MiTHology (4.0)

Being a Traditional Catholic, or even a practicing Christian at all, and having a diagnosis of avoidant personality disorder: these two things seem pretty mutually exclusive. I could be wrong, but I don’t think there are a lot of people out there who do both. Which is no surprise. In practice, the two seem downright antithetical. It is really hard being both.

Tl;dr: it’s hard, but not impossible, being trad with AVPD; and actually very much worth the struggle. What follows are my little reflections on my first year at a trad parish.

The Feast of Christ the King, 2025: it’s now been one year since I fully switched to regularly attending the TLM instead of the NO. It’s interesting that this anniversary falls on-or-around the Traditional Feast of Christ the King, because it was on this same feast day, albeit in the new calendar, that I was first confirmed Catholic, way back in 2014. One full year as a trad already, wow.

“Just wait and see – after a year, you’ll never be able to imagine going back to the modern church,” I was advised. But actually, it took a lot less time than that! Within just a couple weeks of starting in Tradition – pretty much immediately upon meeting and conversing with some of the priests and community members, all of whom seem truly devout, welcoming, and genuine – I was completely sold.

After a single TLM, I really struggled with being back in the NO. Even though I waffled back and forth for a few months (as you know if you’ve read my little conversion story). I’m not going to engage in the “liturgy war” stuff here, because that’s just not what I do with my little blog, and frankly I’m not smart enough to have that discussion even if I wanted to. It’s simply obvious to me that the faith being taught and practiced at my TLM parish is the true faith, and that I absolutely must keep going there.

But, as someone with AVPD: it is hard! It is extremely hard.

After the first time I attended the TLM, in June of last year, I was sure I would never go there again. It was beautiful and sacred and inspiring and all that, yes – but way too scary. I had no idea what was going on, and did all the things wrong, and felt intensely judged by everyone around me. My social anxiety was through the roof. I craved the safety of my familiar NO. But, when I went back to the NO, I found it more disappointing than ever. The irreverence began to really irritate me. And I felt drawn back to the scary, beautiful TLM parish, difficult as it was. So, long story short, I waffled back and forth for about five more months until I realized that I had to do the brave thing and go where the true faith was, even if it was scary.

I was hoping that it would get less scary in time. I guess in some ways it has: I’m somewhat more familiar, now, with the basics, such as: how to use the missal, what the different parts of the Mass are, how to go to confession and communion, how to greet the Bishop (I messed this up terribly the first few times I met him!), how to request to have a sacramental blessed or to have a Mass offered for someone, what a “spiritual bouquet” is, and things like that. I still am not entirely confident about when are the right times to kneel, stand, sit, and cross oneself during Mass; I typically just follow what everyone else around me is doing. And I still feel like there are all manner of unspoken rules about being there, and being a member of the community – rules which I am constantly violating, but no one is saying anything because they’re being charitable. Which makes me feel like an absolute buffoon, a real obnoxious sore thumb sticking out in such a solemn, serene environment.

Here’s one thing that weighs on me. And I doubt that this is the case in TLM parishes elsewhere, but at my parish, everyone is really, really financially comfortable. Or even just plain rich. My family, meanwhile is not what I’d call “financially comfortable.” Every single person I’ve met at church is substantially richer than me. (And no, I’m not presuming, this information is based on actual conversations I’ve had with people or overheard.)

I feel there is a definite air of elitism. I’ve overheard or been involved in conversations in which people complain about poor neighbors – about people who make less than a certain amount, encroaching on their wealthy neighborhoods. Which is fair, I mean, if you have that kind of money fair and square and you want to use it to live somewhere safe and beautiful and secluded, why not! I can totally understand not wanting to be surrounded by poverty and the risks that come with it! I’d do the same thing, if it were me, no doubt. I don’t think there’s anything un-Christian about wanting security and comfort for your family (as long as you’re not demanding ostentatiousness or excess, which are not the trend at my parish). But, it does make me feel like an outsider here, knowing that I’m the kind of person they look down on and don’t want in their neighborhood. Even though everyone there is always perfectly nice to us, I can’t help feeling like they’re gritting their teeth and doing their best to practice Christian charity whenever they speak to me.

All of which leads me to wonder if I really am morally inferior, for being relatively poor. Sure poverty isn’t always a moral failing – bad things do happen to good people – but, a great deal of the time, it’s the result of laziness and irresponsibility. If I were a good person, like my fellow parishioners, if I’d had my priorities straight and I’d made the right decisions, wouldn’t I, too, be able to afford twenty acres and a bunch of livestock, a private boarding school education and fine, all-natural, “aesthetic” clothing for my kids? I feel like my poorness is just a mark of personal failure.

My past is riddled with financial mistakes. I’ve been stupid and immature and addicted and mentally unwell for most of my adult life, and now I’m living with the consequences. Even though I’m trying to be better, I feel like I still reek very strongly of bad decisions, shallowness, pleasure-seeking, worldliness, uncivilized behavior – all of that. I am intensely aware that everyone at church is intensely aware of it, this odor of baseness and worldliness and irresponsibility; and it’s intensely uncomfortable. Like having spiritual BO that everyone can smell.

Again, though, all of this is coming not from anyone’s actual treatment of me, but out of my own presumptions about them. So it’s entirely possible that no one there actually looks down on me at all. However, I like to put up a bit of a wall of paranoia, just in case. Please don’t let your takeaway from this post be that “traditional Catholics are elitist and judgmental”, because I have no actual evidence that they are. They’re actually really nice. It’s probably just a coincidence that everyone at my parish is rich, and that makes me uncomfortable because I am insecure and have AVPD and am always finding reasons to presume that people hate me.

But, this overpowering sense of being inferior, of being out of place, definitely contributes to a temptation to return to the NO world. At my previous, modern parish, there were parishioners from all walks of life: I’d literally see rich folks with professionally-done hair and fancy handbags, and homeless folks carrying black garbage bags, at the same Masses, and in between, a mixed bag of elderly folks (probably like 75-80% boomers and retirees), a few college kids if it was during the school year, Hispanic folks, Black folks, Filipino folks, you name it; it was a pretty diverse parish. Perhaps this diversity was due to the location, being downtown in the middle of a pretty diverse and affordable city, whereas my new, TLM parish is located rurally, an hour away out in a wealthy county near a very wealthy town, where many people are Landowners.

According to the internet, it apparently is true in America that traditionalist Catholic communities tend to be overwhelmingly white, as opposed to the mainstream Catholic population being more Hispanic/Latino. However, the internet wasn’t able to tell me much about whether trads tend to be richer in general than “normal” Catholics. I’m interested to visit other TLM parishes and see if they’re also full of rich folks. Do any other American trads out there have any anecdotal evidence to share?

– Anyway, all of this diversity stuff being tangential to the thing about being tempted to return to the NO. There, I still experienced social anxiety, of course (I do not miss the Sign of Peace! Even now, at the TLM, every time we near the end of the Canon of the Mass and the priest gets ready to say the Pater Noster, I get a reflexive wave of anxiety and queasiness). But because of the casual environment, it was much less intense there. There, I never worried about being the poorest person in attendance; it was simply never something that crossed my mind, there. And it was much easier to know what to do; the “rules” were much less strict.

Not to mention, they had a nursery where my kids could play and I could listen to the Mass through the speakers while watching them. Now, obviously I know better now, that we shouldn’t just let our kids play during Mass, that they need to be taught to sit quietly and be reverent and respectful. And that we shouldn’t reward their naughty behavior by taking them to the playroom! At the TLM there is no “nursery,” no toys or puzzles or dollhouses, which my younger children really resented at first, for a few months after we changed parishes, before they got used to it. And there shouldn’t be one! Kids should learn to be at Mass! – But, it sure was easier on me, as a mom, that way. The pressure of managing my noisy young kids at TLM/in the cry room is psychologically crushing, sometimes. Being a parent with AVPD is wild because every time I go anywhere with the kids, it feels like everyone is judging every single thing I do or don’t do, and thinking what a bad parent (i.e. a terrible person) I am – and at TLM, where there are certain expectations about correct parenting, this sense is amplified x1000. Trad parents typically demand better behavior from their kids than your average American parent. I end up feeling like I’m too strict by modern standards but too lax by trad standards. I feel like I’m getting it wrong from every angle.

So it’s rough. It’s barely gotten easier. As we speak, I am literally sick with dread about the approaching weekend: a Holy Day of Obligation on Saturday, so two Masses back to back, followed by a social event for All Saint’s Day.

But that’s terrible, isn’t it?! I shouldn’t be sick with dread about attending Mass, which is the pinnacle of my spiritual life as a Catholic, and a privilege which the angels in heaven would love to have! I was listening to a sermon the other day which says that the devil knows our temperaments and will use them to detract from our participation in the Sacraments in whatever way he can – if he can’t keep us away from Mass entirely, he will at least try to diminish and worsen our presence there. Perhaps at risk of blaming on the supernatural a problem which is in fact entirely, boringly natural (spiritual warfare is a very real thing, but I think sometimes people probably get carried away with it; like, no, it’ s not a demon telling you to eat that fourth donut, lol, you just need to walk away and go drink some water; I guess it just makes these little daily things so much more interesting if we can call them “spiritual warfare,” lol!), I feel like this is what’s going on with me. Sometimes it really feels like something is using my AVPD to try and keep me away from the TLM, even though I know that it is where I need to be.

I would love to just fit in and belong there. I’d love to be “one of them.” I remember back in middle and high school, when the AVPD first began to be crippling; in those days, I had no religion, just secularism and a desire to belong; and I believed that the best people, the ones who had it all figured out, were the “alt” kids, the edgy crowd with the black and white stripes, the guitars and drums, band tees, pins, dyed hair, dark humor, all of that. It was the same exact feeling then as now: I wanted to be one of them, and tried so hard to fit in, but never quite did, was always the sore thumb, and it was agonizing. Then, as now, I had this imaginary person in my head who exemplified that group and was constantly reminding me of how horribly I was failing to meet the standard. (Back then, it was a pretty nebulous concept of a person, but these days, I’m more self-aware about it, and now she actually has a name and lore; I decided it might be fun to try and humanize her a bit.)

So perhaps it’s all very immature of me to worry so much about “fitting in” at the parish. I mean, don’t they want to attract people from all walks of life? Don’t they want to save the poor just as much as the rich? Aren’t we, as followers of Christ, supposed to care about the poor and the lost? Don’t they want their reach to extend beyond the predictable rich educated landowners? They’re supposed to want to convert sinners! They ought to be glad that I’m there, right? – ha!, that’s a stretch.

In any case, attending the TLM with AVPD continues to be a struggle, one year in. But, one year in, I am more convinced than ever that going back to the modern Mass is not an option. Church shouldn’t be easy and comfortable, after all. We go to Mass to offer sacrifice. And you don’t grow if you remain comfortable all the time.

And furthermore, it’s awesome to me to finally belong (formally, if not socially) to a church where I can confidently, proudly look at it and say “this is what I believe” – where I feel the immediate reality of the supernatural, where everything the Church teaches is seen to be really real, where I truly trust the priests to guide my eternal soul. Always, at the NO, even before I really knew what Tradition was, I always felt disconnected from the modern style of worship and the modern approach to Catholicism; I had a hard time being moved by it, it felt removed from the heavy eternal truths that religion is supposed to be actually about; and for a long time I failed to grow in the faith. (Which is not to say that the NO doesn’t produce saints; it’s probably just that I’m a particularly weak and stupid and inattentive little person who needs a very strong liturgy and a firm hand, in order to captivate and nourish and discipline me.) So I’m really lucky to live close enough to a TLM parish where I can get these spiritual needs met.

Even if it is a challenge. I wonder if, in another year or two or three, it will be any easier. Probably not.

Don’t let this post dissuade you from visiting the TLM, if you’re reading this and you’re curious about it, or you’re socially anxious and avoidant like I am. The TLM is indeed more difficult, but it’s worth it. As I’ve said before, I no longer have any hope of “getting over” my AVPD, and have accepted that this is just who I am, and no amount of “practice” or “exposure” will make me more socially comfortable; but that’s not to say that it’s not also good to stretch oneself a bit, to occasionally leave the comfort zone in some controlled way, within reasonable limits and for good reason. Because if we did everything the AVPD way, we’d never do anything at all, which would not be very good for our eternal souls. Human life is uncomfortable, that’s just a fact, and I guess we all need to live with that truth in whatever way we’re meant to, if we want to attain heaven, where there will be no more discomfort. But, who knows.

Sometimes it feels like someone with AVPD can’t possibly go to heaven. If I care that much about what other people think, to the point that it even hinders my attendance at Mass, then clearly I’m not of one mind with God, Whose opinion should be the only one that matters to me! How can I possibly go to heaven if I’m too socially anxious to participate in charitable activities like working at the soup kitchen, teaching little kids, and volunteering at a homeless shelter (believe me, I’ve tried all of these in the past, when I was trying so hard to make it in the NO world, and I was simply terrible, useless, fumbling, and awkward at it, which led me to believe that there was no way I could ever even be a real Catholic)?

But of course, I know it’s true that no one actually deserves Heaven. And it’s true that God’s mercy is bigger than all of our weaknesses, and He is so powerful that He can save even a miserable avoidant loser like myself if He wants to. So, I try to just place all my hope in the Blessed Mother, because, as a mom myself I know how it feels to love your kids completely and want to give them everything, in spite of their behavior, and I know that her love for each one of us is kinda like that but infinitely greater even than my love for my children (unfathomable!), and I know that, while God is both just and merciful, she is all mercy.

Even though the TLM world feels scarier and has a reputation for being more judgmental, I actually feel like it’s given me a healthier POV on salvation, and made me more OK with myself overall. Being in tradition has actually helped me accept that I don’t need to be cured of my personality; God made me weird and that, if He wants to, He can save even me – that it is possible for me to be Catholic and have AVPD at the same time.