So I have been sitting here thinking a lot about my faith and the millions of labels we have now to describe what we follow and believe. There are lots of religions and spiritual paths one could take to find meaning and purpose in the life we live. I am what you call a cradle Christian Catholic , I was born into a deeply religious family that goes back generations in Catholicism.

My mom tells me stories about her grandmother, a deeply religious woman who said all her prayers in Latin, because when she was growing up in El Salvador that was how the religion was practiced. My grandmother grew up attending Latin Masses, back when the priest still celebrated the service facing the altar.

My experience with religion has been one of ups and downs and of deep introspection about what faith means to me. In many ways, I am truly grateful for my grandmother moving in with us when I was 8 or 9, because she really helped create a solid foundation of faith in my youth.

I think when my mom was growing up within the context of such a religious family, with trauma and hurt, there was a break in her life when she stopped practicing the faith. Understandable and normal. I think she, like me, was also on a journey of highs and lows, searching for meaning from an outlet that maybe didn’t feel as oppressive as the one she began with. There was a lot of judgment toward my mom in her younger years—for being a teen parent, for getting married through the Church and then divorcing. Instead of embracing her in her falls from grace, those who practiced the religion pushed her to a place of feeling not good enough or worthy of God’s love. So even though I was baptized as a baby, we were the typical light-practicing Catholics who only went to church on special occasions.

Until, I remember it clearly, I was in the first grade and I asked my mom, “Mom, who is God, and am I baptized?” My mom always tells this story like I was the kid from The Shining, apparently I creeped her out. At the time, she had wandered into different spiritual practices that, looking back, came from her desire to seek meaning. She says my question really freaked her out because I asked so casually. But really, I have always been who I am: a very curious girl.

I had a best friend named Jackie in my first-grade class at Brightwood Elementary. She wore a veil every single day to school, the veil Pentecostal Christians wear. Again, my curiosity kicked in and I asked my friend, “Jackie, why do you wear that white thing in your hair?” She proceeded to tell me about God and about her baptism. I remember being so fascinated by our first-grade-level conversation. I was so curious that as soon as I saw my mom that day, I asked her, “Mom, am I baptized, and who is my godmother?”

Of course, I didn’t think my question was a big deal, but apparently I moved my mom so much that within a few months we were enrolled in Sunday school, a new responsibility and task I didn’t see coming. My mom worked on Sundays, so she called my aunt (her cousin), who she knew had kids our age and went to church, and asked if she could take her three little ones to church and Sunday school.

That was the beginning of my spiritual journey: an innocent friendship, a curious girl, and a mom who says she felt God telling her, “You have to teach these kids something about me.” My mom says after that she knew she needed to bring my grandmother over from El Salvador to help her with us. When my grandmother came, the light classes and a new way of living began. My grandmother was an active member of our local church. By 9 years old, I was at The Stations of the Cross with her. That night, the priest at the time, Father Mauricio, looked at me, then at my grandma, and asked, “Do you think the little one could help with the cross?” My grandmother gave him a look that said, “Well, yes, she can.” By the end of that night, the priest asked my grandmother, “I’m new to the parish and need some help during Mass. Do you think your granddaughter could help as an altar server?” Again, my grandmother gave me that look, yes, yes she can.

For the next 10 years I would be an altar server for St. Gabriel’s Catholic Church. I was the altar server during those years, training all the kids who came in and out of serving, yet always remaining myself. Every weekly Mass or service I had to attend ,because I was responsible. I remember when I was 13, in middle school. The girls I had started altar serving with began liking boys and being “cool.” One day they told me, “We don’t want to be altar servers anymore, we’re both quitting.” I was sad and thought maybe I didn’t need to do it anymore either. I told my grandmas, “Mami Silvia, I don’t think I want to be an altar server anymore.” She asked why. I said, “Because Janci and Jennifer won’t be either.” She thought for a moment and said, “Well, it’s your mom’s choice. You’ll have to tell her.”

I remember thinking if I stopped, my mom would be mad at me. So on my way to school one day, I brought it up to her. She basically said, “You can do whatever you want… but she said in two that sounded more like: you’re going to keep doing it, OR ELSE.” (Haha.) So I stayed. I was an altar server until I was 18. The last service I did was the weekend before I left for college. The priest—who wasn’t the same one I started with but had still watched me grow up—led a beautiful service. The parish gave me a wooden cross that I still keep on my altar, as a gift for all those years. It left me with such fond memories of my childhood faith—something I’ll always be grateful for.

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I share this because even though I had a lovely, well-rounded experience of faith growing up thanks to my grandmother and my mom, who despite her struggles was always encouraging. I also witnessed the flaws of faith and community. I saw judgment in the way others responded to mistakes. I saw how hard my mom was on herself, striving for perfection. I saw self-hatred in the women of my family for wanting to live purely, but falling into shame at the slightest “sin.” I felt pedestalized as the “good girl” the example, the perfect daughter. And while I was very agreeable, I also felt trapped by the image of perfection everyone wanted me to uphold.

It took college to break me out of that. I learned that faith isn’t just about rules, but about embracing imperfection. Suppressing my thoughts and feelings had left me depressed and anxious, to the point where I questioned what I even believed. My healing journey led me through new ways of thinking and eventually back to my Christian faith but this time with freedom and free will.

At 25, I wrote a letter to God asking Him to teach me how to love myself. I felt deep shame for simply existing, for having desires, thoughts, and curiosity. But God took me on a path of healing. I had to step away from the version of faith I grew up in to see it again with new eyes.

Those feelings brought me great shame and depressive thoughts that made me not want to exist anymore, and God took me on a path of great healing. In some way, I think I needed to get away from the version of faith I had known to see it with new eyes and new perspective. I have found my Christian faith again, not by what others have told me to be, but through my own critical thinking and my intimate alone time with God.

I have allowed Him to guide me, even when it’s been hard to understand the rock bottoms, the shedding, and the purifying of my thoughts and character. I think now I also see the Christian Catholic faith in a whole new light. I really think it’s a church that can take you in many directions as well. Learning about Christ and the history of Christianity is beautiful and the sacraments and all the things that bring you closer to God.

I see the Catholic Church as this big world now. Yes, there are people who take it in one direction with super-conservative, rule-abiding ways of thinking, but who lack spirituality. Or you can take the teachings and find the spirituality in them, and the internal growth you can go through when you quiet the noise of the people around you. There are a lot of Catholics who annoy the hell out of me with their obsession with rules, but when I quiet their voices and focus on my relationship with Christ, and on the things the Church has to offer me, I find all of the gold that fills my cup in a way it’s never been filled before.

I don’t think I’m holier-than-thou, or a better Christian, or guaranteed to go to heaven because I follow all of these rules. There are a lot of people who make you want to run for the hills when you hear and see their interpretation of the faith. But just remember—that is their experience. It does not have to be yours.

Mine is personal to me, and one thing has not changed since I was a little girl: more than anything, I just want to be good. I want to be a good person. Only now, I don’t want to be good in the eyes of people, but in the eyes of God. I don’t want to be perfect—I want to love my flaws and know that I am always en route. That I will fall and make mistakes and crash out, but my deepest desire is to be good. Not perfect.

I don’t have to crucify my spirit for making mistakes. I am not better or less than anyone because God loves me. And I don’t have to follow humans blindly to tell me I matter. We are all deeply flawed; none of us are easy to deal with. But in the acceptance of your flawedness, you are able to hold space for others. God has guided me this entire time to find Him, and to lean on Him throughout this insane ride called life. Now, I don’t know if I’m worthy of heaven or where I will go one day. But I ask God every day: help me be good. And help me inspire others to be good too, not perfect, not rule-abiding robots with no spirit in it, but good.

To inspire people to find their own path. Not to follow fakers, and not even me. Please do not put me on a pedestal. If you see who I really am, you’ll see that I am as flawed as you. Just today I crashed out, and you know what? I got up and said, I’m going to try again. I’m going to be accountable. And I do it over and over. That is what it’s about: finding your own relationship with Jesus Christ Himself. Asking Him, What do you want for my life?

Be careful of the fakers in this world, the ones who only speak division, hate, and cruelty. God calls us to love our neighbors: brown, black, yellow, white, and green—we are all His children. But He also calls you to be strong and decisive, not easily led astray by crowds and feelings.

So anyway, I share this story as a way to share my journey of spirituality. I hope you find yours, and it never has to be like mine. I just hope it’s always led by love, and by the desire to be good in the eyes of the One above—and not in the eyes of the ones here on earth.

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