Growing up, I thought hell was a terrifying place where “bad people” and “non-believers” went, a place I should fear ending up. I believed I needed to do anything and everything I could to avoid that place. And I’ve told at least one person I love very much that they would end up there.
Since getting sober seven and a half years ago, I’ve grown a lot. I’ve learned to live less out of fear and more out of faith. And I don’t worry about myself or others going to hell because I now understand hell to be a shared experience that we navigate time and time again as we make our way through this beautiful mess of our human existence.
As a child, my family was Catholic. The church was the biggest Catholic church in our small suburb, they hosted the annual carnival in their parking lot, and today you can see the beautiful copper dome when you fly into the local airport. Growing up, we attended Sunday Mass, and on most Wednesdays, I was dropped off at RE (Religious Education). When my maternal grandmother, who was very Catholic, passed away, we drifted away from Catholicism. Thankfully because I was terrified of going through confession with a Priest!
I joke now that the biggest thing Catholocism taught me was to be terrified of hell, but it’s true. As a kid, I made sure to say a specific number of Hail Marys and Our Fathers before falling asleep every night. As a teenager, I believed the “everything but” rule when it came to sex before marriage (still ridden with guilt, mind you). And in my 20s, I felt shame and fear for the feelings I was having about women. The fear of hell eventually held me hostage between what I believed to be “faith” and an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame. Eventually, I believed I didn’t belong in church, and I left my faith behind.
By the grace of the God of my own understanding, I found Alcoholics Anonymous. Despite my shame and guilt, I walked in on my high horse of religion, and I did everything I thought I was supposed to. Then, I relapsed. Thus began the journey of learning to understand the term “a God of my own understanding.” In reworking the steps, my sponsor strongly suggested I set aside my current understanding of God. I panicked. And even though she told me I didn’t have to abandon my beliefs, the first thought that flooded my mind was, “I’m going to go to hell if I do that.”
Little did I know that in taking her suggestion, not only would I find long-term recovery, but I would also find a new understanding of faith and God and hell. Once I was sober, I started to realize that navigating my untreated alcoholism and addiction was a hell I was living in. Shortly after, when I came out and realized I wasn’t straight, I discovered another version of hell I had been stuck in. In finding a healthy relationship, I recognized yet a new version of hell — one I chose to exist in over and over again. And now, in this ocean of grief, my heart aches at the thought of passing through this hell with every loved one I lose.
In my eyes, hell is not a place where “bad people” go to pay for their “sins” that they didn’t repent for or fix in their life. It’s not a place full of people who don’t believe in or practice Christianity. It isn’t permanent. We don’t usually choose it. And above all, it isn’t something to fear. We do our best to navigate through the heat and pain of each version we enter into, hopefully with the love and support of loved ones to help us find our way out. And in the oases in between, we remind one another to soak up the moments of joy, happiness, love, and freedom.
Someone grieving recently said to me, “Family, Friendship, and Faith are all that really matter in life.” I feel that more with each passing day.
This piece is dedicated to Abby, who I can only hope is waiting for me on the other side of the rainbow bridge. She is, and will always be, my 13-year-old beautiful blue chihuahua who gave me the purest version of unconditional love — one that I didn’t know could be possible. While I am especially grateful for my sobriety today, it is an especially painful version of hell that I have not yet experienced. I am so appreciative of everyone who has blessed me with their words, thoughts, and prayers. You are helping me find my way out.
