The life of a preacher’s kid is nothing short of complex.
On one end we’re confronted with external pressures and on the other — internal.
Every preacher’s kid has a story that’s deeply personal and sometimes painful, and while I wouldn’t assume we all share the same story, there is a collective experience we can all relate to.
External.
My mother accepted her call into ministry in June of 2002.
Though, I was only seven at the time, it’s a memory I vividly recall.
A little backstory: my father was active duty in the military at the time, so our family had already relocated to his next assignment — Woodbridge, VA.
Although we had already begun assimilating into a new church, our family would briefly return to my hometown, Virginia Beach, where she would preach her initial sermon under the pastor who licensed her as a minister.
It was an unusual weekend for me.
I stayed at my grandmother’s house, along with my two brothers and father, while my mom stayed at a nearby hotel.
I remember having the biggest seven-year-old attitude about that.
I’m a bit of mama’s girl, so naturally I did not (and refused to) understand why I couldn’t be with her at the hotel.
So much so that at one point her ministry friends started calling me “little preacher” asking, “Where’s your shadow?” when they didn’t see me.
I remember my granny saying something to the effect of, “She needs this time to be alone with God.”
And as you can imagine me and all my attitude didn’t understand this, not even a little.
This would be the beginning of a special and, at times, unusual childhood — trailing my mother all across the state of Virginia and elsewhere in the name of ministry.
Me and Josephine, who I refer to my mother as when we’re on big homegirl energy, were closer than close in my adolescence.
Anywhere and anytime she was preaching I was there, front row and center.
So much so that at one point her ministry friends started calling me “little preacher” asking, “Where’s your shadow?” when they didn’t see me.
Being a preacher’s kid means many of your first church friends are other preachers’ kids.
It can also mean sharing your parent with the church.
Unfortunately, this sometimes equates to a parent who’s neither physically or emotionally present.
I’m blessed to say this wasn’t my experience.
As the only girl and youngest in my family, my mother — in her words — would often say with all the black-mama-energy, “I made sure my baby girl stayed with me.”
And this was true.
I was at her hip.
Still, I didn’t escape the external pressures.
The elephant in the room.
We all know it.
There has long been a stereotype that preachers’ kids, specifically who are female, are promiscuous.
All in the name of trying to prove to people who could care less about my well-being that I wasn’t always good.
I’m not saying there’s zero truth underneath this stone, I am saying it’s a generalization and a narrative we should stop pushing.
Again, me and my mom were close so there was always an open line of communication.
We regularly discussed the pressure I felt to do and be like everyone else because I came across as too good to my peers.
The dichotomy I felt between just being me and being who others expected or assumed me to be, often made me question myself like, “Well…should I be!?”
While I managed to overcome most of these assumptions of my character as an adolescent, as I matriculated through undergrad, these same feelings of being too good showed up again – leading me to say things and behave in ways that were very much outside of my character.
All in the name of trying to prove to people who could care less about my well-being that I wasn’t always good.
Chile, self-fulfilling prophecies are a trip.
I’m grateful that during these conversations my mother was willing to listen, be non-judgmental, and of course always pointing me back toward the cross a.k.a. what does Jesus and the Word say about this?
Okay, don’t roll your eyes.
You’re thinking, “So you and your mom just always had the most perfect relationship?”
Far from it.
Let’s fast forward to adulthood.
Internal.
I’m 24.
I’ll be 25 in the fall.
Yes, I know I’m still in my early twenties, but listen — the earlier twenties were rough.
Between 21 and 22, there was a breakdown in me and my mother’s relationship and the dynamic quickly became negative and destructive.
In one heated argument, I remember shouting, “You just want me to be like you. I’m not YOU!”
Almost every time we spoke, we argued — nothing I did seemed to please her.
She didn’t like the activities I engaged in.
She didn’t like the person I was dating.
And she didn’t like that I stopped attending the church I grew up in.
The friction felt unbearable and the basis of my frustration was that I felt my mom wanted me to be like her.
In one heated argument, I remember shouting, “You just want me to be like you. I’m not YOU!”
It was a tough moment for me and probably for her too.
While I didn’t want to be at odds with my mom and thought the world of her, I also wanted to live my own life.
The internal calamity was heavy and if I’m transparent — depressing.
I believe this is one of the greatest struggles preachers’ kids face — the internal pressure to be perfect.
All things well.
Growing up, my mother always emphasized the need to develop a personal relationship with Christ.
She recognized the value of a faith-based relationship and was determined for my siblings and I to cultivate our own.
During the angst of our relationship, I wasn’t living a “Christ-led” anything and my faith walk was the last thing on my mind.
I was so far gone…no Monica (okay, that was corny but sounded funny in my head).
How did we make amends?
Time, space, prayer, and acceptance.
Eventually, I came to realize that it was less about me living up to my mother’s standards, but more so about me rising to the standard Jesus set before me.
Likewise, she learned to trust that what she’s poured into me won’t return void and acknowledged that I’m my own person with my own lessons to learn.
Nobody was more right or more wrong than the other.
We both emerged from this period having learned more about each other and the transformative nature of God’s love.
Today, our relationship is in a healthy space with both love and boundaries.
I found my way back to Christ and started going to counseling almost a year ago — a decision my mom was more than supportive of.
I’ve found family and community with other believers where I’m serving, growing and thriving.
In the end, I suppose you can say I finally mastered that “personal faith relationship” thing my preacher mama has been emphasizing all these years.
Everything I am I owe to Jesus…and you too, mama!
— signed, just another preacher’s kid
BABL 