My Mother Thinks I'm Going to Hell

My mother thinks I’m going to Hell.

She didn’t say it in so many words, but what she said was perhaps worse.

She was crying while we sat in her car in the driveway. “I’ve never been afraid of dying before because I’ve always known where I’m going. But now… now I’m afraid because… I’m afraid I’ll never see you again.”

She said this because I had recently told her I was having doubts about my Christian faith. I wasn’t sure if I believed there even was a God. But seeing my mother cry, knowing how strong her faith is and hearing the real fear in her voice…

I couldn’t afford therapy, so a couple days after she said this, I vented to the man who owned one of the local metaphysical shops. He listened with a look of understanding and compassion on his face, then helped me find some stones that might help me process the intense feelings I had. He was so kind.

Gemstones only do so much, though, and I still can’t afford therapy.

I wish it didn’t bother me so much. While I can’t seem to get over a lingering fear of Hell, that’s not what brings on the anxiety attacks. I can’t get the sound of her sobs, the look on her face, out of my head. I can’t stand the thought of hurting my mother so much.

She feels like she let me down in some way, like my lack of faith is somehow her fault. In truth, I had been questioning since I was a kid.

I remember hearing a story where the Ark of the Covenant was being returned to its rightful place. Only certain men were allowed to carry the Ark, but one of them lost their grip as they were carrying it through the city. A man in the crowd reached out to catch it – and God killed him… because he wasn’t allowed to touch it. This version of God didn’t match up with the loving Father my teachers and pastor had made Him out to be.

I used to highlight verses in my Bible with the intention of showing them to my pastor to find out why they contradicted what I’d been taught, but I never followed through. It was easier to just have faith.

When I was in high school I got into a debate with a youth group friend over whether or not gay people went to Heaven. I believed they did, but my friend disagreed. He quoted Deuteronomy to prove his point, but his argument was still weak and the whole discussion left me with more questions.

Looking back, I’m surprised I didn’t leave this religion sooner. I think it was after being in an abusive relationship I finally started to see the signs.

I love you, but only if…

You’re unhappy for a reason. Just stay with me and things will get better.

Bad things are happening because you didn’t do what I say.

If you don’t love me you’re going to Hell.

Part of me wishes I’d never told my mom how I felt. I saw how she reacted when she heard I got a tattoo – she told me she used to cry when she thought about the pain I went through. This was much bigger than some flowers on my back, though. This was about my soul.

I finally told her what her words had done to me. I told her about the anxiety and depression that were both worsened by that one moment in the car. I apologized for hurting her, however unintentional it was, but knowing that she thinks I’m going to Hell… that she could think something so horrible about another human being… about her child…

She told me she prayed about it and now is choosing to believe I will be in Heaven with her someday. I can still see the doubt in her eyes, but it’s a start.

I don’t want to take away my mother’s faith. Her faith has gotten her through a difficult life – raising three children on her own, working full time as a teacher, constantly wanting a better life and seeing it is just out of reach. She was lonely, and we never saw it. She was scared, but never let us feel it. She was sad, but tried her best to keep us laughing. God was there for her through all of it, and He (or whatever He represents) was there for me too, for a time. I am grateful for that.

My mother is happier with her faith and I am happier without it. When she looks at nature she sees the brilliance of a God while I see the brilliance of nature itself. What she feels as God’s presence, I feel as the energy of the world and souls around me. She keeps moving forward because she trusts that God will provide, while I persevere because I know my power lies within, and it will get me through anything.

Maybe my mother thinks I’m going to Hell… but I’m not. Whatever is next, I will see her again.