Recently, I chaperoned a field trip to the Philadelphia Zoo with my daughter’s class from daycare.  I can’t exactly remember the last time I had attended, and it was her first time there.  The morning’s temperature was pleasant, and the children’s’ temperament was of course bubbly.  “This is going to be fun!” she exclaimed.  I nodded in agreement, although felt wearily in my stomach a pit that had seemingly developed between eating breakfast and getting onto the bus.

We bustled along the back roads of Philly, singing some nursery rhymes and starting in on the abundance of snacks one must pack to survive a day (hour?) out with a young toddler.  Shortly after we arrived to the park, a sea of neon yellow t-shirts lined the fence, half-listening to the teacher’s rules and instructions.  We each received our bracelets for entry and were essentially let loose onto campus.  The pit in my stomach re-announced itself, and as we came face-to-face with some of the first caged animals, I immediately knew why.

Before I even moved to the region of the City of Brotherly Love, I felt some sort of proud attachment to its zoo.  One of my aunt’s worked on the chimpanzee exhibit, many years ago with her architecture firm.  At some point, my sisters, parents and I came to visit her and saw the magnificence of the structures that housed such beloved mammals, reptiles, birds – creatures of all kinds.  It felt compassionate at the time:  to observe these amazing animals in all their glory.  Surrounded by safe shelters, dune grasses and shade.  Water and food available on command.

Fast-forward 20-something years later, and here I stand on the other side of that same glass.  On the other side of my childhood.  Feeling like I am on the other side of the world.  My daughter’s eyes are wide and glistening with awe, but my stomach is churning.  Nothing ‘native’ about these habitats, certainly.  And I don’t believe it a matter of the zoo pretending that they are.  Although there exists a façade that the animals are “safe and happy,” protected from their natural enemies.  But (I thought) aren’t we humans, sustaining them in their urban captivity, acting out as some of the most natural enemies of all? … …

Then just this past week, a client of mine who lost her father nearly 4 years ago, admitted her own recent realization:  she had not yet fully allowed herself to mourn.  *Molly discussed that although as a child she understood death as a natural part of the life-cycle, dealing with such complex, post-humus realities was a well-swept-away secret within her family system.  “We really just didn’t talk about it.  If someone died, we’d simply go through the motions.  Attend the wake, the funeral, and lunch afterwards.  And then the next day you were supposed to just move on with your life.”  From a traditionally Irish-Catholic lineage, Molly jokes that drinking is the only consistent coping skill in her heritage.  As she has been confronting some of her own mental health issues the last two years, Molly initially turned to her religious upbringing for support.  After experiencing several panic and anxiety attacks which eventually landed her at a local psychiatric hospital, Molly remembers contemplating the spiritual pillar of her family’s background.  “I don’t think I had ever questioned my parent’s belief in God, because I never really questioned my parent’s anything.”

Since continuing with outpatient therapy, Molly has remained out of work, which is as she puts it:  “way too much time on my hands.”  As she works towards feeling more fully functional, this week’s session led her to ask, “What does it mean if I feel like I am letting go of my faith?”  We explored the origins of her Catholicism from an individual and familial perspective.  We talked about her recent in-depth explorations of other capacities (science, relationships, parenting) that have begun to interfere with her steadfast anchor of what was always “right.”

In sitting with her question, and sifting through our conversations, I began internally to reflect on my aforementioned zoo experiences.  After we returned from the field trip, I realized that my nostalgic memory of the same park – the lighthearted event as a 10 year-old seeing a range of wild animals – was true and lovely and “right” for me at that time.  Though now, with so many different and rich life experiences behind me, I was also right  in feeling my present emotions.  I was simply becoming more awake.  Awakening as an intellect.  As a fellow animal.  As a part of this indescribable universe.  I suggested to Molly, “Perhaps with your increased knowledge, you are becoming more aware of what you didn’t know.  And the more that we learn, the more questions we have.”  It’s not to say that what she (or any of us) have experienced in the past was “wrong” or “right.”  It just might be that what we “knew” was exactly what we needed at the time, before we were able or permitted to ask questions.

The minor pangs of melancholy cast upon my heart that zoo-morning are not forgotten.  Although they certainly did not end up defining the trip.  It was a lovely experience to see my own little one against the background of Mama and Papa lions snuggling their cubs.  To see her feed the ducklings, and prance among the hippos bathing in muddy waters.  It brought me to a deeper understanding of what I value.  It led me to contemplate my resonance with the underpinnings of Mother Earth.  It continues to add on to my life’s narrative and journey in growth and connection.  Be it your faith – of any spiritual ideology or entity – be it the benevolence you offer another person or creature on this planet.  Sustain that truth for yourself with heart and vulnerability.  Learn.  Love.  We are all in this together.

(Author’s note:  For confidentiality purposes and to protect her identity under HIPAA policy and law, *Molly’s name has been changed for this post.)