The Patron Saint of Adolescence

As a twelve-year-old, I felt as ridiculed as a pregnant prom queen at a Catholic high school.

I heard nuns whispering behind habits, hurling words like “sin” and “disgrace”. I saw peers in pleated skirts and pressed pants, whose polo shirts fit much better than mine.

There were far too many demons for a school with a chapel attached. Every day was a spiritual war in which I had no armor or weapons.

Dancing alone in the center of the room, wearing a crown of thorns and holding a bouquet of lilies, even God had turned away.