I found myself living with my aging and increasingly more fragile mother. Dad and she were now separated, and he had ended up spending a lot of his later years street-drinking. With the help of a local politician, I got him into the care of a nursing home with the assistance of an aunt for his final years. Unfortunately, he had developed cancer and died three years later. He died sober, in comfort and with the Church’s sacraments. We were happy again at last. The Lord had definitely returned what the locusts had stolen for those brief few years before he died. I still feel the bitter pain of his loss as I write this and I miss my father very much. 

Meanwhile, my own nightmare went on as I struggled badly after his death. Prescription drugs worked for a while, then I grew immune to them. Hospitals and recovery trips didn’t work, they only made me worse. The Irish psychiatric hospitals were Dickensian. It was a particularly bleak time; a living death. Archbishop Sheen felt that a significant part, not all, of neurosis was down to unconfessed and unrepented mortal sin; I agree, in my humble opinion. 

What was my fundamental problem? Essentially, I had no conviction in God throughout all my years up to that point due to my overall parental experience. Without even being conscious of it, I had seen God the way I saw my parents; often remote, busy doing something else, seemingly indifferent to my very existence, capable of violence (though it was rare), out to get me (like some siblings seemed to be), non-interventionist, quick to anger and most definitely disgusted at my ssa inclinations. I either couldn’t or wouldn’t let go and let God rule my life absolutely. The self was dominant, and the self always wants to be fed on impulse, be it food or sex or whatever. In short, I couldn’t get myself out of the way to let God take the reins, as I had been so used to living in my head as an escape from the emotional pain of past and present. What worked as a child, escape through fantasy, no longer worked as an adult.  

When my mother fell and broke her back, I was suddenly called into action. Then, I had a renewed purpose. With that purpose, and without the years long worry that plagued me about Dad, a large amount of both physical and mental health was restored. Many thought I was a walking miracle; a new man. In truth, I was. The consistent praying of the Rosary and the Memorare played a massive role coupled with new purpose in my overall recovery. However, I still hadn’t properly looked at my ssa or even tried to tackle the continuing slavery to self-impurity.  

Alas, my mother’s health then took a serious turn for the worse and the care of her mostly on my own became even more intense. It became too much and I lapsed back into SSA activity for a week or so before I reached out to Courage in sheer desperation. Within days I was at my first meeting through Zoom in the United States. For the first time in my life, I heard myself say out loud that I experienced SSA. I was forty-one. A definite weight fell off me and the members and Chaplain were great to me. I had dragged, what had felt like to me, a shameful and dark secret out into the light. Suddenly the pull lost a lot of its power. I was no longer alone. No longer white-knuckling it.  

Although the temptations still resurface, I now have solutions. Courage friends and meetings. That’s where I get my medicine, through the ears. But more importantly I had discovered that I also have God right beside me. He never left me. I just couldn’t see or hear him in the maddening crowd or “the widening gyre” that was my life. I now saw that in the past I had been reaching out like a drowning man to people who hadn’t got the ability to save me. I was waiting to be saved, and angry and resentful when they couldn’t or wouldn’t, not realising that ultimately only God can truly save. 

I began to realise that throughout my life I was relying too much on mere mortals and not enough on Almighty God. I thus began to learn new approaches in dealing with temptations and thereby staying out of sin more often, like running to Jesus first and verbalizing the temptations that come with the ssa condition to Him out loud. This new approach was starting to bear good fruit in my seeing a marked increase in my own purity. Now whenever I feel temptations rise, I go to Him immediately in prayer and talk it out before a picture of the Sacred Heart, on top of calling a Courage friend. 

In truth it was also Our Lady who brought me back from the abyss on more than one occasion. The praying of her beads was essential and is a must for me. Her intention is always to lead me to her Son. You can never love Mary more than her own Son did as Saint Maximilian Kolbe said. Her love is the light which makes all things come right. 

Everything is far from perfect in my life as I write this. As poor Angelo at the Courage office knows only too well, believe me. I have been housebound through illness for the last several months. Mum remains fragile but can now putter around and, would you believe it, had to nurse me for a while. We often tell each other, “I love you”.  

Throughout all of this ordeal, which will eventually pass, one thing is for sure, I remain very grateful to God for revealing Himself to me and for directing me to the Courage Apostolate, and for sending me His Mother to snatch me out of the abyss I was falling into spiritually. Her light, and the light of Courage, has been the light when all other lights went out, as Tolkien would say. 

 Lastly, I know now that I never felt truly loved, and love was something that I craved desperately and sought out in the wrong places, in a low-level search for God. He truly is what Francis Thompson called Him, “The Hound of Heaven”. He never gave up on me. He is truly Love. I am slowly and tediously learning what it is to love and be loved. 

It’s one day, one hour, one minute at a time.  

Sincerely, 

Patrick Fitz. 

The post Musings on Same-Sex Attraction from Across the North Atlantic Swells – Part 2 appeared first on Courage International, Inc..

I once heard Mother Angelica say that if you didn’t experience a certain degree of love, kindness, security and peace as a child, then you didn’t have a childhood. Everyone’s story is different, but I would tend to agree with her. I also heard her tell a joke about the Irish and alcohol, which put me off her initially until recent years. Now, I love her. None of us are perfect, and I read her literature regularly.  

I grew up in an alcoholic home and was the youngest of four children. It was chaotic, terrifying, hilarious and heart rendering; a bit like a rollercoaster. The prime emotion I most remember feeling as a child was fear. In truth, there were pockets of peace and of parental care, in the intermittent periods when Dad was attending AA meetings and thus doing well. The inner mantra among us children was mostly, “How is this (the latest drama) going to affect me?”; this attitude of course being picked up by our parents. In short, I was a frightened kid from the start who was always in need of comforting. I also felt unseen, unheard and unheeded, my Dad’s nickname for me was Jasper; more like Casper.  In short, Dad never really got AA and Mum never really bothered with Alanon. Alcoholism unchecked is the best that I can describe it as. Our Catholic faith was never discussed nor taught to us by our parents; I can see now that we were cultural Catholics. We never prayed together, and as Fr. Patrick Peyton said, “a family that prays together stays together”.  Our family today is as divided as it ever was; how true that saying is in our case. 

I remember telling my mother when I was around nine years old that I didn’t really know my father. At dinner time on the same day, she announced this to him in front of me. He looked stunned and lifted me up onto his lap, inquiring what sort of a statement that was to make. But it was true. Maybe because of this declaration, he made more of an effort with me around that time. However, for the most part, due to his addiction, he couldn’t be there for us, and nor could mum as she tried in vain to deal with his lifelong illness whilst doing her best as a housewife in difficult conditions.  

My SSA (Same Sex Attraction) manifested in the early years. The attraction only centred on the physical and still does; I was also attracted to women both emotionally and physically. However, throughout the years SSA has always lurked beneath the surface, no matter how much I tried to pretend it didn’t.  I eventually acted out with a peer and it became known to my family soon after. Nothing was said or done. No help of any kind offered. Just a knowing silence about the matter from my parents and grandmother. My siblings scapegoated me, one even spreading the news among wider friends, “Read all about it”, if you will. I no longer felt I was my father’s son or little brother to my big brothers. I didn’t speak to any teacher about it, nor did I seek any help. I simply didn’t know what to do. Life at 13 became a veritable hell. 

Football (soccer) and a sense of humour got me through the years, as the Lord blessed me with the ability to crack a ball and a joke to the delight of an audience. So, when it came to beating rivals, all mention or remembrance of being SSA went out the window. My father was back on the sidelines cheering me on. I was back. I also became determined never to act out like that again, even though I would fall again. In short, I tried to bury it as best I could.  

By the age of twenty-two, in my third year at college, cracks started to appear emotionally and mentally. My thinking became very obsessive and markedly fear based. Catastrophic thinking; the following lines from W. B. Yeats certainly applied to me at this time, “turning and turning in the widening gyre. The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold”. In short, I could not hear the voice of God due to the cacophony of self that ruled within, and the harder I tried to continue as I did, relying completely upon self, the harder it was to keep it all together. 

 It subsequently took me six years to do a four-year degree and during these years there was one significant girlfriend who understood how I ticked. I didn’t have to wear the mask around her. She loved me, warts and all. She is since deceased. You could hear her laugh from across the Irish sea. Marie was her name. She too suffered in life but never lost her beautiful ability to laugh. 

As the cracks got bigger, I sought the bigger picture for answers. Unbeknownst to, and in spite of myself, I began seeking truth. I would discover it unexpectedly through my father. In fairness to him, he always went to Mass regularly throughout our upbringing, and could be seen nightly kneeling silently in prayer at his bedside (for some reason he never tried to impart his faith verbally); he would even go to daily Mass at times, but this was all while regularly, every six months or so succumbing to drink. I could at least see that he was getting “something” from going to that little sparsely lit chapel on a hill every morning, in driving wind or rain, drunk or sober. Many things were left unsaid regarding our family history. We Irish are often described as “a nation and race of loss”. I saw that description in my own family. G. K. Chesterton wrote the following about the Irish, “The great Gaels of Ireland are the men that God made mad; For all their wars are merry, and all their songs are sad.”  

Alas, even though I was beginning to look at my father’s faith as the answer, the slide in my own life continued. My SSA came back and the draw to act out was getting stronger and stronger. I kept fighting it on my own, trying to suppress it as best I could without success. I was learning the hard way that it just simply doesn’t up and leave the person. I needed to accept and face it. A parish priest around this time saw my plight and recommended that I get involved in voluntary work with those suffering from Alzheimer’s. It did help immensely, as the sufferers gave me nothing but understanding and love. I was involved in this respite center for four years whilst working part time elsewhere. It was certainly a God send; I loved working with the sufferers; they helped me laugh again, but I was still somewhat running from what needed to be looked at within. God was always gently nudging me towards where the healing lay, but like the falcon, I simply wasn’t listening to the falconer. 

Read Part Two

The post Musings on Same-Sex Attraction from Across the North Atlantic Swells – Part 1 appeared first on Courage International, Inc..