This column discusses themes of mental health struggles, relationship challenges, and personal growth. Reader discretion is advised.

As we observe Mental Health Awareness Month, I embarked on a series of personal columns detailing my journey toward improved mental well-being. A sense of community provides a feeling of acceptance. It’s something that has always been missing in my life.

Churches have always meant something different to me.

Thursday was the day we went to the “Eating Church”. This is where my three younger sisters and I went to eat a warm, full meal. After we ate, we were allowed to go upstairs to a magical room with an abundance of clothing that we could have for free. I promise you, there was no better place in the world than the eating church. 

On one Thursday, a group of children I went to school with were serving dinner at the church. To this day I can remember holding out my hands for a plate and seeing the look on my classmate’s face. For the first time I understood the difference between have and have nots. It didn’t take long for word to get around the school that my sisters and I were no better than beggars. It was the last time I went to the eating church. Even at nine years old, I would rather go hungry than to bear the weight of other people’s pity.

When my children were younger, a church in Holly Ridge drove a bus that would pick them up on Sunday morning and bring them back Sunday afternoon. At first, much like the eating church was initially positive for me, I saw the experience as positive for the kids. It provided a sense of community that I’d never had. It was also a four hour break once a week.

One day, my sons came home far quieter than those two had ever been. My daughters were also more subdued than usual. During lunch, my son broke the ice by asking me what a Bee-Stard was. At church, my children learned that in the eyes of that particular church they were bastards, and their mother would be going to hell. I’ll never understand why grown adults felt the need to traumatize children, but doing so under the guise of moral superiority has always astounded me. It was the last time the kids went.

These days I get invited to church often. A part of me has always wanted to be a part of something, to have a sense of community that accepted me. Conceptually, the idea of church is really cool, but the reality always seems to fall short.  

My view of churches has evolved over the years. In the beginning, I believed churches fed the hungry and provided for people who couldn’t provide for themselves. While I’m sure that churches throughout the area do a lot of really good things for the community, I’ve also seen just as much division and vitriol coming from the pulpit and the pews. 

Despite my evolving perspective, I still hold onto the hope that one day I'll find a church community where acceptance and compassion outweigh judgment and exclusion.