Karma is… Church and Emotional Healing

Church attendance reminds me to keep going and keeps me grounded. It shows me how I got here and how grateful I am to be here. For me, this church is my sacred space. The moment I put my earbuds in and step out my front door, I enter my own private sanctuary where church and emotional healing can co-exist.

With my bright blue CAL hat pulled low over my face, my tennis shoes hit the sandy pavement, and we’re off. Today, though, I put away my Pokémon game and chose to fully engage with the funny story being told to me. I realized that playing this game made me miss the funny little nuances of the story. So, I put my phone away and focused on swinging my arms, my hips, and holding my head high towards the rising sun.

Church and emotional healing haven’t always gone hand in hand for me. I had to take some space and redefine what church could be for me, what I wanted it to be.

Walking the beach path at sunrise versus sundown offers totally different experiences. In the mornings, she rises high and hot. However, as she lays us all down to sleep in the evening, she feels more like a cold, wet blanket over the sandy layers of the beach. This only happens at the beach, though.

I pass so many people walking, biking, and skating the opposite way. It’s hard to know whether I should greet everyone that passes by, wait until they greet me first, or just be safe and greet everyone—because that’s what this Christian girl learned. Be nice to everyone, smile, don’t look like a bitch.

And by the way, I don’t have a solution to this.

I fumble through socializing at church just like anybody else!

Then again, I also get passed by people going my direction, and when it’s a fellow walker, I get upset when I’m passed. I consider myself a fast walker, that’s all. Plus, I have a competitive edge in just about everything I do. So, when someone outpaces me, and she’s my mom’s age, that puts a new pep in my step. What I find is that by putting more emphasis on my walking, I experience more church and more emotional healing. 

But like so many other sacred spaces, they sometimes get violated, reminding us of the realities of the world we would rather ignore.

For me, I felt the violation in my gut first. It’s a sick-to-the-stomach feeling, telling me something is wrong, and my brain needs to catch up. I’ve learned to pay attention to this feeling. It’s my body communicating to me.

So, during this church service, I looked up and noticed a huge man. More wide than tall, actually. He looked as though he hadn’t bathed in… months? I didn’t breathe in when I walked by, though I did smell a bit of the after wind. It wasn’t pretty. His clothes looked brown, but the kind of brown that happens to white clothes that have never been washed yet are worn every day.

How could this level of filth even be possible with access to the ocean and public showers? Then again, we know homelessness stems from mental health issues more than anything else. Because I understand how unstable people can be who are fighting to survive every day, I’ve learned to be aware of who is around me since moving to Long Beach. Not all homeless people scare me or even make me nervous—just a few, and only occasionally.

My sickly gut prompted my brain into action, and I watched this man as I walked closer and closer to him. He waddled as he walked and moved very slowly, as if every step took great effort. Then I quickly looked away when I saw him look up and smile at me. 

Perhaps that was a mistake on my part. I mean, my therapist advised me not to look at the homeless people I pass on the street. Almost act as if they aren’t there, because just by looking at them, they might see an invitation for something more. “They are fighting for survival,” my therapist said, or something like that anyway.

I picked up my pace a little, wanting to pass him quickly and move on. But I felt him watching me as I passed and slowly turning his head when I hurried on by. “Fuck,” I thought to myself. I hated this feeling.

The feeling of being dehumanized somehow. I can’t quite figure out how to put words to it.

I turned my head back as I walked on and noticed the man slowly turning around in the middle of the path. This sent alarm bells off in my head, telling me to just run and go home where my people are and never walk around alone again. But Healthy Jessica quickly talked sense into Crazy Jessica. At that pace, that guy would never be able to follow me, much less find me, regardless of how slowly I walked. My slow pace outpaced him easily.

No threat actually existed, I reminded myself. 

I am safe.