reconciling things

Embarrassing Bravery

Daja Steuer

March 31, 2025

March is a weird month for me every year and I always forget that until I am midway through March and wondering what the hell is going on. It’s like getting little whiffs of something that you can’t quite put your finger on.

Yesterday, with the month nearly over, it occurred to me why I was feeling a little…off. Yesterday was exactly 6 years to the day that my ex-husband walked out the door for the last and final time.

I’ve never told this story publicly, partly because it is no one’s business, but also because I always want to be fair in my telling of things and when things are fresh sometimes the emotions cloud the objectivity. But now, six years, intense therapy, a divorce, an annulment, falling in love, and an engagement later, I have loads of perspective. So, I will tell this now if for no other reason than maybe there is a woman (or man) stuck in a terribly abusive cycle who needs to be reminded that other realities are possible.

During March of Lent of 2019 I stood in the very back of the Confession line. When it was finally my turn I sat in front of the priest and said, “Father, I am not looking for absolution today. I don’t even know what to confess. But, I need prayer and I need to tell someone. Tomorrow I am giving my husband an ultimatum to get sober and get help or I have to leave. And I’m scared. I believe my life is in danger.” He listened. He prayed. He gave me a pastoral blessing. I cried.

The next day I sent my children to a friend’s house and had my husband alone. I made him a hearty meal. While he was eating I sat on the rug in the living room and I gave him the ultimatum. I had 911 already dialed in case I needed to hit call. Instead of lashing out he just sat in silence chewing. After a while he said he wanted to stay.

For a week he was a dry drunk. Not drinking, but angry as hell. The tension and the violence increased. And I prayed. I prayed so hard every day, every moment. I drenched my pillow in tears. The kids and I would gather in the dark in my room and whisper the Rosary. We had to whisper because if we prayed out loud he would become enraged.

Then on March 30 I noticed signs he had been drinking again. So I confronted him and he did not deny it. He was deviant even.

I remember it as if it was yesterday. He was on a ladder and I was standing in the doorway. And time stood still.

I have never been a brave person. I’ve been a people pleaser, a fearful worrier, and timid rule follower. I was raised to never be an inconvenience and to never question authority. In that moment, I just stood there looking at him. The kids looked at me. Were we going to do this song and dance again? How many times? Was this just my lot in life?

Somewhere within me there flickered a tiny spark of divine grace. I heard myself saying, “That’s enough. You can go now.” I didn’t shout it. In fact, I think I said it rather meekly. But there was a new conviction that had never been there before.

“You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.”(Benjamin Mee)

He looked at me with disbelief. Perhaps he thought I didn’t mean it. But I did. Somehow in that moment I found my voice. I found I had a spine. I found a sure footing. I knew one thing and that was that this was enough.

He grabbed a duffle bag, shoved a random collection of clothes in it and as he walked out the door he said, “Just so you know, you’re going to be alone always. You think your fancy church friends are going to care for you? I promise you they won’t. You’ll be alone forever and no one will care for you.” He threw his duffle bag into the back of his truck and squealed out the driveway.

I gathered up my kids and some hastily made PB&Js and took them on a day hike with one of my “fancy church friends.” I don’t recall that we even spoke about my husband leaving. We just breathed the fresh spring air of freedom. Then I came home and slept so hard.

Taken on that very day we got our freedom

My life is completely different than that day. I grieved hard and for a long time. It was a tough letting go of a 19 year marriage and all the expectations that come with that. I did not want to be a divorced woman. I had to learn to embrace being misunderstood and being the villain in others’ stories. I’ve been on the brink of losing myself only to find myself in Christ. I wanted God to save my marriage, but instead God chose to get glory from my brokenness. And isn’t that the way? The way we think we can best serve God and fulfill out purpose is not always the way God has mapped out for our sanctification.

“I don’t have to paint myself a different color. Happiness isn’t holier than grief. God has created space for both. We can be both. We can be all of it.” (Nightbirde)

Looking back at all the things the kids and I have done that I thought were impossible. Supporting ourselves, working on the house, sending kids to college, taking road trips, embracing the Faith, building a life. We learned to operate outside of survival mode and to really embrace joy.

That one tiny moment of just embarrassing bravery.

That one little moment of cooperating with grace.

That little spark of grace was fanned into a flame of a passion for life and for my family.

If you are stuck in a situation you think impossible to change, might I suggest standing in the back of the Confession line and then telling the priest how scared you are. I promise something good (who knows what) will come of that. Maybe the seed of courage will be planted in your heart.

46

Daja Steuer

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February 1, 2025

Today is my birthday. I slept in and as my awareness slowly returned to me around 9am, there were tears in my eyes. I’m so grateful to be 46. I’m still here. Not only that, I’m happy. I like my life. That is the craziness thing I’ve ever heard, honestly and I never would have believed it. That’s not because I have ever had the idea that youth was a thing to be held onto. I don’t believe any anti-aging-propaganda. It’s because 1) I honestly struggled so hard to find an inner happiness and contentment and 2) I’ve always had an idea in the back of my mind that I would die young. Maybe that is because I’ve been chronically sick for so long and maybe it is because secretly I wished to be released from this life.

But here I am. Forty-six years old and so profoundly grateful.

Here are 46 little life lessons you can take or leave. I don’t want to be anyone’s guru in any way whatsoever. But I would like to be someone’s woodland godmother who dispenses little sprinkles of grace to the day like sugar sprinkled on oatmeal. These are in no particular order of importance.

Antsy Catholics

Daja Steuer

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January 6, 2025

Chatting recently with my book club, someone dropped the name of a prominent Catholic teacher/writer/celebrity. I won’t mentioned his name here, because I don’t need that smoke. This name carries a lot of weight in most Catholic circles. For me, he’s…..meh. When I read his books I feel like I’m reading any twentieth century Protestant theologian. I said, “Well, he’s basically a Protestant who believes in the Eucharist.” A hot take that not everyone agrees with and that’s fine.

Nevertheless, our culture is so saturated with Protestantism that most do not recognize it. American Catholicism is dang hard to live, because everywhere we look for the Gospel there’s a Protestantized version–sadly, even in the Church a lot of the time. A protestantized Jesus makes for an antsy and angsty Catholic.

You’ve seen the symptoms, I’m sure. These can include:

Losing sleep over whether or not the Pope is likeable
Caring who had a personal audience with the Pope
Going to a different parish because your new parish priest is not like the old one
Coming back to your old parish when the priest you didn’t like gets reassigned
Following celebrities simply because they are Catholic
Getting too invested in Catholic X (formerly Twitter)
Expecting something groundbreaking, revelatory, or innovative in a homily and being disappointed when you don’t get it
When Barron/Hahn/Marshall/Gordon/Schmitz/Sri/Kelly are more recognizable and quotable to you than St. John Chrysostom or St. Ephrem the Syrian or St. Augustine
If after Mass you think “what did I get out of church today?” rather than “what did I offer the church today?”

Being a woman in a time of extinction

Daja Steuer

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August 26, 2024

When I’m sitting by my very own fire, reading the newspaper, and sipping cardamom coffee, I often feel heavy hearted. The news is so disheartening and if I let it go too deeply it can make me despondent. When I close the paper I want to gather my loved ones close and squeeze them tightly. I want to kiss them all over and tell them they are loved. I want to pray. I want to sit in silence and commune with the Holy Spirit. After I read the news I want to bake some bread and take it to a friend and say, “Just so you know that the world is not ending today.”

Never once while reading the paper have I thought, “You know what would fix this? An increased power struggle.” I have never thought, “I need to participate in the world’s corrupt structures.”

Contactmore

Daja Steuer

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February 27, 2024

Isn’t it interesting how many things have gone contactless in recent years. From ordering our groceries for pick-up to late night fast-food runs that are now dropped off on our porch, we don’t actually have to have contact with people. We can print our own stamps at home and transfer money from any number of apps. We apply for jobs online and accept offers virtually. We use Telehealth for nearly everything except setting bones. We don’t even meet potential sexual partners face-to-face. That happens by swiping left or right. If we so choose we can never have contact with another human being, never be exposed to their germs, never smell their scent, or hear whether or not their laugh is annoying or charming. We can live in relative isolation. In fact, isolation is becoming the default for an entire generation that now works, studies, shops, is entertained, dates, and worships from home.

Contactless is normal. It’s now a far more conscious and intentional a choice to meet face-to-face and to handle life’s business in person. Yet, we are hella depressed. One wonders if contactlessness will be the death of joy.

The Healing of the Hemorrhaging Woman

Sunday was probably my favorite Liturgy of Lent. It is the Week of the Hemorrhaging Woman. This is not my first post about her. You can read another here. There’s so much to which I relate: her pain, her isolation, her abuse at the hands of doctors, her desperation. There’s so much to admire: her faith, her audacity, her action.

My First Date

Daja Steuer

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January 28, 2024

On May 5 last year I posted a reel to Instagram where I said that I had never been on a date. (Here) Understandably people were like “Wait what?” I was married for nearly 20 years. I have nine children. And I had never been on an actual date, not counting “married dates” which is not what most people mean by dating. It was perhaps the first time I had publicly addressed the Protestant Purity Culture of which I was a part. I have since made several little reels addressing some of those themes and my rejection of that toxic soup of a cultural movement. (Here and here) It’s easy to call out Josh Harris, but honestly, he was late to the party. His infamous “I Kissed Dating Goodbye” wasn’t published until 1997. There were other prominent figures in the movement way before this. I read my first book on the subject around 1992. I consumed countless articles, books, and sermons on the topic. I went to seminars. And I taught the material. I actively promoted this as not only a way to approach marriage, but as THE way to approach marriage.

By the time I stood at the altar being married at 21 I was completely ensconced in this cultural movement. I said vows to a man I essentially did not know. In fact, up until the week before my wedding I had never even been alone with him. Our relationship was the gold standard. Articles were written about it. Ashamedly we held ourselves up as a standard. This is how you do it. This is the right way. Look how happy we are. We are happy because we played by all the rules.

He Will Fly

Daja Steuer

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December 17, 2023

When this child was born, in my bed, in the bleak midwinter in Ulaanbaatar Mongolia, my midwife from New Zealand stood over me, watching me give. I received him into my own hands and I laughed. She said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. If everyone had a birth like this, they would wonder what the fuss was all about.” This isn’t a flex. This is a grace. And I know full-well that I am completely unworthy.

He was the funniest child from day one. As soon as he could talk he learned to burp the alphabet. He would tell jokes, attempt breakdancing, or pull any prank. If he thought it would make me laugh he would be about it.

He was the first child to send us to the ER. (A dislocated elbow from jumping on the bed after specifically being told not to jump on the bed.) When he was about three years old we bought him a Superman cape. It had a hood–macho libre style. He thought he was superman. He would don his cape and would jump off any service. Chairs. Tables. Shelves. Couch. It did not matter. He was genuinely surprised every single time that he did not fly. He spent a year or more with a black eye, fat lip, bruises. And I spent a year or more on my toes, constantly on high alert to catch Superman. Never once did an injury deter him from his belief in his power of flight.

The Birthday of the Family

Daja Steuer

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August 10, 2023

Years before our separation and divorce my ex-husband stopped celebrating our anniversary. He said he had no interest in it. I would still make an attempt every year because I kept trying to heal the brokenness with every tool at my disposal. The last year I tried I created a basket of all his favorite foods–Mongolian fried dumplings and Mongolian salads, cherries, wine and brandy. I had cigars and candles and music. And I set up a little picnic in the backyard. I invited him to the table I had prepared. He said, “What the hell is this?” I reminded him it was our anniversary. He had some choice expletives but, he sat down, ate the food, smoked a cigar, and as the sun set he told me all the reasons he despised me. It went on until the moon rose and the stars came out. When he went inside, I stood alone in our backyard, tears rolling down my cheeks and said, “OK, Lord. It’s yours now.”

From that time on, I never tried to celebrate our anniversary. But I have never dismissed the day. It is still a day I mark faithfully, religiously. Yet, I never mark it with sadness. The kids and I redeemed that day and call it the birthday of our family. We celebrate like a birthday party. Cake, candles, champagne for the big people, mocktails for the littles. We go around the table and everyone says what they love about our family. Often it ends with a living room dance party, which is our little tribe’s default. We cannot help ourselves.

In this way I affirm that although my marriage did not work out, although it was riddled with brokenness from the beginning, and although the Church has ruled it null, I do not for a moment regret my tribe. My beautiful, loud, tender tribe. To celebrate the act that gave me this family–even though the act itself is tinged with grief–is to say to God, “Thank you.” Thank you for the unmerited blessing of being allowed to raise these children, to delight in their warmth, to hold them close to my heart, to teach them your ways. Who am I that I get the abundance of their tenderness and their humor? I get to walk them through their sorrows and rejoice with them in their victories. I get to be a steward of their growth and see them launch into the world, tucked into the Sacred Heart. This family is a blessing. I can only say, “Look what God has done.”

This is the Lord’s doing;
it is marvelous in our eyes.
Psalm 118:23

Last year, two days before the birthday of our family, I got the notice from the Tribunal that my marriage was annulled. There was a combination of crying and laughter as I soaked up an intense sense of freedom I have never known.

I was willing to carry the cross of my marriage if Holy Mother Church said it was mine to carry. But I was also committed to not rely on my own wisdom and authority, but the submit myself to the wisdom and authority of the Church. Christ through the Church set me free.

On my way home to celebrate the birthday party I stopped at the store for champagne. I bought the one called Patriarche. It made me joyful as we raised a toast to our family and to the authority of the Church that brought healing and wholeness.

The birthday of the family is coming up this weekend. The spirit is one full of so much gratitude for how far we have come as a family. This isn’t something I could ever imagine. We owe it all to the Sacred Heart. We are tucked in him behind the thorns–which we also passed through. Happy Birthday to my little tribe. I am forever and ever grateful to be your mom.

Becoming Tender

Daja Steuer

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June 8, 2023

I have started this post multiple times and I have other iterations of it saved to drafts. It’s vulnerable. It’s a sensitive topic that not only may make others feel judged, it also makes me feel judged. But several of my beautiful readers have specifically asked I address this and so, here I am….doing some difficult examinations of how I got to where I am now and how I will get to the next stage of my theosis.

Where to even begin? I feel it should begin with one very particular incident that is seared into my memory. I know exactly where I was standing and what I was doing when I verbally lit into one of my kids who was just about 8 or 9 years old. This child was whining about something and it was really getting on my nerves. I needed it to stop and for this child to knock it off already. I let them have it. I was not compassionate, kind, attached, or empathetic. I was not leading by my example in the least. I needed my child to control their emotions and exercise self-mastery, while I lost my temper and displayed the worst sides of myself. My words, my tone, the body language was all very cutting and demeaning.

I can see this child’s eyes even now more than a decade later. The hurt that welled up in those eyes. And the little voice that said, “Mom, do you really mean what you are saying?” This child’s courage, honesty, and vulnerability in that moment, instantly crushed me. I hugged this child, I apologized, I sent myself to my room and sobbed. What was wrong with me?!

Why I Stopped Writing For Dating Apps

Daja Steuer

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May 19, 2023

You may have stumbled upon this little corner of the internets because of columns I used to write for dating apps. Yes, I am divorced and annulled and have never actually dated. Those who can’t do, teach. Right?

About a year and a half ago I suddenly stopped writing for dating apps. I tried to write. My gracious editors tried to offer me topics that I could write within my wheelhouse. However, this perverse sense of integrity stopped me in my tracks every time. I just couldn’t do it anymore. It took some time to sort out all the whys about being absolutely done. Now that I have some distance on it, here is why I am no longer writing for dating apps. But first a disclaimer:

Yes, I am aware of the many success stories of people who have met online. In fact, some of my closest friends met each other online through an app. I am happy they found their happily ever after. My take on the dating app approach is not a judgement in the least on those who have met their partners online. Just like I have friends who have met their spouses in college, in middle school, through Bible studies, at work, in bars, at parties and hook-ups, and on blind date set-ups by nosey relatives, I am happy for them all. I can hold that happiness in one hand and still hold the idea that I don’t think their method of getting together should be trademarked and marketed as THE method of finding a spouse. My grandfather proposed to my grandmother after 3 weeks and they were happily married for life. But, I wouldn’t recommend marrying someone you met three weeks ago, despite the obvious lovely success of my grandparents. Let me say this again very clearly, I am happy you found your Love, however that came together whether through an app or not, and I will not judge how you got there. The following then are generalities, not specific to your situation. [end disclaimer]