“Have a little faith.”

I haven’t heard a new pun about my name in years. It’s the same old jokes that I roll my eyes and laugh at a little each time. The effort is appreciated, but trust me, I’ve heard just about everything you can think of. 

Growing up, I attended Catholic school from kindergarten through high school, and for a long time, it was a huge part of my life. I went to Mass weekly, read the books, prayed before meals and big tests –– it was something I always relied on. I won’t deny that I enjoyed seeing my name in textbooks and hymnals and hearing it through the halls. It made me feel more connected: my beliefs and name all in one.

Life got harder as it went on — as it tends to do. High school brought new challenges and new hurdles for my faith, which opened the divide between my religion and my identity. I survived and, eventually, came to thrive, but I struggled a lot with my mental health. It made me question what I believed in, and as a result, my faith lost its role as the frontrunner in my life.

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More time passed, but my internal conflict hit its peak when the unexpected death of a close friend and my dog of 10 years shattered my relationship with my faith. I had never felt so hurt, lost, angry and, above all else, betrayed. I felt forgotten and abandoned by something that had been so important in my life, something I had counted on during my darkest days. 

I just couldn’t comprehend any of it. I was lost in a wave of faith for months. I felt disconnected and just so confused. What had happened to me wasn’t supposed to happen; life wasn’t supposed to knock me off my feet when I least expected it.

They say that when God closes one door, He opens another. As far as I was concerned, God went right along and slammed my fingers in each one. I gave up completely on my faith, and my hurt quickly turned to anger. I sat and argued with my teachers, refusing to take part in any of it. I didn’t want a faith that I felt didn’t want me. 

And that’s where I am today. I still feel lost and hurt, and my heart still aches with memories of the ones I lost. Yet, I think I needed to step outside of religion. I needed to take a moment for my soul to be apart from the faith that had structured it for so long. It needed to be on its own, to make a choice for itself. My name now holds more meaning for who I am than the institution it calls upon.

In an ideal world, faith would’ve been a part of my life with no strings attached. I wouldn’t have had to struggle and, ultimately, suffer to discover what I needed, but you don’t get to pick and choose in this life. Being at UT has presented a whole new range of possibilities, and here, I don’t have to feel the weight of faith on my shoulders if I don’t want to.

Some day, faith may find its way back into my life, and I will welcome it if it does. I no longer hold the resentment and anger I once did. But for now, I’m giving my name its own meaning without the weight of a cross on my shoulders. 

DuFresne is a journalism freshman from Dallas, Texas.