My Journey to Becoming a Nun: The Harsh Realities That Made Me Rethink My Path

Embarking on a Spiritual Journey

Choosing to renounce worldly life for a spiritual one is a profound decision that can become the essence of one’s existence, offering a unique perspective on the world. Stories of Russian celebrities like Ekaterina Vasilyeva and Irina Muravyova, who took monastic vows, once made headlines. Today, ordinary women who have dedicated themselves to God also share their experiences. I want to tell you the story of a young woman who dreamed of becoming a nun but struggled with the harsh realities of monastic life.

The Dream of Monastic Life

My story is not about a long, spiritual journey filled with trials and tribulations, leading to a blessed hermit life far from home, under the protection of the Almighty. I have always been a part of this world and could never fully detach from it, no matter how strong my relationship with God was. I was an ordinary girl who finished school and dreamed of studying theology, followed by a spiritual seminary.

I didn’t have stigmata, visions, or an Orthodox upbringing where commandments were the foundation of growing up and shaping one’s personality. While my friends and peers were thinking about their future careers, I knew my path would lead me to a monastery. I wanted to become a nun, to renounce worldly life, to simplify, and to serve God rather than myself.

Early Influences

My life was entirely secular, except for the influence of my grandmother, who talked to me about faith from a young age. I remember her placing a large book with a black cover in front of me, beautifully inscribed with the word ‘Bible.’ We read it together, and although I didn’t understand much, my grandmother assured me that understanding would come with time.

‘Reading the Bible is one of the most important steps to understanding God!’ she would say, calming my childish impatience. Her faith and openness to everything related to it amazed me. She took me to church, told me stories of martyrs and their sufferings, gave me icons, and literally led me by the hand to church sacraments.

The Decision to Enter the Monastery

I didn’t ask many questions; I simply believed that my grandmother knew what she was talking about. She taught me modesty, the simple rules of behavior in church, and introduced me to the nuances of prayer and confession. I did everything as she said, and after leaving the church with a sense of lightness, I would return to my ordinary secular life.

My grandmother’s death was a tragedy for me. At that time, I was almost 16, and the first signs of critical thinking began to emerge in my mind. My mother did not share my grandmother’s ideas. She thought that religion and my grandmother’s approach to faith were hypocritical. I realized this too late.

Preparing for Monastic Life

After my tragedy, a dream settled in my heart—to go to a monastery so that my grandmother could be proud of me and to understand whether the external world was preventing me from being sincere with God or if the problem lay elsewhere.

I went through all the necessary stages before leaving. The first step was leaving secular life. The second was the riasa. The third was the tonsure and vow. I spoke with a priest who visited our town, and he told me that no special reason was needed to go to a monastery. It was enough to have the desire to save one’s soul. I had several months to prepare, finish my secular affairs, tell my family about my plans, and make a final decision. That’s what I did.

Arrival at the Monastery

I didn’t have any particular problems that required my presence. I convinced my parents that this was what I wanted, and they didn’t try to dissuade me. I didn’t have a boyfriend, and I considered this a corresponding sign: ‘While my friends are tormented by worldly feelings, I am free from the bonds of the flesh,’ I thought as I said goodbye to my loved ones and friends.

To questions about whether I was burying myself in my youth, I confidently replied that I did not consider going to a monastery as death, neither physical nor spiritual.

Everything was voluntary. No one deceived me or promised me a better life. I knew exactly where I was going. Six months before my tonsure, I worked as a volunteer at a Christian congress, where I met many people with similar thoughts about faith, but none of them considered leaving the world. Except me.

The Harsh Realities

My journey began with my arrival at the monastery, which was far from where I lived. Around were mountains, forests, beautiful nature, fresh air, and some kind of ecstasy in the air. At the threshold, I met a woman dressed as a nun, carrying a large canvas bag with something heavy inside. I offered to help her, forgetting everything. ‘How good that Jesus sent you to help!’ she said and smiled radiantly. It’s hard to argue with such a phrase. It’s an unforgettable feeling to realize that Jesus himself sent you.

The nun did not accept my help—she just squeezed my hand in hers and then went on her way, carrying her heavy burden without any effort. My obedience began, as I subsequently realized, quite traditionally—with physical labor. I helped in the kitchen, cleaned the cells, and assisted those who were sick and could not dress or eat themselves. People from the world often turned to our monastery for help, and we helped.

The Struggles and Realizations

The sister with whom I served and helped with dressings for the sick always said: ‘We cannot do great things, but we must do small things with great love.’ I was very tired from the large amount of physical labor. By the end of the day, I literally fell off my feet, but at first, thoughts of giving up and leaving did not visit me. I just prayed and thought that the difficulties were just trials that would one day become part of my new life.

During my obedience, I managed to love everyone who was around. I thought that I could become a real nun, but soon I realized that I had made a mistake. I was not at all bothered by the amount of work and physical labor; what worried me was that my temperament could not become truly monastic. I was meek and silent, never asked controversial questions, and did not violate vows, but in my soul, the question still lingered, the answer to which I wanted to receive back in childhood: what is real and what is not?

The Harsh Conditions

The real issue was not the spiritual part of this complex world, but the physical. If you think that the harshest trial was the renunciation of the flesh, chastity, or long prayers, I will disappoint you. Such conflicts can defeat a person who is not spiritually prepared, but I was ready.

The worst thing was the conditions in which we lived. We worked exclusively manually, did not use deodorants or any other cosmetic and hygiene products, bathed in cold water regardless of the weather, and did not use fans in the heat.

The stereotypical image of a nun is a woman struggling with demons of lust and loneliness, but in real monastic life, the problems are not with sex, but with hygiene. The realization that you are dirty, sweaty, and smelly everywhere you can secrete any liquid, dispelled any lustful thoughts that might come to mind, and most of the time there was simply no energy for them. This romantic veil, someone’s fantasy, fetish, is not a nun’s problem.

Novices slept together in one cell, in beds standing half a meter apart from each other. We did not have electric light sources, so we had to dress in complete darkness, as we got up at 4 a.m. It seemed that this was quite enough for us to feel a little odd, but in addition to this uncomfortable morning routine, the rules of the monastery dictated that we hide under the sheet of our bed.