I Went To Daily Mass For Nine Months, Here's How It Changed Me

I was raised Catholic, like most kids I knew in the Greater Boston area. In my twenties, I went on a real spiritual quest, one that brought me all over the world exploring different religions and spiritual practices, only to abruptly and miraculously land me back where I started.

You know the “wilderness” and the “valley of the shadow of death” that Christians talk about? I made my home there for quite some time.

Coming back to the Catholic Church was both the most shocking thing to happen to me and, at the same time, entirely unsurprising. It happened gradually over the course of years, and also all at once. There is, however, one distinct turning point, and it happened at the beginning of this year. I heard the direction very clearly in prayer: Go to Mass every day.

For those who aren’t familiar, Catholic churches around the world offer a slightly briefer version of Sunday Mass every day of the week. Like Sunday Mass, it climaxes with the sacrament of the Holy Eucharist, what Catholics believe to be true nourishment and sustenance for the soul. At my parish, daily Mass also includes a brief period of Adoration immediately afterward, where the Blessed Sacrament is exposed and the congregation sits quietly in Jesus’ presence.

We were just entering the season of Lent, the forty days before Easter. Having a tendency toward commitment aversion, I bargained with myself and decided I would try this as a Lenten practice. Easter came and went, and already I couldn’t imagine letting it go.

It’s been nine months now. I can honestly say I’ve attended nearly every day, just under 300 Masses, nearly 300 Eucharists.

I am a different person, both internally and externally. Here are just a few of the ways daily Mass has changed me.

1. A Sense of Community

I have always been a lone wolf. I like being alone. I like doing things alone. I often feel vulnerable in groups, worried I’ll be misunderstood or rejected. I used to move through the world with something like an invisibility cloak, drifting in and out of places as the “mysterious girl who was here once and then gone.”

Professionally, I was able to maintain this posture because my career has always placed me in consulting or entrepreneurial roles. I’ve never had an office I needed to report to every day. In truth, there was no one I had to report to daily at all.

The people who attend daily Mass, for the most part, attend daily. When I first arrived, especially since I dramatically lowered the average age, I felt like an outsider. People often criticize Catholic churches for this: unlike many modern Christian churches, where there is someone greeting you at the door, asking if you’re new, and offering a hug, walking into a Catholic church can feel intimidating if you don’t know what you’re doing.

On top of clearly being “the new girl” among a group of steady devotees, there were aspects of daily Mass I didn’t know. I had to learn the prayers, the songs, the gestures, and the rhythms from scratch.

I no longer feel like an outsider. I feel like I belong, not just within the walls of my small New England church, but anywhere I go.

What surprised me most was how quickly I developed a deep fondness for my fellow parishioners. We don’t chat much, and I still don’t know most of their names, but I think of them often. I wonder about their lives. I pray for their health and happiness. I marvel at their devotion, at the quiet faithfulness it takes to show up every single day. When I’m out of town or miss a morning, I somehow know they’re hoping I’m okay.

Before this, I assumed daily Mass was mostly attended by older women. I was wrong. Some mornings there are more men than women. And the warmth I feel from each person, even those with reserved or stoic exteriors, moves me daily. It became clear to me that these people are, in a very real way, holding the world together through prayer. And now, somehow, I’m one of them.

Over these nine months, sitting in prayer with the same people day after day gently dismantled my isolation and my defenses. It made me want to belong. It gave me courage to greet people, to ask questions, to let myself be seen. It showed me that it was safe.

I have a big, wonderful family, and I’m deeply involved in their lives, but I’ve often felt like the black sheep. When you carry that sense of otherness, it doesn’t matter how many people surround you. But something has shifted. I no longer feel like an outsider. I feel like I belong, not just within the walls of my small New England church, but anywhere I go.

2. New Desire, New Direction

When I was growing up, you couldn’t have told me I wasn’t going to be a famous country singer. That was Plan A, and there was no Plan B… until there was. In college, my path changed dramatically, and I made peace with the idea that music, while a deep love, wasn’t meant to be my career.

Over the years, I did a lot of healing around my relationship to music and my voice. I imagined returning to the stage, but even a year ago, taking that step felt impossible. I didn’t have it in me. It wasn’t time.

After roughly a hundred days of receiving the Eucharist daily, something became unmistakably clear: it was time. Doors opened almost supernaturally. A handful of emails with a video of me singing in my basement turned into consistent bookings, stretching well into next year. Out of nowhere, I found myself stepping into the very career I dreamed of as a little girl.

I found myself stepping into the very career I dreamed of as a little girl.

I know with every cell in my body that this is a direct result of letting the Eucharist change me. Each day when I receive Communion, I silently pray: Give me the mind of Christ, the heart of Christ, the eyes of Christ, the ears of Christ, the voice of Christ. I ask to see the world the way He sees it, and that is exactly what happened.

My perspective shifted without effort, without mindset hacks or spiritual gymnastics. My views on vocation, time, culture, and even judgment softened and clarified. You don’t have to hack your way out of life when you let Jesus enter into it.

Receiving Him daily didn’t just clarify what I’m meant to do, it reshaped my desires. I lost my appetite for certain kinds of entertainment, attention, and validation. Not out of condemnation or superiority, but because I no longer needed them. I simply developed higher standards for myself.

3. The Peace That Passes Understanding

I come from a background in healing. I’ve worked as a life coach and spiritual mentor, so I know a thing or two about “finding peace.” The peace that came from daily Mass and daily Communion, however, eclipsed everything I thought peace was before. I didn’t realize how restless I had been until I wasn’t anymore.

Catholics believe that the Eucharist doesn’t just symbolize transformation, it effects it. Jesus makes us new from the inside out. This is why Mass engages the whole body: standing, sitting, kneeling, listening, responding. It requires fully embodied participation.

The result isn’t just a new way of thinking about God, it’s a settled nervous system. My ADHD mind is quieter. My body feels stronger. I’m more present, more grounded, more confident.

Every day, I reflect on how God brought me from living with shamans in the jungle to kneeling at the foot of the cross. After ten years of detours, I’m back. Back to the Church, back to music, back to trust. How could I not trust His plan now?

Each day I’m nourished with Living Water, I’m reminded that His timing is better than mine.

There are still things unresolved in my life. I long for marriage and children, and that hasn’t come yet. It would be easy to worry, to catastrophize, to complain, but I can’t. Each day I’m nourished with Living Water, I’m reminded that His timing is better than mine.

St. John Vianney once said, “Those who go to daily Mass have nothing better to do, because there is nothing better to do.” That’s my living testimony.

Daily Mass does require discipline. There are mornings I don’t feel like going, mornings when skipping would be easier, mornings when accountability alone gets me out the door. Sometimes I tell myself, half joking but fully sincere: Jesus died for you. You can show up for Him.

In the end, though, I know St. John Vianney was right. There truly is nothing better to do.

The theological reasons for daily Mass are reason enough, but I wanted to share the tangible, human fruits as well. Sometimes that’s the nudge we need.

You may just find yourself a different woman on the other side.