You're Being Sold a Lie About Masculinity

St. Joseph, pray for us

St. Joseph by Gracie Morbitzer

I was sitting at breakfast with a friend last week when the topic of patron saints came up. I confessed that I’ve never actually chosen patrons for the Catholic Feminist. The saints are one of my favorite parts of the Catholic faith; the idea that we have all of these friends and warriors and rebels up there in Heaven interceding for us has brought me comfort in some of my darkest days¹. But I’ve never actually sat down and discerned who the patrons of my old podcast or this current newsletter would be.

“Why not?” she asked, justifiably confused. I thought about it for a minute before ‘fessing up:

Because right now, the saints I pray through aren’t really the saints people would expect.

When much of your writing is tied up in you, like so many writers wrestle with these days, you become a brand, willing or unwilling. Even if you’re one of those slow-living queens who look down on the peasants of Instagram, you have a set of values and aesthetics people associate with you. That’s tricky for those of us who pride ourselves in living outside of boxes and margins. I don’t color inside the lines. I say the “f” word on occasion. I’m bold and brash but also try to treat everyone with charity. These things aren’t just my faith, they’re what I’m known for online. They are, in essence, my brand.

But I’m not a brand.

The Catholic Feminist’s brand would probably be to have Joan of Arc and St. Therese as its patrons, perfectly balancing the moxie with the mild. Maybe St. Gianna thrown in, since we talk so much about women’s health. Mother Cabrini. Dorothy Day. Thea Bowman.

And while I do love and think of all of these women often, and while I hope they’re praying for me, the truth is this:

Most of the saints I ask for intercession from right now are men.