I started going to church in 2018 shortly after quitting a job I was never wanted in the first place, was running low on savings, and carrying a house mortgage I never wanted in the first place. If I can characterize it, it was some of the darkest days of my life as my mental and emotional health were not in a good place.

My mental and emotional health took a toll, not because I was unemployed but because my mom would come home every night and berate me about this and that, about how I was useless at not getting a new job fast enough, and how I’m at home all day doing nothing.

The first day I attended church was Easter. It took a lot of courage for me to actually leave the house and walk 15 minutes to the baptist church. I’ve attended a baptist church before, when I was living in Texas with my step-father but then we switched to a Methodist church because he wanted to hang out with his cousin. So going to church wasn’t something new to me, it’s the “going solo” part that’s new.

After that first service, I began to participate in more and more of the activities at church. I discovered a group of people who understood what I was going through and were willing to pray with me and for me that relief would come soon. Almost two months later, I landed my current job and a few months later, I joined a class to prepare for my baptism. By the end of that summer, I was baptized into a full-fledged Christian.

That was also the first time my mom attended church with me and then all of a sudden, instead of “how are you” as everyone walked around at the start of church service greeting each other, it was “how’s your mom?” I thought it was a one-time thing but that question came up more and more. Why does my mom suddenly the one who matters? Suddenly, I felt slightly offended but still, I politely responded every time, “she’s fine.”

Meanwhile, at work, I told my co-workers about my situation with my mom at home. They were shocked by I’ve been treated, “She’s abusing you, you know.” One said. “You need to learn to stand up for yourself.”

Maybe it was right then and there I stopped being a robot and started having thoughts and emotions again? Maybe it was right then and there I started feeling the anger of being insulted and emotionally abused for much of my life. Perhaps, it was then I started being who I am today, like when Pinocchio became a real boy.

My mom did not and still does not like this version of who I am. Before I stopped going to church in early 2020, when my mom’s up for tossing a few of those emotional daggers in my direction, she would accuse the church of changing my behavior, of making me more “rebellious.” “I will go ask your pastor of how you are at church,” she said once, as if my pastor would understand me as a person since our conversations have been far and few in between.

She thinks I’m rude to her because I was merely expressing my opposing thoughts of things I don’t want to do. She seems to think that going to church changed me in a bad way, that the church made me into this person who refuses to help people (i.e. her), but the truth is, she doesn’t want me to help her, she wants me to do it for her.

For example, a few weeks ago, when I was in the garage up-potting my seedlings, she came in asking for the electric drill. I told her the drill is on the shelf by my car. “Where?” she repeated, sounding angry, as if telling her where it was wasn’t the same thing of getting it for her. My hands are full of wet soil, I wasn’t about to drop what I’m doing to get the drill on the other side of the garage.

…and to be honest, I don’t think she needs help, I think she along with her siblings are just being lazy of not wanting to figure things out themselves because they have a gigantic sucker (i.e. me) to rely on.