Confessing to Women

Photo credit: asiandelight, Shutterstock

[Editors’ note: Due to the sensitive nature of this post, the writer has requested to remain anonymous.]

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession.”

There I sat in a dimly-lit room in the back of my church, trying to think of how exactly to phrase my sins to this priest. I had several sins to confess, and one I wanted to confess was of a sexual nature. However, even sitting behind a screen, I was very uncomfortable going into much, if at any, detail about what had happened. So I simply said, “I went a little too far with a guy, and I did not have the best of intentions behind my actions,” then proceeded to the next sin. I listed another four or five: “I was not patient enough with my mom when I talked to her last,” “I gossiped about my friend and if she knew what I said she would be really hurt,” etc. The priest was silent until I finished my list, and when I finally did he immediately returned to the first sin that I had confessed.

“What kind of things did you do with that man?”

I knew he was going to come back to this. Even though I could have really used some advice on the other sins, it had been my experience in confession that priests became concerned with sexual acts when I confessed them. I was not sure if this was just my experience as a woman, but in this specific instance it would become very clear.

“What do you mean, Father?” I asked in a slow, confused manner. I looked behind me only to be reminded the door was shut. This was supposed to make me feel safe, but this privacy was beginning to provoke a fear inside of me.

I barely knew this priest. I was new to the church, a 22-year-old, first-year graduate student who had never lived anywhere near this small-town-Indiana parish.

I began to tell him more details about the sin I had just confessed, still using censored language. But I couldn’t help but have the feeling I was engaging in some sort of weird phone sex as I described my actions to the priest from behind a screen. I started to get the feeling he was somewhat enjoying hearing about my actions. So I stopped and said, “Sorry, I do not feel comfortable talking about this right now.”

“Tell me exactly everything you did with this man,” he repeated.

I froze. “No…” I began to say.

“I said, what kind of things did you do with this man?”

“I don’t feel comfortable telling you, and honestly I don’t need to tell you to be forgiven.”

The priest stopped talking, and an aura of defense sent in. He knew he had pushed too far, but he never apologized. He remained silent and gave me a lengthy penance. I said my Act of Contrition as quickly as possible and walked out of the church still stunned as to what had just happened. I have not gone back to confession since.

Some of you reading this may be shocked; others may not be shocked at all. And some of you reading this may have had a similar experience.

But for everyone reading this, whether you know it or not: this was sexual harassment.

I said “no,” I told him I was uncomfortable, and he kept insisting.

More than a year has gone by since this occurrence, and I have started to think, “What could be some solutions to sexual harassment in confession?” I knew that I was not the only woman this priest had done this to, and I knew he was probably not the only priest doing it.

My mind went right to, “Don’t confess sins of a sexual nature in confession next time.” That could be a solution. Then my mind went to, “Maybe just don’t commit sins of a sexual nature so you do not have to confess them.” And finally, I thought, “Maybe I should only go to priests who I know very well and trust would not do something like that to me”.

But those solutions I had automatically generated were both rooted in something the Church and society have been guilty of for far too long: victim blaming.

Both of these solutions focused on me, the person who was harassed, changing my behavior as if I did something to provoke the priest to ask these inappropriate questions, when confession was designed to be a safe space for a parishioner to talk openly. Solutions like these perpetuate rape culture by forcing the victim to look for solutions when nothing should have prompted the behavior in the first place.

As I rethought my solution, I came up with the idea of informing priests and other clergy more about what sexual harassment is and how to not engage in it. This was a better solution, I will give myself that. But to be frank, if a man who is so deeply rooted in God’s will, devoting his life to the Lord, had it in his heart to give into the temptation of having to know exactly every detail of what I did, then would a simple seminar really help? If this man had spent so much time praying and focusing on how to help humanity and give dignity to those who are oppressed, wouldn’t he have already known what he was doing is wrong? And if he didn’t know it was wrong, would education alone change the deeply rooted patriarchy in the Catholic Church that allows situations like this to occur at parishes around the world?

And that’s when it hit me. What if a woman had been on the other side of that screen?

It has been shown in literature that people with various identities – whether it be gender, race, sexual orientation, etc. – feel more comfortable disclosing information to counselors or other confidential figures with identities similar to their own. Although in counseling settings I had many times requested a female counselor, I had never considered the following: Could I request a nun or another female member of the church to hear my confession?

I am by no means saying that a woman could not act inappropriately when administering confession, and I am also not saying that all priests engage in sexual harassment. But what I am saying is that women in the Catholic Church have long been subjected to a power dynamic in the Church that has led to harassment and oppression, and for women who feel that they have been personally victimized in this way, it may feel safer if another woman were able to hear her confession.

Just like how women can request female Uber drivers, or female psychologists because they would feel more comfortable, shouldn’t women be able to request another woman hear her confession in order to feel more safe in this personal, one-on-one environment?

I am an advocate for women’s ordination in the Catholic Church, and I believe women should have the opportunity to administer all seven sacraments. However, the need for women to offer the sacrament of Reconciliation, especially, is urgent.  While it may seem like a small step, it is necessary in order to ensure the respect and safety of survivors of sexual harassment and assault in a church that has allowed these crimes and inappropriate behaviors to go on unchecked for far too long. I believe the Church can change and must change to become a safe place for survivors of power-based violence by allowing women the same opportunities that it has allowed men.