+ BY MADISEN KUHN + BANNER + ILLUSTRATIONS BY LAURA SUPNIK
I was raised by superheroes, but they didn’t wear capes, or tights, or colorful masks—they wore loud high heels, lip liner, and strong perfume; khakis, hair gel, and shiny wristwatches. My parents were invincible. They were Good. They were pretty much God. I trusted them with everything I had, and I believed and followed what they told me without question. Carrots make your eyesight better. Christianity is the only way. Tattoos are tacky. If you have sex before marriage, you will regret it for the rest of your life. Liberals are idiots. Always write thank you cards. Keep your fingernails short. Santa is real. The older I got, the more I began to question these principles, until all the sudden, I woke up and realized that my parents were not perfect. They are not superheroes; they are not God—they are horrifically, beautifully, and simply human. I grew up Catholic, discovered what it meant to be “born again” in middle school, and firmly embraced the Christian faith as a teenager. I was always very interested in religion and spirituality. I’d go to religious education and weekday Bible studies without being asked or dragged out the door. I’d go on mission trips, Christian summer camps, and read the Bible every day without posting an Instagram photo of my coffee/ scripture set-up—although, my Christianity defined much of my online presence as a sixteen and seventeen-year-old. I had fully put my identity in being a follower of Jesus. It was genuine, personal, and all-consuming. In my first year of “adulthood,” I began exploring my beliefs and discovering a different path for myself. I started to question things I had blindly accepted before and realized this wasn’t something that I could put genuine faith in anymore—my heart and my mind did not agree with the lifestyle I had been living for so many years. For a while, I was in denial. I felt like I was unable to escape this life that had been established for me—
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that if I wanted to explore other ways of living, I would be met with judgment and condemnation by my parents... and I wasn’t totally wrong. My mom was accepting and supportive of my individuality, but once I opened up to my father about my changed beliefs and decided to move in with my boyfriend for the summer, he cut me off because of my “sinful” lifestyle. I was suddenly left to put myself through college and became almost entirely financially independent at twenty (he continued to pay for my insurance). After a sheltered upbringing of incredible privilege, this was a major shock. I’d never been taught how to manage money or do taxes—I was left to fend for myself and figure it out as I went along, trying to keep it all together both externally and internally. When your childhood superhero becomes someone who hurts you, your whole world flips upside down. My dad and I had always been close, especially in my later teen years, so losing his approval over something that made me a happier and more empowered person was earth-shattering. I was confident in my life choices—I knew that I had to live my truth rather than going through the motions for the approval and financial support of my dad—but that didn’t make it hurt any less. It felt awful to have his view of me shift from once perfect daughter to a sinful disappointment. I wanted him to understand, but he proved that his Christian faith (and possibly reputation) was more important than making me feel secure, accepted, and loved. And I know he sees it differently than I do, never in a million years would he deny loving me any less—but that’s what his actions told me, and I listened, brokenhearted.