I'm Not Religious, But I Send My Daughter to Catholic School
We didn't observe Lent until I sent my daughter to Catholic school four years ago. In fact, we don't belong to a church or even practice a particular faith.
When people ask me where Lexi attends first grade, I feel a brief moment of anxiety before naming her Catholic private school.
As a single parent, I try to avoid the open-ended questions about what an expense it must be or why I thought private school was "better" than public school.
In this case, however, it wasn't about my daughter having the best of the best. The curriculum was intriguing, but it wasn't the education or the Catholicism that swayed my decision. I sent her for the stability. I sent her so she could have a relationship with God.
At the time, I wasn't confident I could provide that stability on my own and I definitely could not teach her about faith when I was still learning about faith myself. I thought private school would hide the insecurities I had about still piecing my life together at 30.
Since she started attending pre-school there at age 3, the two of us have moved several times, never within the same Maine town. Knowing that the probability of us changing leases was high, I chose to keep her in the same school with the same familiar faces. While she has seen the walls of her room and home change, there was a sense of security that came with the structure of each day: pledging to our flag each morning and starting every day in the cafeteria, praying together (two things public school is unable to offer).
Turns out, private school both complicated and eased my fear of feeling unsettled. Although I knew the school was a constant for her, I also had society's definition of stability staring me in the face each day: married families with a mom and a dad, the ones who'd put in 10-20 years at their "career" jobs, the ones with permanent residence, and the devoted church-goers.
I felt pressured to be like "them."
Growing up, I only knew one home. But when given the opportunity to choose a high school, I elected to leave behind all the familiar faces and attend an institution with a greater student population than my no-stop-light town. This was just the beginning of my going against the norm. I would tell people: "I'm following my gut."
"Gut" was the safe word in my household as a kid; a sort of euphemism for God. The only person who went to church in my family was my grandmother (who still attends regularly at 89.) I was in elementary school when I first went with her. I cried because I didn't know the "songs" and we left in the middle of the service. Although my beliefs did not come from a church, I knew I'd always believed in a divine being.
After choosing that "different" high school, I made other choices that involved a lot of moving around. I went to three different colleges and spent the majority of my 20s working in hospitality from Maine to Saipan to Hawaii. I was following my gut.
Looking back, I've always found comfort in the unknown, not realizing until recently that this is what it means to have faith.
After Lexi started Catholic school and showed her genuine devotion to God, I started to read books on my own about various religions and spiritual practices. Now I meditate in the morning and Lexi and I pray at night. We love Jesus and Buddha.
When I became a divorced parent during Lexi's infancy, I thought I had to conform to tradition. I got a job in sales management for a hotel chain. I even downloaded a real estate app on my phone and told myself there has got to be a Maine town I would kind of be OK with settling down in.
When I took the self-imposed pressure off myself to be like other parents, life became less complicated. My daughter and I moved in to a parent-in-law's apartment, instead of struggling to pay rent each month. I quit my 40-hour work week and dedicated Lexi's school hours to my freelance work. Within a few weeks of making these changes, my career skyrocketed. Certainly there are aspects of life that aren't ideal yet, but it feels more authentic.
Each winter when Lexi's school sends home a re-registration form, I tuck it away and wonder if this is the last year. Regardless of how long Lexi continues to put on her uniform, Catholic school has laid a foundation for the years to come, not only for her, but for the both of us. As Lexi continues to show signs of having a taste for adventure like I do, I find comfort in the fact that no matter where we live, no matter which path she pursues, she will have someone or something besides me to comfort her, to love her and to guide her.
