Phishing, but Different
One of my goals this year, as it has been for the past three years, was to find a faith community to join.
Growing up, I only attended church when visiting my grandparents, mainly for Christmas and the occasional summer Sunday mass.
I've never considered myself religious; in fact, I prefer to describe my relationship with God as that of a flawed woman of faith just trying to do and be better than I was the day before.
This year, we finally started going to a place of worship. My brush with the possibility of cancer awakened something inside me, prompting me to stop waiting for convenient times to pursue what I wanted. After all, I’m at an age now where I could have a ticking time bomb inside me that might go off at any moment, so why not make the most out of my life?
As I typed that last line, I couldn't help but note its irony.
This Sunday, we finally returned to church after a hiatus due to bad weather and illnesses (such is life in the rainy winter months).
The sermon began with a discussion on phishing.
In the traditional sense, phishing refers to malicious actors sending emails or text messages that appear legitimate but are designed to trick you into providing personal information, often leading to fraudulent purchases and damaging your credit score and financial stability.
The pastor explained that phishing isn't limited to cybersecurity; we can also face phishing attempts in our daily lives outside the digital realm. He asked if we had ever been phished in that way. My daughter looked at me and whispered, “Have you ever been phished?" I shook my head, feeling slightly disappointed that this sermon seemed uninteresting and not meant for someone as self-aware as I thought I was.
How wrong I turned out to be.
Through the story of Paul's letters to the Colossians, the pastor spent the next twenty minutes discussing how he realized he had been a victim of phishing in his own life.
His wife had once told him that he didn’t know how to be happy. He scoffed at that, insisting it wasn’t true; his definition of happiness was just different from hers. But upon further reflection, he acknowledged she was right. He had been so focused on the act of living—checking off boxes he believed he needed to check—that he was merely acting “good" instead of being genuinely good.
As the pastor continued, I slowly recognized that this sermon spoke directly to my life and how I had been living it.
For my entire adult life, I have fixated on checking boxes, achieving goals, and measuring myself against what society and others claimed I needed to be. I thought that if I just did the right things or achieved enough, I would be happy.
While in the military, I always strived for the next rank, never satisfied with the one I had just earned. I constantly chased awards, believing they would secure my career and status in the military, and somehow bring me happiness.
You know how that turned out if you've followed my journey or read my other personal blog posts.
Even after retiring from the service, I sometimes felt an overwhelming need to control my circumstances, constantly feeling like I wasn't doing enough, obtaining enough, or resembling others enough.
This weekend, I realized that many of the painful experiences in my life were more a result of what I allowed than what had actually been done to me.
True, the head enlisted person for the Air Force should never have denied me a coveted career role based on my skin color. But I also should have left that system much sooner, even though I deep down knew it didn't make me happy and never truly had. I spent 20 years in a broken bureaucracy, allowing fear to dictate my choices as I succumbed to the rhetoric from my parents and peers, convincing me that this was as good as it would ever get.
What my parents and family did to me last year was unforgivable and unimaginable, but it wasn't new. I had endured similar treatment my entire life. I tolerated it because I was afraid of being alone, thinking that if I could prove I was worthy enough, they would treat me differently.
I constantly worry that my children aren't receiving enough, that I'm not providing adequately. They share a bathroom; they don't have as many playmates as others because we homeschool; Vikki is only involved in one extracurricular activity, and Wyatt isn't involved in any. I fear I’m hindering their happiness or robbing them of a fulfilling childhood.
The truth is, my kids would actually prefer to share a room and a bathroom. In fact, they would be happy if we all slept in one big bed in one big room (but not on my watch; they can share a bathroom until college, but I will not give up my bedroom!).
Like many of you, I have placed my faith and values in false promises and visions. I've allowed myself to be phished into believing I am inferior, wanting, and inadequate.
This isn't to say that I am against doing things. Work is good for the soul, and doing meaningful work is even better. There is something satisfying about completing a task and checking it off the proverbial to-do list.
I will strive to better balance doing with simply being. I don't need to be productive for myself or my family every waking minute of every day, even though I generally find myself doing that, and it can be exhausting.
I will also try not to focus as much on what others think or say I should be doing for myself or my family. When I look around at the people I know, it’s hard to find anyone who seems truly happy with themselves or their lives.
Many children grow up perfectly fine without backyards and in apartments. If I’m going to make mistakes that affect their well-being, I doubt it will be because I chose to rent rather than become a homeowner.
I hope they learn from their mother not to follow my previous example of putting my happiness in the hands of others. One of the biggest mistakes I ever made was putting my happiness, my sunshine in the control of other people…from my family to the nameless who add to societal pressures.
Hopefully, they will be the masters of their own happiness and own sunshine. If not…I guess they can blame me for forcing them to share a bathroom.
