To be Catholic puts a lot of fear in you. It's a great religion

“To be Catholic puts a lot of fear in you. It's a great religion, but also one that can limit your experience. You fear experience because everything is a sin.” – Donatella Versace

In these honest and haunting words, Donatella Versace, the empress of fashion and a woman shaped by both beauty and tragedy, speaks of the struggle between faith and freedom, between reverence and self-expression. Her statement is not a rejection of her upbringing, but a confession of the spiritual tension that lives within those raised in the shadow of sacred law. When she says, “to be Catholic puts a lot of fear in you,” she reveals how deeply religion can shape the conscience—how it can nurture moral strength, yet also instill a trembling caution toward the fullness of life. Her words echo an ancient human dilemma: how to live boldly in a world where the divine is always watching, and where desire and duty often war within the soul.

The origin of this thought is both personal and universal. Versace was raised in Italy, a land where the Catholic faith is not merely a belief but a culture—woven into art, ritual, and daily life. The grandeur of its cathedrals, the solemnity of its masses, and the gravity of its moral teachings can inspire awe, but also impose weight. From childhood, she and countless others were taught that to be good is to obey, to restrain, to fear the consequences of transgression. It is a faith of beauty and discipline, yet, as she says, one that can “limit your experience,” for when every pleasure is shadowed by guilt, even joy becomes suspect. Thus her reflection is both tribute and critique: she calls Catholicism “a great religion,” yet one that sometimes binds the spirit it seeks to save.

Throughout history, the relationship between religion and fear has been both intimate and inevitable. The ancient prophets, the medieval monks, the reformers and mystics—all wrestled with the same truth: that fear may guard the soul from evil, but it can also guard it from living. Fear of sin was meant to protect the believer, but when misunderstood, it can turn experience itself into a forbidden garden. The Catholic tradition, with its deep focus on confession, penance, and purity, teaches responsibility for one’s actions—a noble lesson. Yet in excess, it can make even curiosity feel dangerous, and passion feel perilous. Versace, speaking as an artist, exposes the pain of that restraint: the ache of a soul that longs to create freely, yet feels the invisible chains of doctrine pressing upon it.

Consider the story of Galileo Galilei, another Italian who felt this conflict centuries before. A devout Catholic himself, he gazed into the heavens and found a truth that challenged the Church’s teaching. His discoveries filled him with wonder, yet they condemned him to silence. He was forced to choose between obedience and truth, between safety and experience. His life mirrors Versace’s lament: that when fear rules faith, knowledge becomes a sin, and exploration becomes rebellion. And yet, in his quiet defiance, Galileo proved that the divine and the curious can coexist—that to seek truth, even in the face of judgment, is itself an act of reverence.

Donatella’s words speak not only to Catholics, but to all who have struggled between belief and becoming. Every soul that has known religion has known fear—fear of failure, fear of punishment, fear of divine disapproval. But there comes a time, as the ancients taught, when the seeker must walk beyond fear into understanding. The goal of faith is not to imprison the heart, but to purify it—to help one live fully, yet wisely. The greatest saints were not those who fled the world, but those who walked through it unafraid, turning their experience into love, their flaws into compassion. To live as they did is to realize that sin is not in experience itself, but in the intent with which we approach it.

Yet Versace’s warning must still be heeded. When religion instills only fear and not reflection, it loses its power to uplift. To fear experience is to mistrust the divine gift of life itself. For creation, in all its forms—art, love, passion, sorrow—is sacred when embraced with awareness. The wise believer learns to distinguish between indulgence and insight, between corruption and creation. Faith, when mature, is not about avoiding life, but about transforming life into something holy.

So, my child of conscience and curiosity, take this teaching as a torch: do not let fear of sin rob you of the wonder of existence. Live with reverence, but also with courage. Let your faith guide you, not shackle you. Seek the divine not only in prayer, but in the beauty of the world, the warmth of others, and the boldness of your own creativity. For as Versace reminds us, religion at its best is a foundation, not a cage. To walk rightly before God is not to flee from experience, but to enter it fully—loving, learning, and creating in a spirit that honors both life and the divine that breathed it into being.