Yesterday I went to church for Mother’s Day. The last time I attended in person was five weeks ago.
Growing up, I barely missed a week. My parents had volunteer roles every Sunday and so did I. But as I have learned about myself, I have realized that going to church on Sunday mornings is one of the more taxing things I do. And now I can only go when I have the capacity to (read: when my body is feeling ok and my family demands haven’t used up my energy).
I used to schedule by time – if I had an open slot in my calendar, I would book something. These days I plan in terms of energy. I have “high key days” and “low key days”. High key days require more energy and I need to make sure I leave enough buffer space around them.
I knew I wanted to be there at church yesterday so I kept Saturday as a low key day. I spent the entire day at home and did life-giving things. This was how I could charge my battery before heading into a social event. I also made sure I had nothing planned for the rest of Sunday. Attending church in the morning always means I need a nap. Yesterday, I slept for nearly three hours after lunch.
You might wonder why church is so tiring. For me, it’s a combination of factors. While I love the people in our church community and desire to connect with them, having many conversations (and mostly more surface level ones) is draining for me. It takes energy to focus on what a person is saying to me and respond in a reciprocal way. I have auditory processing struggles which means my brain has difficulty filtering out background noises and it processes spoken word slower. I usually watch movies with subtitles so I can keep up with what’s going on. At church, there are no subtitles. So I have to work extra hard. (I do appreciate it when friends suggest or are open to moving to a quieter area to chat.)
Then there’s the sensory factor. Visually, there is a lot to take in and decipher. I’ve learned that I have mild face-blindness, which means my brain sometimes struggles to recognize faces. Noise-wise, when everyone is chatting after service and the volume in the room rises, it can sometimes physically hurt my ears. I’m also sensitive to smells, so even if it’s a pleasant perfume, I still notice it and my brain still spends energy processing it.
These are some examples of the hidden disabilities I have learned to live with.
Despite my struggles, I believe that there’s no replacement for in-person community and that community is essential to human flourishing, so I continue to show up when I can. But the fact remains: attending church with my particular autistic brain is hard. I am lucky if I can make it out once a month. A lot of what regular community looks like for me is in one-on-one conversations or via text messaging. I’ve come to accept this as the rhythm that I need to have in order to keep thriving.
I wish church was easier and I don’t really have answers for how it could be made easier for people with brains and bodies like mine. But I thought I would share this because I hope it can give some insight into why some people might not attend church regularly. Perhaps, too, to invite us to consider how church might be done differently. And if I do see you on a Sunday morning, know that it is with great joy – but also at a cost.