Like a Fish in a Fishbowl
Welcome, friends, to part 4 of My DTR with the Church. This one is pretty personal. I felt like I had less of a structure and more of a stream-of-consciousness type of thing going. I hope I don’t sound bitter or resentful. I’m not. I just want to be honest and vulnerable about my experience as a Pastor’s Kid (PK). I think it explains a lot about who I am and why I am the way I am. Again, not an excuse. As per usual, if any of the things I say strike a nerve, reach out! I’d love to chat.
By the way, if you’d like to read the first iteration of this post, the long version - click here.
Once upon a time, a tiny fish found herself in a fishbowl. Her life was forever changed.
Not too long ago, I wrote this sentence down:
I'm a Pastor's Kid, and I have the scars to prove it.
You can't control the family you're born into, just like you can't control your birth city or year of birth. Every family is unique. Every pastor's family is unique. I don't even try to convince you that my experience is typical for every PK because it's not. My story can't explain every PK you meet. It can only shine a light on this one.
I didn't realize how difficult writing this part of my story until I started writing it down. This is my third attempt. You better be grateful that I didn't publish my first draft. It was 2,500 words long. My professors would have been proud. (If you’re crazy and want to read my mind dump, here go.)
Some lessons and experiences from the years of being raised at a church molded me to be who I am today. Lessons that built strength in me and experiences that haunt me like ghosts. There are things, scars, I still need to work through.
If I were to describe how it felt to be a Pastor's Kid, I would probably tell you that it was like being a fish in a fishbowl. When you're a fish in a fishbowl, even when placed in a remote corner of the room, you get to see everything. And my fishbowl wasn't rose-colored either. I got to see everything the way it really was - whether or not I wanted to. One of the good things that have come out of my experience was the realization that church isn't God. It's not this magical spiritual thing that is divine and incapable of error. I had front row seats to how human everyone is, and how messy churches are. I don't put pastors on a pedestal because my parents were pastors. I have seen them at their best, but I've seen them at their worst. I've seen when they failed. I didn't enter the church thinking that it's going to be perfect because it's the work of the Lord. I entered church ministry knowing how broken everyone is. There are no rose-colored glasses here. I understand decent people can make mistakes. I understand good preachers don't always make good leaders. I understand that a spiritual leader can fail you. Actually, they will.
I had to learn a couple of things as an adult, which partly involved unlearning some of the things I learned from my family over the years. First, ministry is not the same as a relationship with God. It's two different things, and they're not interchangeable. You don't have to stay in ministry forever. You can have boundaries. You can take a break. Second, you're not God. People don't need you. They might want you around. You might be able to help them through a season or in a specific instance. However, you don't have to dispense everything you've got, sacrifice everything, to be a person's savior. We - humans - were never equipped to be someone else's savior. When I learned that last lesson, it was like a big burden was lifted off me.
If I was ever to write a book about my life in ministry, I would call the chapter about being a PK "Now You See Me, Now You Don't."
A fish in a fishbowl is simultaneously invisible and on display. I mentioned earlier that I had scars. This means that I have things that I have carried with me to this day, things that are still affecting me today. This is one of them. Like a fish in a fishbowl, being a PK got me confused. I felt like I was always on display, that every little action was scrutinized. I remember comments were made about me by congregation members without ever considering that the words they say can hurt deeply.
"Your clothes are too tight."
"You look like a slob."
"You have the makings of a Jezebel."
"You're throwing yourself at guys."
"Are you dating him? You shouldn't be dating."
"Should you be eating that?"
"You're too much."
Whoever said words can't hurt was obviously lying. Even as I bristled from feeling like I was always on display, I felt invisible. I grew up with the nagging feeling that people see me but could never really see me.
To this day, I struggle with this. As an adult minister, I still feel like that fish in a fishbowl, on display yet forgotten. I bristle at the idea that people feel like they have carte blanche to scrutinize, comment, and make judgments on my life. I still hear echoes of the exact words I got as a teenager. My personality, my relationships, my looks seem to be fair game. Privacy seems to be out of reach. Yet, at the same time, I felt like I was easily forgotten, in a decorative fishbowl in the corner of the room. I still want to be seen. If you stopped me a decade ago and asked me what I fear, my answer would be: to be forgotten. But, being scrutinized and commented on is not the same thing as being seen. I struggle. I want to hide from the world, but I want to be seen. I want to banish the words that have etched scars so deep I still feel the pain even when I'm grown. What would it look like to be seen for who I am and simply loved? Is that even possible?
A few years back, Mindy Kaling wrote a book called Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns). I chuckle reading the title (I read the rest of the book too). It seems like we share the same sentiment. Or at least, I felt like I share the same sentiment with Kaling's book title. No, no. I’m not FOMOing. I’m just saying that I found out that fishbowls are simply apart. It's fun to look at, but you're alone in your fishbowl, a part of the room yet somehow still apart. It's a lonely, lonely existence. It affects how I view relationships. It’s affected how I view myself. It’s affected how I relate to other people in general.
Like I said, this is something I still struggle with. I battle these thoughts in my mind at every turn. I don't blame the church, nor do I blame my parents or my upbringing. This is just the way things are. This is why I am the way I am. This is, however scattered it may be, my attempt at being vulnerable.
I don't know how to end this post, but the image I have in my head is of that scene from "Finding Nemo" where a bunch of fish were wrapped in plastic bag, bobbing in the ocean, the aftermath of a daring escape. Maybe one of these days I can escape the fishbowl and be somewhat reintegrated with the sea. I don't know. One can only hope.