I'm not Catholic, but I need to confess...

Padre Pio of Pietrelcina called confession “the soul’s bath.” Spot on, father.

Catholics, your culture is by no means my costume, but the older I get, the more I do think you’re onto something.

As a child, when I did something I wasn’t proud of, my instinct was to shove it as deep down as possible. Once it was deep enough, it could become a secret source of intrinsically rooted shame: ah, yes, here. Deep down enough, here is the evidence that only I have that I am in fact not the good things that my friends, my family, you, anyone, might think I am. Be kind to me all you want, but only I know that I did in fact take $5 from the kitchen counter. I did!! I am a thief, and undeserving of any kindness. I act like a good, nice, girl by day, but by night, I know what I did and I must remind myself with a creeping, pervasive sense of shame that prevails upon me mostly at night when I am tucked in to my twin bed.