A Priest Called Me Promiscuous and I Cried Tears of Joy

How confession was key to my mental health

St. Joseph’s Shrine’s stations of the cross in Brooklyn, Michigan. Photo curtesy of author.

It wasn’t the first time I had come to talk to this priest. We’d met privately a couple times before. I was going on my fifth consecutive year of pain, fear, and misery. There was no end in sight.

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