Yes – I’m looking at you Roman Catholic Church.

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RANT MODE: ENGAGED. FULL STEAM AHEAD.

Yes – I’m looking at you Roman Catholic Church. 😡

Let’s talk about this absolute dumpster fire of a headline that made me throw my phone across the room, pick it back up, and scream into the void:

“Catholic Church to Excommunicate Priests for Following Mandatory Reporting Laws.”

https://www.newsweek.com/catholic-church-excommunicate-priests-following-new-us-state-law-2069039

Oh. So that’s where the line is drawn? Not at the decades—decades, mind you—of sexual abuse coverups. Not at the grotesque failure to protect children. Not at the systematic shuffle of predator priests from parish to parish like some kind of sick shell game. No, no—God forbid a priest have the moral decency and basic human soul to report a predator. That’s what’ll get you booted from the club.

Because apparently, in the eyes of the Catholic Church hierarchy, protecting a pedophile’s “sacramental confession” is more sacred than protecting an actual, living, breathing child from being harmed.

Let me say it louder for the cardinals in the back: THERE IS NO CONFESSION MORE SACRED THAN A CHILD’S SAFETY.

I’m absolutely livid. As someone who has practiced catholicism for YEARS, who was steeped in its rituals, who was told that “once you’re Catholic, you’re always Catholic” (unless, of course, you get excommunicated for… telling the truth?), I’m heartbroken and furious all over again.

I left the Church when they told me my child wasn’t legitimate. Legitimate? What century are we even in? I was done. D-O-N-E. But I still carry the scars, the culture, the memory. So when I see something like this, it’s not just some theoretical headline to me—it feels like an attack. It feels like a slap in the face to every survivor, to every parent who trusted, to every child who screamed into the void and was told to shut up for the sake of the Church’s reputation.

Here’s my big, angry, blistering question: Why the hell aren’t clergy mandatory reporters across the board?
Teachers are.
Doctors are.
Nurses are.
City employees like me are.

Because when you’re trusted with vulnerable people—especially children—you have a legal and moral obligation to protect them. So why does the Catholic Church get to clutch its rosary beads and duck out under “religious freedom” when the rest of us are held to account?

Oh, right. Separation of church and state… unless it’s inconvenient for the Church. Then it’s, “Well actually, canon law says…”

Canon law? You know what canon law doesn’t do? It doesn’t lock up abusers. It doesn’t protect kids. It doesn’t heal trauma.

And let’s just dig into this absolute ethical trainwreck:
If a child confides in a priest about being abused—even by another priest—and that priest chooses to stay silent for fear of losing their position or being excommunicated… what message does that send? That the institution’s rules matter more than a child’s life?

Guess what? That is the message. And it’s evil.

We can debate theology all day, but this isn’t about faith. It’s about power. It’s about control. And it’s about shielding predators under the thin, moldy cloak of “sacrament.”

The Church doesn’t get to hide behind its confession booths anymore. Not when children are bleeding. Not when entire communities have been shattered. Not when survivors have spent decades fighting to be heard.

I am done with the free passes. I am done with the spiritual gaslighting. I am done with the Church acting like it’s the victim in all this.

You know who the victims are? The kids. The silenced. The survivors who now live with chronic PTSD, addiction, suicidal ideation—because some priest whispered “go say ten Hail Marys” instead of “I’m calling the goddamn cops.”

Excommunicate me if you want, Church.
I left already.
But don’t you dare think I won’t still speak up.

Because someone has to.

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About Me

Born and raised in the Pacific Northwest—back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth (or so it feels some mornings)—I’m what you’d call “seasoned.” After a lifetime of wandering around this big, quirky United States, collecting stories, bad habits, and questionable furniture, I’ve found myself right back where I started. Guess home really does call you back, like a determined telemarketer.

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