Why I Was Afraid, and Why I’m Not Anymore?

I was standing in line for Confession just before Holy Week, and I couldn’t help but notice how short the line was. Just a couple folks in front of me, and a few others scattered in the pews with their heads bowed. Me? I was sitting there trying to examine my conscience, but honestly, nothing major was coming to mind. That’s when this thought popped in: why aren’t more people here? Is it because they feel like they’ve got nothing to confess… or are they scared?

I get it. I really do.

There was a time in my life when I avoided Confession with everything I had. I wasn’t just afraid of saying something out loud, I was scared of being known. I thought, what if the priest hears this and looks at me differently? What if he’s shocked? Or worse, what if he doesn’t forgive me? Deep down, I had bought into this lie that Confession wasn’t safe.

And when you look at the world around us, it kind of makes sense. We live in a culture where people get blasted for their mistakes. One wrong move, and it’s screenshots, rumors, and public shaming. Even in church circles, we’ve all seen trust get broken. So we start projecting that fear onto the priest… onto the Church… even onto God.

But here’s what I’ve come to learn: Confession is actually the safest place you could be.

Every priest is bound by something called the Seal of Confession. That means he cannot — under any circumstance — reveal or even acknowledge what you say in there. Not to anyone. Not for any reason. Most of them don’t even hold onto what they hear. They’re not there to judge, they’re there to be a vessel of mercy. And believe me, they’ve heard it all before. Whatever you’re holding onto, it’s not going to shock them. And you’re not going to be the first, or the last, to confess it.

But I didn’t always believe that.

There was a time in my life when I was deep in sin. I won’t get into the details, because that’s not the point, but I carried a lot of guilt. And instead of confessing it, I’d just kind of make up my own version of confession. I’d stand in the shower, turn the water up as hot as I could handle it, and pray, “Wash away my sins as I wash away the dirt.” It felt private. It felt easier. But it wasn’t freedom. It wasn’t forgiveness.

Eventually, I hit a point where I felt totally lost. I didn’t know where to turn. But I knew something had to change. So I picked a church I’d never been to, found a priest I didn’t know, and walked into the confessional with the full intention of unloading everything.

And I did.

I let it all out. Every bit of it. When I finished, the priest was quiet for a second. Then he said something I’ll never forget:
“I can forgive you for the sins you have done, but not for the one you are about to do.”

I never told him what I was planning, but he knew. Somehow, he knew. And in that moment, I realized I wasn’t alone. God saw me. God knew me. And He wasn’t done with me.

I didn’t stay for absolution that day. I left, overwhelmed. But something had cracked open, just a little bit of light pushing through the dark.

A while later, I went on a Welcome Retreat. And there, after hearing the stories of other men who’d been through some of the same stuff, I went back to Confession. This time, I stayed. I opened up again, completely. And the priest said something that hit me even deeper:
“God forgives you. Jesus loves you. And the Holy Spirit has a plan for you.”

That moment changed my life.

Since then, I’ve been a regular at Mass. I serve. I try to lead. I write these reflections like this one. And every time I receive the Eucharist, especially after Confession, I get choked up. Because I know that I’m receiving Jesus with a clean heart. That feeling… it never gets old.

And I still mess up. I still have pride. I get impatient. Sometimes I snap at my kid or zone out during prayer. But I keep going back. Because I still need grace. I still need to be forgiven. And I still need to be reminded that I am loved.

So, when I was in line that night, wondering why no one else was there, it hit me: maybe people are just scared. Not because they don’t love God, but because they can’t quite believe that God could love them in their mess.

But He can. And He does.

Pope Francis once said, “God never tires of forgiving us; we are the ones who tire of seeking His mercy.” That line sticks with me. Because it’s true. God isn’t sitting up there waiting to scold you. He’s waiting to heal you.

If you haven’t been to Confession in a while, I want to say this: Don’t let fear keep you away. Don’t let shame whisper that it’s too late. It’s not.

He already knows what you’ve done. He’s not waiting to catch you. He’s waiting to embrace you.

Come back. Come home. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be willing.

Confession isn’t scary anymore. It’s sacred. It’s not a place of judgment — it’s a place of love.

And it will change your life.

Be not afraid. God walks with you.