A Late Twenty-Something

Yesterday I was feeling daunted by the weight of what it's like to be in your late twenties. To put it succinctly, it's quite lonely.

Now is that time when friends are getting married, having kids, constantly doing something... And I'm constantly doing things. Suddenly the social access of your early twenties and emerging adulthood dries up. There are days, weeks, or even months between meaningful time spent. Worst of all, sometimes when you really feel like you need someone, there's nowhere clear to turn.

Baby Alicia didn't expect this. The social butterfly who romped around Northeast Minneapolis for the better half of this decade didn't know the gears would shift so dramatically. The dreaded activity of penciling or being penciled in would become the norm, particularly booking out weeks in advance and struggling to find a common free day. As for the here and now, as a single late-twenty- or thirty-something, it can feel very lonely.

Married friends fill their needs through their partners, and parent friends have so much more to do than me I can't begin to comprehend how anyone manages, let alone has energy for a social life! Another single friend and I were recently talking about the strange distancing one can feel from their family at this stage of life, as well. We agreed that growing into your own person can feel at odds with your family of origin.

All of this isn't a new thought or idea, in fact I've probably written about it before, however, each time I encounter a small bit of grief over this stage of life, I wonder if it's normal. Is this how things have always been for all people in this stage of life, – mostly exhausting? Sure, some of my own personal experience has to do with leaving the Church and the sense of security provided by faith.

That only further reminds me that sometimes I'm prone to longing for answers I will never get. I want to turn things around and around until I understand to a satisfactory level. The last few years of growing up even more, they're hard for me to understand.

I started to feel a sense of independence throughout my twenties; being established in myself. I didn't know how isolating it would feel down the road, that the tough times would be mine to deal with alone.

Maybe it will be different like I hear it is when I cross that threshold into my thirties. The storms will have weathered me, but my rootedness will have withstood the test. Maybe.

There's a Word For This

I didn't know there was a word for it, and even when I found it I didn't know it's what I was doing: deconstructing. Sounds so intentional. So much like taking a wrecking ball to things – wait, no, that's demolition. To deconstruct something is to pull it apart by its pieces until it isn't anymore. That about sums up what I've been doing.

Really, it started as a slow process, more like a loose thread that began a true unraveling. It's not yet finished, either, so it's a little terrifying to name, but not unlike untangling a knotted mess, there is relief the further I go.

It all began when I couldn't hear God anymore. Having grown ever more steeped in the belief that I could not be abandoned, well, that didn't seem to help all that much when I felt the very most alone. When darkness and sadness took up residency in my life, nothing had better answers or a louder voice. I tried, I asked and I sought, though wearily. I persistently showed up on Sunday mornings.

For so long it was so painful and uncomfortable, until I finally allowed myself the space to stop enduring the pain I had been experiencing while still trying to participate. I got up, bussed my coffee cup, put on my sunglasses and coat, and walked to my car – doing my best to avoid eye contact. Far before that day when I walked out of those doors the last time, people didn't seem to understand my struggle and pain, so why would they that day? I didn't want to be stopped. Something had finally begun in me, it was the pieces coming apart.

The next few months there was a dull ache. I wondered if I was betraying everyone I knew, because, well, everyone I know is a Christian and I wasn't sure I wanted to be one anymore. Even saying that to myself was hard, I don't think I uttered it aloud for months. At first it was because I wasn't sure I wanted to walk away, though gradually it became because I had walked away and desperately didn't want to be cornered with looks of concern and offers of prayer that didn't seem to change anything. I felt more well away from church, away from constant attempts to gloss over the pain and errs of the human experience, than I did slouched in a seat every week trying to find peace again. I wanted my choice to be accepted, not challenged and questioned, or worse dismissed.

Some of the time that followed was painful, because I'd wrapped my identity up tightly in all things Christianity and my church, that without it I felt hollow and very alone. At the same time, I knew I was nowhere near ready or interested to go back. Not just that church, any church. I tried once and while it was more accessible and realistic, I still felt uncomfortable. Since I started to let myself question, I wasn't sure what to say I believed anymore which suddenly made the world feel unsteady, too.

Over time it became a new normal and the sense of dread over whether I was missing something started to dissipate. Instead, I found so many facets of the Christian life I lived were with flaw that I couldn't fathom how I'd ever overlooked. It also became harder to reconcile the life I've lived so far, with where I am now and where I'm headed.

Writing this is a risk; a way to say aloud what I've been quietly turning over and over in my mind for over a year now. And it's not even finished – pulling apart several decades worth of layers and intricacies takes time. While some have fallen away like dust, others take prying and elbow grease and the right leverage.

The odd thing is, although it's been a challenging time and the things that brought me to deconstruct changed me, I am still me. Sure, I'm a little different me without church and without a formal life agenda, but I hope that I can be seen and respected for where I am. I hope I can be valued at more than a "lost soul" or a wandering sheep. The peace of mind I have is this: If indeed, God can influence me, surely he can do so without using a human's voice. So, it is to be seen.

Afterword: Although I share this publicly, I ask that you please refrain from digging or sending words laden with overt tone or undertone. I shared publicly in hopes of helping highlight that religion can be harmful and painful, even for those who were formerly a tight-knit part of it. There's no easy way to drop losing faith into conversation, so I wrote a blog instead.