Letter from Irene Wilson

Photo by Chelsey Shortman

Dearest sisters,

I often joke that my life is composed of a series of coffee dates. From one day to the next, I am typically found either chatting in the local coffee shop or on a facetime call. The gift of love found within these times of intentionality has made such a significant impact on my life that now I never fail to appreciate the beauty of conversation.

But there was a time when I did not feel so appreciative of this life - a time where my coffee date joke stemmed from a place of isolation as I felt many of these friendships stopped as soon as I exited the shop or hung up the phone.

I grew up thinking that to love meant to serve, and it was in serving and being there for another that we found our calling and mission. This isn’t necessarily a false concept of love, but I misplaced this focus so distantly from myself that I lost sight of my own identity found within this definition.

Growing up, I was immensely confident in my identity: I was bold, exuberant, and incredibly energetic. After being homeschooled my whole life, I entered “real school” and during the first month of high school, I stood up in front of my class and, with great ease, rapped my election speech for Vice Presidency. Nobody would have ever questioned my confidence. No, my self-assurance shone forth in every moment. I entered college with this same confidence and assurance that I knew who I was, and that I was ready to use my gifts to serve those around me and to love.

During the fall of my Sophomore year of college, I began to feel the weight of my attempted desire to intentionally love and guide each individual I encountered. A beautiful goal, yes, but when stemmed from an individual who was so lost herself she didn't even realize it - these goals quickly backfired. In seeking to serve, I had begun to suppress my own experiences under the veil of “love.” I was caught in the journey of everyone around me rather than focusing on my own.

One morning, I woke up feeling like my chest was caving in. I felt entirely incapable of processing my emotions, my friendships, or even what socks to wear that day. Yet as I had done so many times before, I convinced myself that none of this was important. The week leading up to this day had already been exhausting, and I remember voicing to my roommate, “I am a mess. I can’t function and all I need is to be alone,” but I would not actually take the well advised step of taking care of myself. Instead, I became convinced that there was no possible way for me to reschedule anything planned, because helping the three individual women I had scheduled to discuss their struggles was greater than anything I felt in myself. So I got out of bed, suppressed my emotions, and went out to “serve” others.

At the end of this seemingly never-ending day, carrying what I know now to be a panic attack on my shoulders in the background of every conversation, I wandered to the altar of my favorite chapel on campus. A place of peace. I sat in my place of comfort, the carpeted floor directly under the gaze of the crucifix and our mother Mary, and cried. The tears streamed down my face as I sought to abandon these questions of grief and anxiety to Christ.

I was caught in the feeling of constantly giving myself to another and feeling weighed down by the anxieties and stress that others were placing on my heart. My anxiety was worse than it had ever been and I had no clue how to control it. And truthfully, I didn’t even know what it was. In the midst of getting coffee with others five days a week and being constantly surrounded by people, I felt alone. Despite desiring to serve, I was drained by the reality of serving because I had not opened myself to receiving the love I sought to give. Without this receptivity, I felt entirely drained of all ability to be myself.

After journaling, crying, and attempting to figure out what on earth was plaguing my mind, I stood up to leave. And as I did, I looked to the right and noticed a small slip of paper directly underneath where I had been lying on the carpet. I had not noticed it until then and I found it strange that it should appear at that moment. Regardless, I picked it up and looked at it. Written in small scribbles was a short phrase that brought me face to face with my true identity.

Whoever you are, know that you are loved.

I immediately plopped back onto the floor and thought to myself “What the actual heck, Jesus?” Then it hit me: I didn’t believe this message. This was the first time that I was brought face-to-face with the reality that I did not believe that I was loved by God. I knew He loved others and I desired to share this love with others. But when it came to myself I wondered if I could be worthy of this.

In the recesses of my mind, I had established extremely high expectations for myself that I never dared place on anyone else. And so, I constantly beat myself up for falling into any sort of sin, even though with each passing day I consistently would drop everything to love someone else experiencing the same pain of sin and guilt. When I looked at the weight of my own sin, I had given into the lies that all of this was too great to ever be forgiven. My unworthiness had become the stigma that prevented me from seeing that love could ever be possible for me.

My life has been led by a lot of quiet whispers and quiet contemplation of the Lord placing the desires to love and serve on my heart. But for so long, I was trying to do so from a cup that refused to receive this love in return. A cup that failed to recognize myself. In the quiet whispers of my heart during this time of confusion and loneliness, I was brought again to the Altar to be reminded of the reality of who I was and who I am: loved.

As I reach the end of my college career and move onward to a time of new growth as a teacher, I have been reflecting on this journey of love that began with a small slip of paper found by the Altar on a cold October night. That moment planted a seed which has sprouted into the broader call to love that Christ calls me to with each day. For so much of my life, I failed to see that I was forgiven, loved, or worthy of the mission I felt called towards. Yet, I was simply not opening myself to the love the Holy Spirit desired to pour into my heart. I have recognized that this call to “show them they are loved” is a call that I desire to live out as a teacher, a friend, and a daughter of God. But this is only possible when planted in the recognition that I myself am each of these things. That ultimately, my identity is that: a daughter of God, loved and forgiven.

In embracing this identity, I recognize that it is this journey of love that has prepared me to enter the classroom with a confident and loving heart. With this heart, I hope to meet my students where they are to help them believe in themselves and in their ability to fall in love with something good. My calling to teach is a call to love. And it is this call to love Him, myself, and others that the Lord has been purifying in me throughout the past two years.

We are human. We are unworthy. We sin. Yet, we are loved. And it is this love that shapes and moves our entire being and makes us new with every breath. With each new day, I recognize weaknesses that cripple my ability to see myself as a daughter of Christ. But man oh man, it is these weaknesses that push me again and again into the arms of the one who allows us to lay down at his feet, on a carpet, tears streaming down our face to remind us again and again:

Whoever you are, know that you are loved.

Peace and Joy,

Irene

Photo of Irene

About the Writer: Irene Wilson is a recent graduate of The Catholic University of America. While at Catholic, she studied Secondary English Education and fine-tuned her love of serving and guiding others through the chaos of life. Through working within ministry, she developed a mission to journey alongside youth (and in a particular way young women) in their search for identity. She is incredibly excited to be moving to Indianapolis this summer in preparation for her first year of teaching at Cathedral HS. Currently, she is living on a whole lot of grace, baking, and puzzling while adventuring through life moment by moment.