The Beginning

Page 1, paragraph 1.

“The family is the first community, the basic block of society and the Church. It has been so from the beginning.”

Basically: the family is the cornerstone on which everything else stands.

But what happens if the cornerstone is feeble and frail? What if it crumbles at the slightest pressure? When that’s the case, all pressure is too much — and ruin feels inevitable.

This matters because the family is your first introduction to the world around you. It becomes the lens through which you see life — including how you see God — whether that lens is true or distorted.

And no family is perfect. But some are deeply broken.

So what happens to our spirit, our God-breathed life, when the family wound runs deep? What if the people meant to love and protect us instead chastise us, deny us affection, tell us we are manipulative or not enough? What if the place that should have been our safest haven becomes the very source of our greatest pain?

These aren’t just theoretical questions. These are my personal questions. They’re scribbled in the margins of my copy of Theology of the Body.

God designed us to be in relationship — to reflect the eternal flow of love between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. That love is meant to continue through us, binding us to one another and drawing us closer to Him. He wants His love to live among us, as us — to dwell in us so He may continue to walk this earth through our lives.

But we mess it up, don’t we? Generations of abuse, neglect, and silence widen the divide between ourselves and our true Source of life. Until someone finally says, no more.

That someone is me. Today.

Because silence destroys. Silence feeds grief that becomes bitterness, anger, and shame. And shame — shame is where the enemy gets you. It whispers: You’ve made too many mistakes. You don’t deserve good things. Why else would your family treat you that way? Why else would God put you there?

And slowly, like Adam and Eve, you begin to hide from God in your shame. You fear Him. You’re angry at Him. And then you feel ashamed for that too.

That’s where Theology of the Body finds me: at the end of my rope. Tired of bitterness. Ready to forgive. Ready to surrender.

Here I am, God — waving my white flag. But how do I actually do that? How do I trust You when my earthly examples tell me I’m better off alone?

Here’s how:

Saint Joan, come to my assistance.

Archangel Michael, come to my assistance.

Because I am ready to throw down. I am ready to fight for trust. To relearn — through His grace — that I am worthy of Divine love and protection.

I want this not only for myself, but for my family, and for other women who have silenced their voices for too long.

The first step, I think, is to call it out.

So here I am. And I’ll be back tomorrow.

Until then, remember… I love you.