A Priest Called Me Promiscuous and I Cried Tears of Joy

How confession was key to my mental health

It wasn’t the first time I had come to talk to this priest. We’d met privately a couple times before. I was going on my fifth consecutive year of pain, fear, and misery. There was no end in sight.

I clung to my torso with my arms crossed as if giving myself a much-needed hug. My ribs stuck out. I was malnourished — both nutritionally and spiritually.

Depression had a way of dulling hunger pains and twisting my stomach into a knot of hopelessness and grief. I wasn’t suicidal, but if something “happened” to me, I wouldn’t have cared. Maybe I tempted fate. Back then, I took a lot of unnecessary chances.

I still can’t write about how I found myself in this state of utter despair. It’s a tender spot on my heart I don’t care to expose to the general public.

My priest was in his early eighties, but his mind was sharp. He could give a rousing sermon that held your attention and made you contemplate it for the rest of the week. The best part was, he wasn’t out of touch with today’s problems.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, but I wasn’t sobbing.

“You can’t shock me,” he said, with a grandfatherly kindness in his eye. “I counsel women transitioning from prison to the outside. I’ve heard it all.”

I almost laughed. I wasn’t afraid of shocking him with anything scandalous. I just didn’t know what to say. There was too much to express and I wasn’t sure I was up to it.

It had been silly for me to come here. What could he do to help me? Lend a sympathetic ear? I had plenty of friends and family for that. Advice? I didn’t want to hear it. There was no easy solution to my problem. It was too complex. It would have been inappropriate and grandiose for anyone to say with any conviction what I needed to do.

“I wish I could take communion,” I blurted. “And I need to go to confession.”

Where had that come from? That’s not why I’m here!

“Why can’t you?”

I hung my head. “Because I got married outside of the Church and now I’m divorced.”

He leaned forward. “Were you ever married in the Church?”

“No,” I said, staring at my untied shoe, too worn out to bend over and tie it.

“Well, that’s great news!” he said, chipper as a house finch.

My head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

Then, he explained to me marriages outside the Catholic church aren’t recognized by the Church.

I nodded. I already knew this. My mother hadn’t exactly been gung-ho about my backyard wedding.

“Sooo,” he said, adding a bit of theatre. “You’re promiscuous! You were living in sin, like any other Catholic who has sex before marriage.”

I tried to follow the breadcrumbs.

Before I got married, I received the sacraments.

And I was no virgin. (Sorry, Mom!)

“Does that mean I can go to Communion and Confession again?”

“Yes!” he said, looking triumphant.

I felt dumbstruck.

“How long has it been since your last confession?” he asked.

I did the math and shrugged. “I don’t know. Fifteen years or so? A long time.”

“Do you want me to hear your confession today?”

My eyes bulged and I swallowed hard. “Like, right now?” We were in the rectory, not the confessional.

“Sure.”

I started rattling off a few of my sins, nervous we would be at this for hours. I had a decade and a half to account for and I was no saint.

After a while, he said, “How ‘bout we skip to the top three?”

I love this guy!

When we finished and I said goodbye, it was as if I’d gotten a shot of strength and hope. I phoned my mom first, then my godmother, starting both calls with, “Guess what! The priest said I was promiscuous! How cool is that?”

It sounds funny to say they were as thrilled as I was, but it’s true.

The change inside me was palpable. I had a renewed energy and belief in myself. Confessing my sins and being forgiven didn’t heal the effects of trauma or lift my depression or PTSD. It did, however, make me feel unconditionally loved and gave me the grit to want to keep on living. That, and hundreds of hours of therapy.

You don’t have to be Catholic to get the benefits of confession

I believe there’s truth to the adage, “Confession is good for the soul.” It reduced my stress, anxiety and boosted my general well-being. The good news is, confession isn’t just for Catholics. It doesn’t require a conversion of faith or a priest to get the health benefits of getting something off your chest.

Psychologist James W. Pennebaker explains why confession feels good in his piece Does Confessing Secrets Improve Our Mental Health?

Any type of open and truthful disclosure reduces stress and helps individuals come to terms with their behavior. It is not coincidental that some of the most powerful people or institutions in many cultures encourage people to confess their transgressions. And there is very strong evidence that writing about upsetting experiences or dark secrets can benefit your mental and physical well-being.

Similar to religious confession, expressive writing encourages individuals to explore their deepest thoughts and feelings about upsetting experiences. For such emotional purges to work, people must be completely honest with themselves. Across hundreds of studies, we are now beginning to appreciate just how expressive writing works.

First, simply putting emotional turmoil into words changes how we think about it. Giving concrete form to secret experiences can help categorize them in new ways. For instance, when we translate emotional experiences into words and stories, we start to think about them in a simpler, less menacing context.

How to make your own confession

• Pick a quiet time and take a moral inventory of yourself. Then, confess directly to your higher power.
• Write it down. The act of taking pen to paper and admitting and examining behavior you are remorseful about and want to change can be therapeutic. You can symbolically burn it to help you visualize letting go of the sorrow and pain your bad behavior caused you.
• Apologize directly to those who you have wronged. If apologizing will help the other person, consider summoning up the courage to say you’re sorry. Don’t apologize if doing so will bring up painful memories for the recipient and injure them more.

Takeaway

We’re human, so none of us will ever be perfect. Confessing can be an exhilarating, healing thing you may want to incorporate into your life on a daily, weekly or monthly basis. Try not to use it as a time to beat yourself up. Instead, allow it to renew your energy to move forward in a more mindful way. The benefits may surprise you.

Here’s another one of Tracy’s inspirational essays: