The Broom Closet In and Out and Back In Again?

IPCOD Pt 3:

In and Out and Back In Again—a Career in Law Enforcement

For those of you who have been with me since the first of the series you’ll remember this:

Two years ago, I made the decision to go back to school. My goal: to kick ass and take names in school such that the FBI will welcome me with open arms when I graduate with Honors. I’m doing very well on that end, if I do say so myself. But let’s face it, you didn’t stop by to listen to me toot my own horn, did you?

I discussed it with a friend when I made the choice. She’s been working with Law Enforcement Officers of all stripes (Pun intended) for all of her adult life. She warned me that LEOs were a conservative lot. I assured her that I knew because I come from a LEO extended family. The words ‘Conservative’ and ‘Liberal’ both give me hives, but that’s a topic for another day. We’re talking about being out of the broom closet.

As I got closer and closer to the first week of school I got more and more nervous. My inner monologue was replaying the above conversation and worrying about how my faith might affect my career advancement. It’s pretty sad that I felt I had to agonize over it this much, but I try to be honest with myself about such things.

So when school rolled around I decided it was a non-issue. I don’t introduce myself to people as “I’m Amy and I’m Pagan.” So why should it be an issue. I wear my pentacle every day, just like I always have. It’s not really that noticeable, I’m told. The chain also carries a single cabochon in a plain setting. This blue stone looks somewhat unremarkable to the uninitiated (pun completely intended!). This blend of Dolomite, Rhyolite and Slate is found in one place in the world, and my necklace is the same stone that Stonehenge is built from. As they hang from the same chain, the blue stone usually covers the pentacle to some degree.

Two good friends from school wound up earning my trust to the point where I answered questions about my faith with them, but I don’t advertise. I stopped putting my magnetic bumper stickers with witchy slogans on them. (Honestly, part of that was school, and part of that was a crazy person trying to run me off the road while screaming obscenities.)

Now at my job I still wear my necklace daily, but as it’s under a security uniform, no one knows it is there, at least until last week. One of the relief guys noticed the chain for the first time since I started working here almost a year ago. When he asked what was on it, I merely pulled the Stonehenge piece out of my shirt and left the pentacle hanging inside my shirt, because honestly, he hasn’t earned it. My coworkers know I’m a minister, because my last partner was president of the Jesus wagon. So we had great discussions about religion and when asked I state I’m ‘non-denominational’.

For a time I worried that this meant I was denying who I was. I had flashbacks to Sunday school in the second grade when they were telling us about Peter denying God three times in the Book of John. I wondered if I was doing a disservice to my community by not shouting my faith to the rooftops. Then I had a deep breath and got over myself. /grin

I still have a runic license plate frame that reads, “If you can read this, you’re my kind of Witch” but it’s almost an in-joke. I can display my faith to those who would understand it, and those that don’t, have no bearing on the subject anyway.

So instead of panicking that I’ve somehow put myself back in the closet, I’ve stopped worrying about it. My family and friends all know. Anyone I’m friends with on (my personal) Facebook knows. It’s okay to consider yourself when discussing your faith with others. I’m not ashamed. I still do my outreach work and occasionally have my photo out there. For pity’s sake, I appeared on TLC and the AP News Wire in ritual. It’s just that I don’t feel I need a flag to wave anymore. I’m more secure than that. And honestly, me being secure in who I am will land me my dream job, or the job I’m meant to have, more than any flag waving in my faith. I’m happy with that.

Blessed Be.

International Pagan Coming Out Day Part 1

International Pagan Coming Out Day May 2nd

Every year when May 2nd rolls around, I get a feeling in my chest. It varies, year to year, but I always have strong feelings about it. Two years ago, I made the decision to go back to school. My goal: to kick ass and take names in school such that the FBI will welcome me with open arms when I graduate with Honors. I’m doing very well on that end, if I do say so myself. But let’s face it, you didn’t stop by to listen to me toot my own horn, did you?

I discussed it with a friend when I made the choice. She’s been working with Law Enforcement Officers of all stripes (Pun intended) for all of her adult life. She warned me that LEOs were a conservative lot. I assured her that I knew because I come from a LEO extended family. The words ‘Conservative’ and ‘Liberal’ both give me hives, but that’s a topic for another day. We’re talking about being out of the broom closet.

I still remember the day I told my mom and step-dad I was a Witch. I did what all the articles tell you NOT, under any circumstances, to do. I walked up to my mom while she was cooking dinner and said, “So, mom… I’m a Witch”. I had been testing the waters you see. This was in 1995 and Dishwalla’s Counting Blue Cars was on the radio every five minutes. So while we were driving one day, I asked my mom about the lyrics.

We said, "Tell me all your thoughts of God?

'Cause I would really like to meet her

And ask her why we're who we are

Tell me all your thoughts on God

'Cause I am on my way to see her

So tell me am I very far,

am I very far now?"

So I asked my mom, “Do you think the lyricist is going to meet God (Her) or a girl he likes (her)?” We started having a discussion about whether my mom believed that God was Male, Female or All. It was a great discussion. I don’t remember what she said, but I felt very warm and positive. My mom was raised Catholic, but was non-practicing herself. My parents insisted we go to a church (usually whichever was closest to where we were living at the time) as kids. When my mom left my father, we stopped going to church, and we were all okay with that.

You see, I am the second oldest of my mom’s four girls. I shared a room with my older sister, and much like any other younger sister, I was nosy. One day while peeking in my older sister’s back pack I found a book that caught my eye. “Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner”. I was 11. I was also fascinated. The town we lived in was small enough, and I was responsible enough, mom let me walk to the library after school to hang out and read a bit before dinner. In a house with 6 people, quiet is a luxury. The next day after I got home from school, I hoofed it over to the library and started investigating this new thing I discovered, Wicca.

3 ½ years later I’m standing in our kitchen blurting out the words that I knew would change my life forever. “I’m a Witch”. As I wait for mom to look up from her dinner preparations, for the earth to swallow me whole, or something equally traumatizing to happen. My mom didn’t miss a beat, “Oh? Have you told your father (my step-dad)?”

“No, I wanted to tell you first.”

“Oh, okay. Why don’t you go tell him? Dinner in 30.”

The earth didn’t swallow me up. The earth didn’t swallow me up? Who is this woman and what has she done with my mother? I realized a few days later that my mother had the “mom” enough that she figured this was a phase, and it would pass sooner if she didn’t fight me over it. Seventeen years, and still the earth hasn’t swallowed me up and I haven’t gotten over my ‘phase’.

So I wander outside. It’s mid Spring and J is planting beautiful Clematis to climb a trellis he just built. “So how was school today, Princess?”

“It was okay. English was interesting. The teacher showed up in two different shoes, and threw a chair when someone pointed it out.”

“Whoa, anyone hurt?”

“Nope. Oh, mom wanted me to tell you dinner is in 30.”

“Okay, sweetie.”

“Oh, there was one more thing. I’m a Witch”.

“Oh really? I dated a Witch in High school.”

That was it. I had gnashed my teeth and worried and angsted over NOTHING. Now, I’m not saying it wasn’t interesting for a while. My mother threw it in my face for a while when she was mad at me. Her issue wasn’t that I had converted. Her issue was that I was investigating another faith (I had converted years before, but who takes the word of a kid? Sadly, very few.) without talking to her.

So she was hurt.  As an adult I can understand why she was hurt.  In her mind, when she left my father and stopped drinking, she wanted us to be buddies.  But I had grown up with her being a terrifying dictator who unleashed her fury over things that never would have occured to us.  How was I, as a 14 year old, to know whether or not this would be one of the things that she loses her mind over?