It was a diversity lecture taking place during training week for the house committees of St. Thomas University. The lecturer had us stand up, and take part in an activity where we were to take a step forward if the statement applied to us, and to take a step back if it didn’t.
The first questions were simple, but as it moved on they became more difficult. Many of the questions were ones I had to re-evaluate myself on, but the one that was most difficult to answer was, “I believe in God.”
After struggling to figure out what I really did believe in, I took a step back.
When I went back to take my seat, the look on my friend’s face made me realize how much I hid my mindset—not just from others, but from myself. I had taken on unfamiliar philosophies simply to rebel against my parents. Now, I knew they were true for me. I wasn’t daddy’s little girl anymore.
***
My parents have always been the straight-laced, Christian, military types. When I was born, Dad was stationed at Canadian Forces Base, Lahr, Germany. Before the age of five, I had bounced around from base to base, ending up in a small town in the middle of nowhere on Prince Edward Island.
They say the first five years of your life define who you are for the rest of your life. Well, my first five years were a strict routine of waking up at 7 a.m., eating supper at 5 p.m., and going to bed at 8 p.m.
I had near-constant attention from my parents, and I believed they knew best. It wasn’t until about Grade 7 when they realized that my brother was a much better child than me, that I had decided to change.
I was still going to church at that time, but I began to question what they were teaching me.
I became obsessed with religion, looking up passages in the Bible and corresponding historical records of the occurrence.
By Grade 10, I was telling myself I didn’t believe in God, though I was unsure. Still, God, who played such a large part in my family’s life, simply wasn’t that important to me even when I did believe in Him.
I was questioning other values I held as well, but the question of religion became an obsession. It wasn’t just Christianity that I was researching in my spare time, but other religions as well. I don’t know why the subject took such a hold on me, but it caused me to sign-up for a religious studies course in my first year of university.
I grew into myself in that first year. I was more at ease with the people around me, I learned to smile more quickly than I frowned and I spoke my mind more easily than before. I told myself I had finally grown up, but I never truly believed it. I see that now, but I couldn’t before.
When I got home that summer, the first one after university, I could barely handle it. After eight months in Fredericton making my own decisions and living with my friends only a minute’s walk away, the three months at home were torture.
My family lives in the middle of nowhere, and I only really kept in contact with two or three people from high school.
My home was now in Fredericton.
That wasn’t the worst part though. What was, was having to go to church every single Sunday. I hadn’t gone to church once in university, and hearing my minister’s preaching frustrated me.
It was at this time that I decided I didn’t believe in God. I couldn’t. But even then it was difficult to accept.
Being honest about what I believed was probably the best thing I’ve done for myself. I’m not my parents, and that’s why I went to STU.
My parents don’t know about my revelation, but I think they’ve guessed. It’s not necessary to tell them just yet, though. Let them continue thinking I’m daddy’s little girl; it doesn’t bother me and it makes them happy. They aren’t pushing me to go to church, and they rarely take a great interest in my life, anyway. As long as my friends know, and I don’t have to hide around them, then I’m happy.
And truly, I am happy.
