When Discernment Becomes Unhealthy
By Rachael Gieger
I have had, for quite some time, a deep desire to be holy. I know this isn’t something that sets me apart from the other women on this site, but what we all do with that desire is something unique to each of us. Ever since I was a kid, at the bottom of my heart, I knew I desired union with Jesus. This desire grew with age—I wanted to be His, to let His love guide every aspect of my life. I felt—and still feel—His voice calling my heart to lay my life down for Him.
But what I hit, in my journey towards holiness, is the question that most of us do at some point or another: “What if this desire means He wants me to be a nun?” I didn’t just run into this question—I crashed into it, and ironically, the question that is supposed to take us deeper into discernment threw me desperately off course.
Growing up, I would flip through my picture books of saints, noticing almost every single person was in religious life. I heard youth group talks and plugs at conferences that spoke of “God’s call,” that it was quiet and gentle and good—and that it called you towards...religious life. When my first real relationship didn’t work out like I wanted it to, and I was left alone with just that desire for Love again, I felt a push. An obligation. All of the “greats” were in religious life, so that must be where holiness is, right? Slowly, the genuine desire for Love and holiness was taken over by a need to be perfect.
That perfectionism and scrupulosity, paired with talk after talk and book after book that said that the tug from God must mean religious life, started pushing me relentlessly toward that vocation. It took over my every thought, it shut down any dream I had or any possibility of another way of life. I became deeply anxious, to the point of waking up in the middle of the night in a panic. Everything became a “sign”—from Scripture verses, to saint stories, to a random sighting of a religious sister. I scoured the websites of different orders, reading vocation story after vocation story to see if what I felt matched up with any of them.
One professor at my university—who I later discovered was deeply mentally ill and wounded herself—told me that she had discerned I was meant for religious life, end of story, and that I could run away if I wanted to but I would only circle back. I felt in my bones that Jesus would not be pleased with me, would somehow withhold a portion of His love if I did not leave everything behind and join a convent immediately. Every minute of my life, as long as I was not a religious, felt steeped in mediocrity. No matter what family, friends, priests, or even religious sisters themselves told me—I felt the push that my life, my holiness, and God’s love for me was completely hinged on this. I knew in my mind this couldn’t be true—His love was unconditional, or so I’d been told—but my heart was unconvinced.
Meanwhile, any desire I had for marriage had to be shut down, so I became convinced that all my fears, discomforts, and shortcomings regarding men and my sexuality were all just a sign that I could never be married. I began to look down on marriage and those who chose it, because perfectionism held me tight and told me that it was just an ordinary vocation for those who weren’t called to be extraordinarily holy. Becoming a man’s wife meant giving up any kind of spousal love with Jesus, in my mind, and thus settling for less holiness. People would try to reassure me, that God wanted both my holiness and my happiness, but I was not convinced. It was truly dark, and I saw no way out except to give in. This went on for almost two years before I found any freedom.
One sister who I spoke with on the phone was able to quickly identify what might be happening: “I can tell you love God, and are willing to do this for Him. But it’s not what you want, is it?” Her question prodded at a place in my heart that had been steadily put to sleep by anxiety and pressure, and it sent me on the slow ascent of finding the truth. What I wanted...mattered. I had to begin to dig deep to the source of this push that had taken over my life, and found, at the core, that it was not a question of vocation—it was the question, “Do you love me?”
Because, sisters, driving my obsessive anxiety about religious life was an irrational need to prove myself to Our Lord. It was not a call from the Bridegroom to be exclusively His—it was a push to meet an objective standard to win His Love. But that’s not what vocation is.
Fr. Jacques Philippe says: “...any call from God is a call to life. Our first vocation is to live, and a call cannot be from God unless it leads us to live in a more intense and beautiful way, engaging human life as it is with more confidence, in all its aspects: physical, psychological, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual.” (Called to Life)
That’s vocation. It’s not a push towards meeting a standard, it’s a call towards an abundance of life. I should have been able to identify quickly that the fact that this “call” carried with it only anxiety and never joy was a pretty clear indication that it was not from God, but none of us have perfect ears to hear. It came down to a pretty clear choice—either my thoughts and feelings of intense scrupulosity, anxiety, and guilt were the liar, or God was.
I had to have it out with Him—wrestle, ask question after question, let go of fear after fear. I had to receive professional help for the parts of this journey that were due to unresolved trauma and mental health struggles. I had to confront the reality that I had misinterpreted what the Church said about religious life and marriage, but also that maybe we need to work on presenting it better. Even more deeply than that, I had to confront the reality that I had believed God’s love was conditional.
Slowly, Jesus peeled back each layer of the mess and spoke to my heart. Through prayer, therapy, the voices of dear friends and family, and the intercession of some kick-butt saints like St. Raphael and Sts. Louis and Zelie Martin, His gentle voice pierced through the anxiety that had churned in my heart and mind for so long. Piece by piece, as each lie was put to sleep, I began to see the beauty of what unconditional Love truly meant—that He was the Bridegroom, and that identity did not change based on what vocation I was called to. I was able to fall deeply in love with Him, without fear or obligation, and live a season of singleness with joy and peace—the path between what I’d always known in my mind and its reception in my heart finally clear.
Recently, my boyfriend took me to pray Vespers at a motherhouse for an order (something that would’ve triggered a panic attack two years ago), and I watched all the sisters file in. They each took their seats in front of the Eucharist and quietly adored Him. I looked at them, looked at the standard I once thought I had to meet, and then realized we were all still in front of the Eucharist. We were all still there, receiving His love—He was not “more there” for them than He was for me. They were not given more because they were in habits, while my boyfriend and I sat in the back deprived because we’ve chosen to discern marriage. His Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity was there, gazing on every single one of us with the same infinite love. How we each individually receive that love will inevitably look different. But, I looked at my boyfriend, quietly praying, and knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be that day.
Jesus quietly whispered in that convent, as one more tiny bond was loosened, “I love you just as much where you’re sitting.” I could behold the beauty of those sisters and the significance of their vocation, without feeling less loved where I was, as I was. A few hours later, as my boyfriend held me tight, I felt my heart bursting with joy, with love, with life, spilling out through grins and laughter that we couldn’t contain.
That, sisters, is what He desires for us. That is His call—at the core of your heart, too. We are all called to receive His life, to belong to Him. He does not push, He invites. His call will never ask us to prove ourselves, to shut down the desires He Himself placed there in order for you to follow. He wants that heart of yours bursting with life. That might be in a convent, and that might be in the presence of a man. It might even be in a single life of service. Whatever it is—He will not deprive you, He has not made you second-rate to receive the leftovers of others, and He will call you to whatever path through a gentle pull towards abundant life. And here’s the kicker—it’s that life pouring through you, not perfection, that makes you holy. He’s offering it now—today, exactly where you are and how you are--and only has more to give.
So, if this is you in any way—if your heart and mind are wrought with anxiety over your vocation—I beg you to step back. You are not called to religious life because of a breakup, because of endless “signs,” or because celibacy is objectively higher. You are called there by life, just as you’re called to any other vocation in the same way. All of us hear the Bridegroom’s voice, and only He can call you to your vocation. It takes me so much time to learn, but it truly is so gentle and sweet—He tugs at the heart He’s made, knowing exactly how to guide it Home.
Your holiness is not dependent on an objective standard, on being perfect, but on your reception of the fullness of life He’s offering you—and oh, dear sister, how desperately He wants you to slow down and just receive it.
