Tl;dr: This is a personal account, not an argument. Having grown up in a world where there was no fundamental meaning to anything and “anything goes as long as you don’t hurt anyone,” I always felt something was lacking, and craved some kind of structure and meaning. In my 20s, I was drawn to the beauty of Catholicism, but struggled with the social teachings (LGBTQ rights, abortion, premarital sex, etc.). So I sampled several flavors of Protestantism, but found them all unsatisfying and hollow in comparison, and so eventually surrendered, learned to open my mind and approach these issues logically rather than emotionally, and see things from a new angle. However, as much as I loved Catholicism in theory, and had seen that she was the path to Truth, I failed to thrive in the modern Church, because it all felt watery somehow, basically the same as Protestantism. Like the theory did not line up with my lived experience. I couldn’t tell exactly why I felt that way. I worried that something was wrong with me that I couldn’t “click” with my religion like I wanted to; I felt I had no place there, and life got worse. Eventually I discovered that Traditionalist Catholicism was a thing that actively existed. But the modern Church says that Traditionalism is a no-no; so, what to do? After about a year of waffling, I learned to trust my intuition and be brave and finally found my way to the true religion that I had been craving since childhood.

Full Story:

Not that I’m any great example of the faith. Nor do my niche weirdness and bad attitude at all represent traditional Catholicism as a whole. But, as poor of a Catholic as I am, I have found that the radtrads are actually right. So, I’m on their team now (the worst player on the team, but still). I love hearing other people’s conversion stories, so here is mine.

Heads up: this is not a research paper or a dissertation. I’m not going to explain what Traditionalists believe, nor go into all the arguments in favor. All of this is available for free online if you care to look. I’m literally just sharing my silly little personal experience.

Chapter 1: Sordid Youth

My family of origin was liberal and atheist. We did not go to church. My Dad, in fact, was given to frequently complaining about the stupidity of Christians. We were a family of smart people, intellectuals. My Mom had a Darwin fish on the back of her van. Just do no harm and be a good person. It’s not that hard! That was the philosophy I grew up with.

Religion, I knew from an early age, was dumb. And yet, there was a part of me that envied my friends that went to church with their families. It was like they had somewhere to belong, something to be a part of: a culture. It also seemed like such a normal, wholesome family thing to do: church on Sunday mornings. As early as age five, I was fascinated by “normal” families.

Occasionally I’d go to church with the family of a friend. Most notably, I attended a five-day summer day camp for “Vacation Bible School” with my bestie who was Mennonite. That was really fun. I remember the theme of it that summer was “jungle” or “rainforest” or something like that. I just remember fun decorations, painting toy frogs, and having fun hanging out with my friend. I had also in the past attended a LDS church with a different friend, and a Catholic Mass with yet another friend and her dad. The Mass, which was in an ultramodern, roundish, gray-carpeted space, did not make an impression. That was all of my early experiences with religion.

I also remember staying in a hotel once and finding one of those Bibles in the drawer, and opening it to random pages and reading what was in it. It seemed like it was all weird random stuff about angels with a million eyeballs in weird places. I didn’t get what the big deal was.

The only really cool and noteworthy thing that happened, in a religious sense, before age 20, was when I went with my family to Ireland when I seventeen, and we visited St. Kevin’s monastic site at Glendalough, Co. Wicklow. (Would return there three more times over the next ten years.) It made quite an impression. I still hated Christianity, but a part of me found St. Kevin really relatable, and thought I might be able to get on board with whatever belief system inspired him to found this place.

But overall I just survived the first 20+ years of my life as a godless little heathen, just living by this “do whatever you want as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else” policy, and thinking Christians were all exceptionally stupid, often commenting things like “wow, so-and-so is so smart, I don’t understand, how the heck are they a Christian? Like, what went wrong?!”

2. What Went Wrong

I’d say I started realizing I needed a religion when I was a junior in college, living alone, and really miserable in my struggle with eating and drinking. I remember sitting there alone in my apartment thinking, “if I had, like, a higher power, something to worship besides my ED, something else to give me some rules to live by…”

Around this time I was taking a really cool elective course on Judaism, and holding down a work study job at a kosher bagel shop in the campus Hillel House (which was awesome; dietary laws fascinate me), and vaguely toying with the idea of becoming Jewish. But a couple things bothered me about Judaism: it was basically genetic — you were either a member of the chosen race, or you weren’t, and I didn’t see how conversion could change that; and also, they didn’t really have an answer to the whole death problem.

I’d also taken a Philosophy course on Søren Kierkegaard. I’d thought it would be edgy and cool to learn about the Father of Existentialism; I had not expected to gain a new respect for Christian philosophy. I particularly remember studying SK’s writings on Abraham, the “hero of faith,” and that made a pretty huge impression on my psyche, and was the first time I thought the Bible seemed to contain something profound, even incomprehensibly deep.

And then there was that ethics class I’ve written about before – the one where I began to question the basis of my whole understanding of morality. Notably, there was one kid in that class who was more confident in his beliefs and more articulate than anyone else in the class, who alone seemed unshaken by any of the moral problems posed to us in the coursework: a very conservative young man, a Roman Catholic.

All of this was still just bumping around in my skull like meteorites in space at the point when I dropped out of college. I took almost a year off to dick around, then applied to a new school, where I thought I’d be happier, to finish out my degree.

Spoiler alert, changing geographical locations did not solve my problems or make me happier! I was still sad and screwed up. But now, I was sad and screwed up just a few blocks away from one of the most beautiful old cathedrals in this part of the US. I’d been toying with the idea of trying to visit a church for a few weeks. I longed for a secure foundation, someplace where I could belong and find solace. Knowing next to nothing about any of the denominations of Christianity or what made them different, I decided to just wander into the place with the coolest vibes.

It’s undisputed fact that Catholics have the coolest vibes.

I don’t really remember the Mass. It didn’t make a huge impression. I just remember the kind young priest who spoke to me on the stairs outside when it was over. He helped me connect with the local Catholic campus ministry group.

There, I met some of the best people I’ve ever known. They took me under their wings and did everything they could to help me. I learned more and more about the Church, and saw how perfectly logical and rational and beautiful her teachings actually were.

Chapter 3: Cold Feet

Several months into the inquiry process, my RCIA course officially began. However, I started to get cold feet. I was still very liberal: pro-choice and pro-gay marriage and such. And I believed I was right about those issues (I was, at the time, especially heated about LGBTQ rights), and could simply not get on board with a church that professed otherwise. (To my credit, I guess it was a better move to be honest and just leave Catholicism, than it would have been to go ahead and join and become a “cafeteria Catholic.”) I was really sad about it, but did what I thought was best. I wracked my brain day in and day out about all the reasons why my decision was justified. On my blog at the time (MiTHology 2.0, as you may remember), I, a 22-year-old kid who had only been casually inquiring into Catholicism on my laptop for a few months, made post after post “explaining” why the Church was wrong about these issues (LOL).

I mulled it over and mulled it over, and eventually went with the Episcopal Church. There was a really lovely Anglo-Catholic Episcopal church in that city, where I could get all the cool Catholic vibes (kneeling at the communion rail, incense, Mary statues and Stations on the walls, sung vespers every evening, etc.) with none of the difficult social teachings. I was Baptized there Easter morning, taking the name of Saint Kevin as my patron saint, and confirmed a few weeks later when the Bishop came to town. I was still pretty bothered about Catholicism – it was, for me, like the ex that you can’t stop thinking about, that you bitch and complain about to everyone you know so it’s clear you’re still obsessed – but, the church I’d found was working well enough for me.

But that November I graduated, and moved back to my hometown. There, there was no Anglo-Catholic Episcopal church. There were three or four different Episcopal churches, and I tried them all out; they were each extremely different, and I didn’t love any of them, but committed to one anyway (because, for lack of a more compelling reason, it had the prettiest location). I attended there for probably almost a year, but I felt ungrounded – like the foundation was gone from beneath my feet – and I was still bitter and obsessive about Catholicism, scribbling away about it by night.

I even looked into some different Protestant churches. A couple Lutheran churches, Methodists, et cetera. Nothing filled me with awe; nothing felt like the real thing.

Chapter 4: Coming Home

Eventually I guess I gave up the fight. Episcopalianism just wasn’t doing it for me. It felt, to me, like trying to subsist on watered-down porridge. Everything felt two-dimensional. I was tired, I was sad. I wanted to be Catholic, I finally admitted. But I couldn’t in good conscience join them unless I could make some kind of peace with their social teachings.

So I decided to just open my mind. To just try. To just try and see things from a different angle than I always had – to actually try and listen to what they were saying, instead of reacting emotionally. I gave up the fight, basically, and decided to just admit that it was possible that maybe the 2,000+ year old Church understood a few things that my 24-year old self did not.

Meanwhile, I began attending a Catholic parish near my home. The Mass was very modern – the Protestantish music, the acoustic guitar, the rambling, conversational, feel-good homilies – which I didn’t love; but, it was Catholic. The priest was kind, and the other parishioners were lovely, although I was pretty much the only person there under age 50. I promptly started RCIA and was received into the Church some months later, in late November, on what the modern Church observes as the Feast of Christ the King. By this point, I still didn’t love the Church’s social teachings, but I was at least able to see the logic of why they taught what they did.

Chapter 5: The Search Continues

As soon as I became Catholic, my life started to change for the better. In retrospect, it is pretty cool and fascinating to see. About a month and a half after my reception, I ended the problematic relationship(s) that I was in at the time, and finally started trying to get sober. It was a good year; I felt helped by God; I was on what they call in AA the “pink cloud” of early sobriety. I started a new relationship, and promptly moved in together with the guy, because no one in my church had ever told me that wasn’t okay; I mean, it was just the normal thing to do, and it wasn’t like anyone actually lived by the “old” Catholic rules anymore, apparently. Except maybe a few weird extremists out there, and those folks needed to chill. I was a basically good person, and in a monogamous relationship, and that was the most important thing!

But then one day I went to confession with a different priest than the super-chill one that I normally went to. During my confession I mentioned something about being “at home with my boyfriend,” and the priest, in the kindest and gentlest terms, explained that he could not absolve me as I was still living in a state of sin.

And I was like: “😮🤯 You mean, people actually still follow those archaic rules? They still apply?!” No one had ever told me! I was floored – and honestly, on some deep level, relieved, and happy – it was like my feet had found some solid ground to stand on, an actual structure to support me. My then-bf and I promptly amended our living situation, not fully cohabitating again until after we were married, about a year later.

That was when I first began to develop an interest in living more traditionally. But, still, it was just a vague idea, floating around in my head, lost in a stew of anxiety.

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