pass an exam and do not study for it, then that is rooted in fantasy. If I hope that I will do better by steadily working on applying what I am learning, then hope keeps me motivated to keep on the path to achieve my goal. If I hope for a better world, I can change my perspective and attitude and look to those who are making a sincere effort to effect positive changes. Hope based on reality and possibility inspire us to keep going. Clinging to false hope based on fantasy can keep us stuck.
Hope can be a tough word for me. I don't think of it as optimism or the expectation that things will get better -- I don't really identify with those things. Instead, hope for me is something grittier. Maybe I'd define it as "the ability to keep trying"? I find hope (in that sense) from the work that I do in theology and the people who support me. Finding people in academia - as well as (to my surprise) priests and Sisters - who respect my perspectives on theological issues and care what I have to say has been helpful for my healing.
To be honest, when I saw the theme for this month was hope, I was not excited. Which maybe revealed the extent of bitterness that has taken root in my heart. A bitterness that has left no room for hope. As I reflected on this, a thought kept coming to mind: “but I did everything right (in my fight for justice and to keep others safe from my abuser).” I did all of the incredibly difficult and painful things the Lord asked me to do - I reported, spoke at the review board, met with the bishop, went public with my story, had difficult and honest conversations. I prayed, and fought, and hoped. But everything failed. I failed. And I’m left feeling alone and cast out from the Church, and my abuser is still serving at a parish. Somewhere along the way, I've lost the conviction that regardless of the situation, I'm in God’s hands. And He is good, so I can trust that every one else is in His hands too. Remembering that seemed to plant a seed of hope again.
Thank you to each person who contributed their thoughts this month. I look forward to bringing you more reflections in February.
Thank you,
Sara