No Cate

I wasn’t always a witch. Or a feminist.

I spent nine years attending Catholic School.

I spent nine years attending Catholic School.

I wasn’t always a witch. Or a feminist.

In my rebel Catholicism, and the Catholicism that I see so many other Latinx people practice, faith and cynicism are dancing partners that invent their own steps.

For me, feminism felt like finding a beautiful shoe in the wrong size. No matter how much I strained, it never seemed to be a perfect fit. I found my size in womanism.

A man who loves Jesus, believes in waiting for sex, and cares about intersectional feminism? That’s hard to find in Evangelicalism (although admittedly easier in an urban environment). And to find a guy who cares about intersectional feminism and also prioritizes faith? That’s not a snap either.

In my youth, our church was a place of liberal political pride for me. Jesus was a role model for helping others. The man who sexually abused me also spoke eloquently of Christian generosity. He welcomed draft resisters to the church during the Vietnam War. He was an intellectual who introduced me to Virginia Wolf, even as he seemed to feel entitled to sexual access to all women — and children who looked like women, like me.