Turning the pages of my old photo album one day I was astonished to see the change in me from a toddler to a young school child. I was open to life as a toddler, my body was open, my face was open and joyful; there was a sense of anticipation, forward movement and readiness to embrace life. I was very present. It was a different story when I turned the page to the next set of photographs. |
Over the page and just a few years later after I started school, that beautiful young girl was completely shut down, withdrawn and lacking confidence. Her body was folded in, her head down and slightly turned to one side while looking out to the camera, and her legs crossed under her, yet somehow still standing in this contorted contraction. Dressed in a snowflake outfit for the school play, she was clearly very uncomfortable. Could she have contracted any further into herself? I was shocked to see this.
What had happened? Well very simply, she had started school, but not just any school. She was now in the Catholic education system, schooled in religious doctrine along with reading, writing and arithmetic.
I remember that first day when I was shown to my classroom and the immediate dread and disbelief that I felt. ‘Surely that couldn’t be my classroom; it looks like a prison’, I thought to myself. It was puzzling to say the least. Now, as a six-year-old you will realise I had no experience of prison, so where did that thought come from? It was as if something remembered; something I recognised.
The convent school I attended had once been an old house on a large block of sloping land with a modern purpose-built wing alongside it. My classroom was under the old house. The external face of the classroom was a solid heavy looking stone wall, typical of the period, with windows only on the one side that looked out to the daylight. I have only a vague memory of what it was like on the inside, and there may well have been another stone wall on the inside as well. What I do remember is that it was dark, cold and uninviting, and I didn’t want to be in there. Thus was my induction to school and the start of my contraction, loss of joy, and fear and mistrust of life.
Later photos, especially as a teenager, show me having found my place, so to speak, in my school uniform with badges on my blazer representing various religious groups that we were urged to join, such as the ‘children of Mary’, standing in front of a grotto with a statue of Mary in the background. I loved Mary, and still do, but I’m certain she wasn’t the woman portrayed to us in her immaculate blue and white garments with hands in a prayer position.
Somehow, I had come through the Catholic education system. My high school years at a different school under the auspices of a different order of nuns were certainly less harsh, but nevertheless, the system had left its mark on me.
Contracted? Yes. Lacking confidence? Yes. Afraid of life? Yes, and if not outright afraid, certainly cautious and unsure. Ready for adventure and to embrace life? No, definitely not.
Over the past few months, I have been writing about my life and what happened in my earlier years, and what predominated was the absolute corruption, abuse and imposition of the Catholic church and its teachings. We were taught from a young age that we were sinners; yes, born sinners. Can you believe it? That beautiful young girl from my early childhood photos was a sinner?
The abuse and corruption of the teachings of the Catholic church are, in a word, evil.
The beauty of a young soul ready to be in life and bring light to the world, was completely crushed and replaced with contraction, guilt and shame.
There was no embracing of life at the end of my school years, just a fear and uncertainty about stepping out into ‘the big bad world’.
With that as my foundation, every step into the world became an exercise in effort, with many a disappointment, and the struggle of who and what I was and who and what I was ‘meant to be’ in this world. What was my purpose? There was a deep sense within that our purpose is not here, in the reality of this world, and yet I put a lot of store on improving things, including in later years, trying to improve myself. Needless to say, none of it worked! It was unfulfilling to say the least. I also put a lot of emphasis on following other people who seemed to know their way around in this senseless world; but I was no more successful at this either and yearned for a more truthful way.
It was such a blessing to come to Universal Medicine and hear Serge Benhayon talk. I was close to turning sixty years of age and it had been a long journey lost in the proverbial wilderness. I had come to believe that who I thought I was, was in fact who I was. This foundational untruth was turned on its head and it was such a relief to let go of that falsity.
The contracted soul I thought I was and identified with was a lie.
It has been an amazing journey to come back to truth. It hasn’t been easy; there has been a lot to discard and a lot to resurrect and reimprint. Looking at the photo of this gorgeous young child opened my eyes to what I had been and where I had started, before the crushing imposition of Catholicism and its legacy. Reconnecting to what that young child was has brought me great joy, knowing this is the truth of who and what I am. I had been completely hoodwinked into identifying with the contracted, crushed person I had become, locked in the misery of who I mistakenly thought I was.
The truth of me is in my essence, shining through as it did when this photo was taken over seventy years ago.
Judy F., Australia
If you enjoyed this article you may also like to read:
Growing up in a Catholic Family – Where Fear and Control were the Order of the Day
What had happened? Well very simply, she had started school, but not just any school. She was now in the Catholic education system, schooled in religious doctrine along with reading, writing and arithmetic.
I remember that first day when I was shown to my classroom and the immediate dread and disbelief that I felt. ‘Surely that couldn’t be my classroom; it looks like a prison’, I thought to myself. It was puzzling to say the least. Now, as a six-year-old you will realise I had no experience of prison, so where did that thought come from? It was as if something remembered; something I recognised.
The convent school I attended had once been an old house on a large block of sloping land with a modern purpose-built wing alongside it. My classroom was under the old house. The external face of the classroom was a solid heavy looking stone wall, typical of the period, with windows only on the one side that looked out to the daylight. I have only a vague memory of what it was like on the inside, and there may well have been another stone wall on the inside as well. What I do remember is that it was dark, cold and uninviting, and I didn’t want to be in there. Thus was my induction to school and the start of my contraction, loss of joy, and fear and mistrust of life.
Later photos, especially as a teenager, show me having found my place, so to speak, in my school uniform with badges on my blazer representing various religious groups that we were urged to join, such as the ‘children of Mary’, standing in front of a grotto with a statue of Mary in the background. I loved Mary, and still do, but I’m certain she wasn’t the woman portrayed to us in her immaculate blue and white garments with hands in a prayer position.
Somehow, I had come through the Catholic education system. My high school years at a different school under the auspices of a different order of nuns were certainly less harsh, but nevertheless, the system had left its mark on me.
Contracted? Yes. Lacking confidence? Yes. Afraid of life? Yes, and if not outright afraid, certainly cautious and unsure. Ready for adventure and to embrace life? No, definitely not.
Over the past few months, I have been writing about my life and what happened in my earlier years, and what predominated was the absolute corruption, abuse and imposition of the Catholic church and its teachings. We were taught from a young age that we were sinners; yes, born sinners. Can you believe it? That beautiful young girl from my early childhood photos was a sinner?
The abuse and corruption of the teachings of the Catholic church are, in a word, evil.
The beauty of a young soul ready to be in life and bring light to the world, was completely crushed and replaced with contraction, guilt and shame.
There was no embracing of life at the end of my school years, just a fear and uncertainty about stepping out into ‘the big bad world’.
With that as my foundation, every step into the world became an exercise in effort, with many a disappointment, and the struggle of who and what I was and who and what I was ‘meant to be’ in this world. What was my purpose? There was a deep sense within that our purpose is not here, in the reality of this world, and yet I put a lot of store on improving things, including in later years, trying to improve myself. Needless to say, none of it worked! It was unfulfilling to say the least. I also put a lot of emphasis on following other people who seemed to know their way around in this senseless world; but I was no more successful at this either and yearned for a more truthful way.
It was such a blessing to come to Universal Medicine and hear Serge Benhayon talk. I was close to turning sixty years of age and it had been a long journey lost in the proverbial wilderness. I had come to believe that who I thought I was, was in fact who I was. This foundational untruth was turned on its head and it was such a relief to let go of that falsity.
The contracted soul I thought I was and identified with was a lie.
It has been an amazing journey to come back to truth. It hasn’t been easy; there has been a lot to discard and a lot to resurrect and reimprint. Looking at the photo of this gorgeous young child opened my eyes to what I had been and where I had started, before the crushing imposition of Catholicism and its legacy. Reconnecting to what that young child was has brought me great joy, knowing this is the truth of who and what I am. I had been completely hoodwinked into identifying with the contracted, crushed person I had become, locked in the misery of who I mistakenly thought I was.
The truth of me is in my essence, shining through as it did when this photo was taken over seventy years ago.
Judy F., Australia
If you enjoyed this article you may also like to read:
Growing up in a Catholic Family – Where Fear and Control were the Order of the Day