What is the bravest thing you've ever done?

The bravest thing I have done so far in my life has been allowing myself to feel.

I was able to make it as far as I did  in life appearing on the outside to be normal and functional because I buried the past. Completely. I didn't talk about it to anyone, and I didn't acknowledge it to myself.

Being numb to it was the only way I could survive. I purposely hung around with people who didn't talk about feelings or emotional things. I buried who I was, even if it meant I also had to bury my intuition, my creativity, my feelings, my empathy, and any form of introspection.

My preferred route on the path to numbing: moving far away from the geographical location and people who were abusive to me, burying myself in relationships with men, working out, and being so busy in my career that I didn't have time to feel.  It worked, LOL. But only for so long.

I thought I could go on that way forever. But then, my life got very stressful and I started having symptoms of C-PTSD. The stress weakened me, and then my whole mind and body fell apart one day out of the blue. Then I had to move back home to live near my family, and THAT is when things fell apart even more.

This is me several months before the C-PTSD manifested, while I was still relatively carefree and oblivious.

After decades of being away from the cult, my abusive family, and the religious ideas that had haunted me in my childhood, I was suddenly back in my hometown, interacting with people and ideas from my past. Things I had completely buried and had no memory of for most of my life started resurfacing. The family that I thought would support me with open arms turned their back on me. The religion that had been my support and supposed comfort my whole life suddenly seemed surreal and evil.

There is a part of me that wishes I had never moved back home to PA to be around my family. I know I wouldn't have been as traumatized if I had stayed in NYC. I would not have had to face old memories if I hadn't move back home. Why didn't I stay in NYC where it was safe? I guess I didn't know I'd be re-traumatized by returning home. I had blocked things out so well that I did actually think I would be safe in going back. I mean, I was an adult returning, not a child. I had really forgotten the past and wasn't afraid to come back. I had repressed it so much that it wasn't on my radar as something to be concerned about.

But there is that part of me that does wish I hadn't had to get re-traumatized. And there's that part of me that wants to run so fast and so far, even now. I'm still too close to the family and the homestead, and the pain is too fresh, too in my face. I want to fly away. I want to go cross country and live in sunny LA, or Florida. I want to lie on a beach for a few years and be numb, then wake up and live again.

I want to run, or I want to be numb.  I can't run right now. So I wish I could go back to the old days of being numb.

But once you open up the box of repressed memories and trauma, I don't think you can just move away and close the box all neatly whenever you want. Once the process starts, I have a feeling that it will run it's course until I've felt it all and come to terms with it.

Trust me, I did try to "run" from the trauma again, thinking that running was the answer. Karl and I moved to this new town 1.5 hours from my family. I made a rule that there was no talking about the past here in this house and this new neighborhood. Yet this hasn't worked. My sister moved in with us, and she talks about the past often. It's like the past is following me, still. Even if she didn't talk about it, I have a feeling it would still be in my mind, though.

It cycles endlessly like a broken story as I fall asleep, as I wake up. I have flashbacks in varying degrees, I wake up in panic attacks in the middle of deep sleep at night. In the morning as I'm planning out what I want to do that day, broken bits of old traumatic memories crash into my thoughts. I lay there listening to these people threaten me, and I think up ways to challenge them and stand up for myself, but it takes so much effort and I feel so alone, that I wince and shake my head, and try to opt for numb, that old comfort, that now elusive comfort. I try to think about something neutral like the sun or lack of it slanting through my window shades, but this triggers another memory from the past.

I think about my younger sister, who distances herself from the family. I think it is very wise to distance herself from my toxic family, and I often wish that my body was able to take anti-depressants like she is able to, to give me some relief. However, at this time, my body just reacts wildly to medications, so I can't take any. My oldest sister and mother cope by living in a dream and pretending like everything is OK. If I was them, with their history and unique DNA and life path, I would do exactly what they are doing, so I have no judgement, only compassion. My other sister lives without blinders over her eyes, like I do. She isn't able to take any medication, either. It's really difficult for both of us. 

Sometimes if I'm 'lucky,' I can still go numb every now and again, like I used to be able to in the past. Blessed relief. But this is a rare state. It happens mostly when I'm asleep. But it doesn't last long, and I can't go there like I used to be able to.

Sometimes when I'm sitting out on the patio in the sun, I tell myself compassionately: "Let yourself feel." 

And I do. I pretend I am someone else, looking at myself with compassionate and loving eyes. And then I cry. And it's scary and uncomfortable. 

 

I don't see any way out, except through. I'm trying to just be with my feelings and allow them, without getting scared and without freaking out. 

I used to say I wished I had a tiger or lion as a pet. One that was completely tame, of course. It would be my companion, and it would sleep beside me keeping me safe, keeping me warm. If I had to cry, I could cry into it's fur and it wouldn't say a word of judgment. It would be there beside me, and it would protect me from real people and the people from the past in my mind.  I could lay beside it and absorb it's strength, and internalize it.

I saw a question the other day, "What is the bravest thing you've ever done?"

And I ran through the list of things that my sisters and mom have said they admire about me. That time I up and moved to NYC from my small town in Pennsylvania without telling anyone because I knew if I did, they would tell me I couldn't make it. I knew I was going to become a teacher... I had manifested it before I had a job. I drove up from PA and secured a room share apartment before going to interviews. I drove up to the city for 3 different interview sessions held in hotel banquet rooms. After the 2nd and 3rd  interview event, I was the first one out the door amongst a crowd of over 500 applicants ... I sat right by  a set of double doors that I knew they would open into the interview floor right after they made us sit for a mandatory pep speech before the interviews.  

Although I was the shy one in my family, the shy one in my class, and the one they said would probably never succeed in life, I knew I would prove them all wrong. By the third time I attended the interview events, I got hired in the grade I wanted, in the district in Manhattan that I wanted, within walking distance of the apartment share that I was living in. And I got hired at 7 pm, the evening before the kids arrived at school the next day.

Talk about cutting it close. But I did it, and I knew I would. I didn't tell my family until Thanksgiving Vacation, when I drove home. They were shocked. 

But they never thought I would thrive as a human, honestly. They never thought I would live. They never thought I would stop having headaches. They never thought I would gain weight as a child. They never thought I would live into my teens. 

I am a fighter, though. I was the first of the six in my family to fly overseas, to fly alone interstate alone, to fly the most places across the US, to live in another state, to date a person outside of their faith, to curse in front of them, to refuse to dress like them, and to stand up to them, even if it meant them cutting me off from the family. 

But none of that feels remotely brave to me. 

Even being brave enough to stand up for myself to my parents about abuse when I was a child, but then being cut off from the family isn't the bravest thing I ever did. 

It's what I chose to do afterwards that is the bravest thing I ever did. 

And choose to continue to do!

Which is simply just sitting... doing nothing... but feeling my feelings. 

Honestly, I believe that simply allowing ourselves to feel our raw feelings... just simply sitting still and feeling them.. is the bravest thing that any human can do here on this planet. 

YOU are brave!

I am grateful for you and your bravery. 

Even if no one else sees or understands, I understand how incredibly brave you are. 

A quiet mind




Mimosas in the backyard where I lived last summer.

Sitting outside in the yard, soaking up the sun. Feeling ornery. I am mad because I feel like I am neglecting this blog and I hate that feeling. I feel completely deflated and wordless right now. Powerless. This blog is the place where I take my power back. But my mind is so tired, I can't write. So how am I going to take my power back?

 

It takes a certain amount of brain energy to write. But my mind is a weary traveler, and it is worn out and numb. All it wants to do is pretty much nothing at all. It hasn't wanted to do much at all for the last five years.

 

Which is why I would love to telepathically transport images and text to this page at the speed of an eye blink and with the ease simply of intention. Just like that. My ideas would fall neatly into paragraphs of their own doing and settle themselves neatly on the screen. I keep hoping to one day be pleasantly shocked that I can do this. In the same way I tell my right arm to lift, it just automatically lifts.

 

But I can't do this, yet. So meanwhile, I rest in the lawn chair and let myself go into a daze. It is actually such a relief to do so. My mind thanks me for allowing it to just rest completely. I drift in and out of thoughtless places. It is so nice to get lost in a thoughtless place. The sun soaks into my skin. I sit and toast. I hear the flit of birds around me, foreground, background. I feel the wind lift flyaway hairs off my cheeks. I feel the warmth of the sun through the skin of my jeans. I smell the sweet smell of fresh cut grass, drying in the afternoon warmth.  I know I've been sitting here in this chair for some time, days on end, whenever it is sunny enough. I can't remember how long I sit or what day it is.

 

I let myself go numb. My mind goes blank as the warm sun envelops me again. I am OK with numb at this point, as it feels safer than feeling. Sometimes I do remind myself that it really is OK to feel, even if things feel dark. So I sit there and feel. And it is just really dark stuff. But I don't resist it. I sit with it. I am in a dark cave, even while sitting out in the raw spring sun. And that's why I am MIA in the real world, absent from this blog most of the time, and non-existent from social media. 

I notice that most people's minds move quickly, and they can write prolifically and make witty replies on social media in a timely manner. I used to be able to do that. I used to be so nimble of mind.

Not now. It takes me several days to process a thought, and a few more days to formulate a half decent comment. By the time I'm ready to post a comment, that conversation has grown cold or been archived.

These days, my brain moves slowly, like sound moving underwater. Slow, delayed, muffled, like a dream. I will hear you minutes after you speak. I will compose a response to you tonight before I fall asleep. And I will respond tomorrow after breakfast if I remember what it was we were talking about. Don't worry, I don't think my IQ has diminished, LOL. Oh what the heck, yeah, I know it has.

But with all this decrease in brain function and cognition, another side of me has blossomed almost uncontrollably, and I for one... though shocked and weirded out at first, am quite unaccountably happy for this development.

My emotional intelligence has intensified deeply. Emotional intelligence is multi-faceted, but one major component is the ability to feel. I used to not be able to feel for most of my life. I mean, seriously. I was detached and cold, able to follow rules to a T without tuning into my heart. A side effect of cult brain washing. In addition to a way of protecting myself from trauma I wasn't able to process. I cut myself off from my emotions 'cause it was the only safe way to live and function in the world.

I used to not be able to cry for a period of many years. I wasn't even able to cry watching "Titanic."  If I watch "Titanic" now, I could sink a whole couch and TV set with my tears. Like, seriously, I'm a blubbering mess. I am even able to cry "girly" tears of joy now. I used to think it was quite a feat of femininity when I saw a woman cry when she was happy. I didn't get it, and didn't know how she developed that cool ability. I would watch, enviously, trying to replicate this dubious but interesting display of emotion in the privacy of my own house, staring at myself in the mirror, gesturing with gusto and mouthing words of intense joy while trying to squeak out a tear. No. It didn't happen. No tears squeaked out. I just didn't have that gift.

Well. Let me tell you, I got this crying thing down pat, now. I can't cry on demand, but compared to how tearless I used to be, I'm doing pretty good. I'm super sensitive now and cry even if I think my cat has a hang nail. I cry if someone lifts their eyebrow even a little too high at me. I cry even for no reason at all out of the blue, as I'm scrabbling eggs for breakfast. And eggs are quite the sunniest of breakfast foods. So maybe I'm a bit overboard in the tear department. But things will even out. At least the flood gates are open, you know.

I used to be afraid of my gut feelings, and I used to think God hated them too. Not anymore! Nope. That was just another cult teaching to keep cult members in line. It has been almost a whole year now that I realize that being in tune with my feelings and intuition isn't sin.

Oh my gosh. Liberation.

So where was I. Ah yes. Tuning into my emotions and feelings. Oh wow.

I have discovered some amazing things about myself. None of them involve intellect, hah ha! I have discovered that I have psychic abilities. I'm not afraid of them like I would have been in the past. I see these abilities as natural and innate. I see them as a way to tune in to the frequency of love. I have been having a lot of fun listening to my intuition, and man, what an adventure! I am able to see beneath what people say, to their intent hiding beneath, and I see that they are either in need of love or are sharing love.

I have developed a keener sense of empathy. The things that matter to me most usually involve seeing a need and sticking up for and helping that person. This is what life is all about, being there for others... it's like being there for yourself, and in a way you are actually supporting yourself, because you are each person you interact with. We are all interconnected.

I have vivid dreams and surreal experiences. I have chapter dreams that continue uninterrupted each night, where the same situation plays out again and again, but each time slightly different because I said or did something different. So I get to live out an experience from many angles. These are delicious and meaningful experiences from my past, so it's not like the dreams are boring.

I am able to see snippets of the future playing out like a movie. For example, I can see what someone texts to someone else a day before they do so. I get premonitions. Sometimes I get them just by looking at a household item, and it triggers something. The other day I suddenly smelled this cologne that one of my guy friends used to wear. I was alone in my house so it was coming from no where. I smiled and knew suddenly that person was thinking of me. I went online and there that person had just contacted me, after three years of not hearing from them. Things like this.

I feel very powerful when I tune into my inner self. I know my thoughts turn into physical things and real situations. So as I sit out in the sun day after day all bleary, I know that my muddled thoughts are still thoughts, and because of that, they are working to shape my reality as I choose to direct them. Now that's some heady stuff!

I am able to feel emotions now in an incredibly deep way. When someone enters a room, I can sense their energy right away. I used to be immune to others' emotional energy... I was more dense than a rock. Because I forced myself to be this way, not because it was a reflection of my sensing abilities. I haven't suddenly become in tune because I learned how... I just allowed myself to settle into my natural abilities which I personally think everyone has.

It's true that this ability to immediately pick up on others' energy does pose a challenge. Some people I come in contact with have incredibly low energy, and I empathically feel it. In a way that is so real that I become just as depressed, lonely or anxious as they are, but I don't know how to turn it off. I know this can be an issue for empaths. I read about others with similar experiences. Learning how to shield and ground myself will make this a non-issue.

I don't know how to shield or ground myself yet, although I've been experimenting with it. So my solution now is to simply make an excuse and physically walk away from that person for a time. It sounds drastic but it works.

Don't get me wrong, being an empath is not all struggle. I sense high energy vibrations in people more often than not.

I used to be stiff emotionally, and formal. I didn't know how to hug people, or tell them "I love you." Weirdly enough, soon after I broke free from Christianity and the cult, my heart returned to its innate, juicy self that it was when I was a little kid. You know how little children are all huggy and snuggly and don't see barriers that adults see? Well, I feel oddly enough like my heart is as natural and unfettered as a child's, and I think I like it that way.

I guess what I'm discovering is that sitting around in a hazy, slow state of mind for five years isn't all that terrible. I mean, I am used to it at this point. My intellectual intelligence has grown fuzzy, but my emotional and heart intelligence has grown more juicy and healthy.  I don't know if my emotional intelligence was able to grow because my mind has been decidedly "resting," or in spite of it resting.

I'm not sure. But I guess either way, it's pretty darn cool.

I'm done moping. For now. LOL.

Guest Post: My Abusive Ex

 

Today's post is written by my beautiful friend Jeri from Heresy in the Heartland.

 

            Jeri grew up in the same patriarchal religious cult I did, and has since left and found her own voice.

Jeri's words echo the heartache I experienced in my own relationship with God,

and like her, I'm ecstatic to have left this relationship behind.

I used to be in an abusive relationship.

My abusive ex was God.

 

Yes, there were other people involved in the manipulation, bullying, over-protection, brainwashing, deceit, neglect, ignorance, isolation, control, and cruelty. But none of it could have had the effect that it did if it weren't for my "personal relationship" with the God I encountered in my Bible.

 

I thought I loved him and that he loved me.

 

I believed he was older and wiser and would take care of me. I gave him my heart, and my will. I didn't make a decision without consulting him.

 

I thought he hung the stars and made the sun come up every morning. His smile was my sunshine. He warned me about his violent temper: like earthquakes, tornadoes, and wildfire. But he assured me that his anger took a long time to heat up. As others had observed, "clouds and thick darkness surround him", but I got used to that.

 

I was a loyal lover. When other people criticized my God's social skills, I defended his innate goodness, his super IQ,  and even his, um, existence? I didn't doubt he was listening, even when he was quiet. I would wake up early to spend time with him. I wrote him poems, hung his promises up on my wall, spent years learning about his preferences and adjusting my tastes to his pleasure.

 

I depended on him completely and trusted him implicitly, even when it hurt like hell. When I felt ready to burst inside, I'd cry and sing this Twila Paris song:

 

     "Sometimes my little heart can't understand

     What's in Your will, what's in Your plan.

     So many times I'm tempted to ask You why,

     But I can never forget it for long.

     Lord, what You do could not be wrong.

     So I believe You, even when I must cry.

     Do I trust You, Lord?
     Does the river flow?
     Do I trust You, Lord?
     Does the north wind blow?
     You can see my heart,
     You can read my mind,
     And You got to know
     That I would rather die
     Than to lose my faith
     In the One I love.
 

     Do I trust You, Lord?

     I will trust You, Lord, when I don't know why.

     I will trust You, Lord, till the day I die.

     I will trust You, Lord, when I'm blind with pain!

     You were God before, and You'll never change.

     I will trust You, Lord."

Yes. That's the song.

 

But...

 

As I learned more about the characteristics of healthy relationships, I came to realize how unhealthy my relationship with God really was.

 

I saw victims of spiritual abuse whose behavior resembled the symptoms exhibited by Stockholm syndrome victims: "who essentially mistake a lack of abuse from their captors for an act of kindness". Come to think of it, that description almost sounds like the paraphrase of a worship song, or a sermon by John Piper, or Jonathan Edwards. What kind of being would be pleased with such fawning submission? Surely not a good god?

 

I started taking more initiative, making more choices on my own and then running them by God for his "approval".

 

As I grew emotionally stronger and gained confidence, I was able to see that he had flaws, too. I didn't really need a flawed god. Turns out I'm not really into the strong, silent type, especially if they remain strong and silent when their friends are in trouble. And I have no respect for guys (or gods) who lose their temper and scare little kids.

 

It took a long time to admit it, but it slowly dawned on me that I would not want to spend a lifetime--much less an eternity--with the God of the Bible, even if I could still believe that my world depended on him.

 

* * * * * * * *

As Julia Sweeney has described in her monologue Letting Go of God, there is a downside to losing the relationship. When I'm scared or hurt, there's no all-powerful being I can beg to make things better. I don't have a king's ear. I'm not really a princess. Without an imaginary friend, I have to make real friends, or feel very alone.

 

The universe may not be "on my side", but it does support me in countless ways. While allowing me the freedom to make choices based on my own preferences and what I believe will make me happy, and making no demands in return. I no longer feel obligated to defend my god's behavior, or worry about his temper. I don't spend time coaxing him to intervene on my behalf, assuring him that I know he had a good reason for ignoring my requests, or waiting for him to drop nice things in my lap. There is no more temptation to ingratiate myself. When life is going smoothly, I don't wait for "the other shoe to drop".

 

Turns out other people didn't like my god much, either. I thought they did when we hung out together, but when I mention him now, they tell me they realized he really was terrible. They're sorry for my experience, they say; I must not have really had a god, or maybe I had the wrong God. They want me to try theirs now. If I just want a good god badly enough, they say, the right one will find me.

 

I was always told I had an inner void only a god could fill. But since I said goodbye to God, I haven't yet experienced such a void.

 

I am content without a god.

 

 Life is better without my abusive ex.

  

 

Images
1. https://www.facebook.com/iamsooohappy/photos
2. http://heresyintheheartland.blogspot.com/2013/05/my-abusive-ex.html

Biding my time

The momentum around me changes so often, and a few of the victories that I wrote about here on this blog came undone days after I marked them as positive milestones reached.

I was on a high because finally I felt like I could breath and that I could relax into standing up for myself as a regular habit.

But then Wham, out of the blue. Patriarchy slams it's fist down on me. What I've been writing the last week or so is not a reflection of the present moment.

But I've decided not to delete any of my recent posts. Even if what I've been writing recently is not a true reflection of circumstances today, things shift often. By tomorrow I already see myself making progress again, even if it's not apparent now.

I'd rather not record what seems like lack of progress, and aim on posting what reflects progress.

It's kind of like my stack of affirmations that I keep on a ring and sort through reading ever so often.

Some days, these don't feel like truths at all. They feel like fluffy, airy fairy wishes that aren't true. It's almost like I need a step between my present and what I'm shooting for.

 

I know that time is irrelevant in many ways, and that my future is now, in this very moment. This is a mind bending and slippery concept because what I want is freedom and health, and it sort of doesn't feel like I have either of those now. Even though I know they are mine: NOW.

It feels so easy to scream and give up. My family is oppressive, and people around me are oppressive. But they won't break me.

I am stronger than they think, and stronger than I think. I have the power inside me to get better, to heal physically, I'm getting better every day, I'm getting stronger every day. The ones who think they can dump on me because I'm sick and trapped have another thing coming to them.

One day they'll all wake up and I won't be there for them to abuse. I'll be long gone, having fun in some other state, completely healthy and well.

Then I'll have the last laugh. They tell me I'll never get well until I "get right with God" and start being a Christian again, start going to church, start zipping my lips, and start being submissive to the cult and to the men in the family.

No such luck, people! I AM GETTING HEALTHIER AND STRONGER EVERY DAY, and I'm not following your religious rules. Your curses in the name of God don't stick to me.

I'm going to have the last laugh after all.

I didn't do anything to deserve getting sick. I don't believe in sin or punishment, or a God who punishes people with illness to bring them back to repentance.

I don't believe this anymore, and I'm free.

I don't care if you all try to guilt trip me into coming to the homestead for Easter. I choose not to be around any of you, because you perpetuate these curses about me and my health, you try to bully me back to the cult and Christianity, and then try to hug me and say you love me.

NO! Love doesn't threaten or bully. Love doesn't punish or force people to do things out of fear.

I do love my mom dearly. She is wholesome and loving, and I do enjoy her company. I know she misses seeing me, as I skipped the last two holidays and plan to be a no-show for Easter as well. I know it breaks her heart to see a rift in the family.

But if it comes down to me choosing between the following two options :

 

• Standing up for what I believe and protecting myself from the others by not visiting even though it breaks my mom's heart...

• Visiting my family, seeing my mom and exposing myself more bullying from the other family members...

Then I choose not visiting my family.

It wrankles my spirit so intensely, to have to choose. I feel like maybe I will invite just my mom and sister and her kids up in the summer to visit. That way I can visit with the ones I care about and want to see in a safe place, and don't have to be around the ones who can't control their mouths and think it's Godly to threaten and bully me back into the sheep fold.

Good luck, trying, assholes. I'm not playing your little games anymore.

I'm more powerful than any of you think. I AM getting better, and I laugh in your faces.

 

I'm so proud of you

{photo credit: Sandesh Virwani}

The other day, Karl gave me a spontaneous hug and said he was so proud of me for standing up for myself to my family. He told me he admired my spunk. He told me he now understood why it was that I talked so much about my past and how it hurt me. Before, he didn't understand why I brought up the topic so much and he worried I would discuss it for the next 60 years. He said he now realizes it's because I thought my childhood, the abuse and the cult were normal.... up until a year ago. And that my talking about it was because I just suddenly recently realized that it wasn't normal for the first time in my life.

He said he was proud of me. After all we've been through, all the male suppression of myself as a female, all the fighting, all the hands clamped over my mouth for speaking up.

I am free to speak my mind, free to listen to my heart, free to breathe and be.

He's glad I didn't let him go merrily along in that cult that I introduced him to.

He's glad I stood up for myself, even against him when he was blind.

He's proud of me.

He's proud of me.

He's proud of me.

<3

Coming out of the cult closet, Part 2





The last year has been full of shifts, most of them tumultuous, but most of them ending up being quite positive. In the actual moment, each change didn't feel positive. It felt like I was wearing skin that didn't fit me anymore, and I was trying to wrestle out of it. Much like a critter shedding it's old skin. Painful, itchy, uncomfortable, exhausting. But then each time I shed an old layer, it felt great afterwards to relax and sit in the sun, so to speak with spanking new skin that felt all new and glowing.

Ever since I woke up a year ago, it has been impossible for me to sit very long with anything that doesn't resonate with my inner nature, which is a place of pure love. Fear is the opposite of love, so anything that was tinted with fear felt 'off.' Old habits and old beliefs that didn't match me anymore started falling off of me, layer by layer.

I quickly began to see that the religious cult that I used to be associated with did not match me anymore. My husband Karl was still an active member in the cult and in Christianity when I woke up.

 

Interestingly enough, it was me who introduced him to the religion in the first place. Aghhhh. I wrote about my motivation in doing so back in Part 1, where I explain much of the back story in the last six months.

I only introduced Karl to religion as a formality, so that God wouldn't judge the living daylights out of me and make my life hell on earth for sinning (dating a nonbeliever). I also wanted Karl to 'punch his ticket' and enter the religion just so that my family would let him in their front door. I didn't want Karl to get all religious on me. I just wanted him to do the passing requirements.

But Karl doesn't do anything in halves. He either does something 100% or he doesn't do it at all. So he fell into the vat of religion, submerged himself, swam around for two years, then finally came up for air. He was completely brainwashed. He didn't understand then why I was bothered by the religion. To be honest, I never felt comfortable with he religion, I only went along with it on the surface level. Being married to Karl and actually having to live out the religion in practical day to day life was an affront to my spirit. Seeing what religion did to Karl was my last straw in wanting no more to do with it, and my being his religious punching bag was an additional last straw, if there can be more than one "last straw."

We butted heads and had many disagreements over the last two year about our beliefs. At first, I just took it, and was rebellious inside of myself. Then finally I started voicing my opinion.

I have always been quiet, easy going, soft spoken, mild mannered, and peaceful. It is difficult for me to work up aggression, and it is very uncomfortable for me to disagree with people. In the past, I have always gone the extra mile, in and out of jungle gyms full of obstacles just to avoid conflict. I would rather hurt myself than have to verbally disagree with someone. Especially someone who is loud, likes to fight, and is a patriarchal bully in the name of God. Anger really bothers me. To other people it may be a normal part of life, but for me, it feels like actual knives in my skin, and it physically hurts.

Being such a peace loving person, it was easy for me to fall into the role of quiet submission that is demanded of females in the cult. A female was forced out of fear from childhood on upwards to respect the "chain of command" and blindly obey the male authority figures in the cult. She wasn't allowed to ask 'why.' and she wasn't allowed to speak up. To do so would result in various forms of punishment dealt by a male in the name of God. A female was not allowed to have healthy boundaries, and was taught to "give up her rights." She was not entitled an opinion, and she was not allowed to fight Godly' discipline,' whatever form that discipline took. It was easy for me to fall in line with these expectations. I didn't know any better back then, as we weren't allowed to socialize with people outside the cult. All the women kept their heads down, their bodies covered, and their mouths shut. We had broken spirits. The men broke us. We didn't have fight left in us.

So it was easier for me to fall into line in the cult because I loved peace so much.

However, being a peaceful natured person also made it twice as difficult to go against my nature and fight my way out of the cult by standing up to the patriarchs.

Needless to say, I have had my work cut out for me over the last year. I have had my patience tried sorely, and I have been verbally attacked more than I ever have in my whole life, just because I was standing up to the cult in my own home.

The most difficult part of this past year was standing up for what I believed in front of Karl. The cult turned him into a religious monster. All I did was fend off attack after attack from him.

I lived in fear of him for over a year, but I kept fighting it and never once did I revert back to being the fearful submissive female I used to be, the one the cult demanded me to be.

If I had just simply given in to him and went submissive and quiet, our home would have been peaceful. But I just couldn't live with all that fear, hatred, judgment, hypocrisy.

I couldn't live in a lie.

I couldn't agree with the cult any more.

I didn't write about the drama when it was going on, because it didn't have a resolution. But I can write about it now because..... drum roll.... Karl exhausted himself with me, I didn't give up, and the light started breaking over his head as well.

He doesn't believe in the cult anymore, and he isn't a Christian anymore. He is still shaking out the kinks, but I think I am safe around him now, and I don't think I have to worry about him attacking me and trying to bully me back into the cult.

So the biggest achievement of this past year has been that I have stood up for myself repeatedly in front of Karl for two years, and I have survived the skirmishes. The icing on the cake is that he has started doubting the cult. He is starting to see for the first time how awful it is, and looking back, he says he can't believe what he allowed it to do to him.

The other big achievement over the last year has been my standing up to another patriarch, my brother in law Clark. Clark is married to my sister Louisa. He has abused her for over a decade, still does so, and is in Christian ministry.

Clark also mentored my husband last summer, until I caught him abusing his friendship with Karl and sent him a letter telling him in no uncertain terms that I was appalled and that the mentorship was over.

It was a big deal, standing up to Clark. I have known him and interacted with him for over a decade and never had issues with him in the past. But then again, I was so asleep and blind back then.

Now I am awake, and ever since Clark stepped into my life as Karl's mentor and started poisoning the waters behind my back, I rose to the occasion. True, it took a few months to actually rise to action and I moved in slow motion, but I eventually did confront him. I wrote in detail what happened here, where I shared  how I mustered the courage to confront him and what happened after I sent the letter.

I realize that it would be no big deal for most women to grab the bull by the horns and lamblast a man like Clark instantly, and think nothing of it. I admire women like that and always have.

I'm still learning to set healthy boundaries, and this blog is where I record my transformation. By most women's standards, I'm probably still in kindergarten as far as my experience with and proficiency in "standing up for yourself."

But I tell myself that it is OK. My early formative years were complicated and twisted, and the learning simply didn't happen as a child like it does for most. I was brainwashed and threatened, and through fear I let down all my healthy boundaries and was patted on the back for being Godly.

Thank goodness I see the light now. Things occasionally still feel unnatural and bumpy even now, and it still takes me longer than most people to make a comeback and express myself. But I am making progress. That's truly what counts.

But back to the letter. Several months after I sent the letter to my brother-in-law Clark, I still felt very repressed because I had promised Clark that I wouldn't tell his wife what happened, and I wouldn't tell my other sisters what he was saying in the name of God behind their backs.

I fought with myself  every day that summer for months on end, torn between keeping  a toxic secret and standing up for myself and my sisters.

I have these beautiful friends online who often post inspirational messages about honoring the self, loving yourself, being brave, standing up for yourself and respecting your boundaries. I don't even think these friends know how much these little reminders have buoyed me up and helped me believe in myself. Having their support kept my subconscious self in a strong, loving vibration.

By the summer's end, I got to the point that I realized that my heart was telling me to stand up for what is healthy and right for me, even if my husband and brother in law would get mad at me. I was done bottling up other people's toxic secrets.

So I worked up my gumption and called my mom and told her. I was shaking and crying because I was afraid of what Karl would do once he found out, and afraid because I was not being a good submissive wife. Karl had flipped out and threatened me not tell anyone. Under cult rules, he has the right to intimidate me.

After I told my mom, she was outraged at what Clark said and did, and she told me she was so glad I told her. I went limp with relief. She also told me I should tell Louisa... right away.

Gosh, I didn't know my mom was such a rebel. But then, she could afford to be in this instance because it was no skin off her back that I told. She wasn't the one spilling secrets, she was just a passive bystander who happened to hear. But as for me, at this point in time I still had one foot locked in the old fearful, submissive way of life, where it is dangerous to go against male authority.

A few days later, I texted Louisa and told her I needed to tell her something. She called me back, and I told her what her husband was saying and doing in the name of God behind her back. She was appalled. She eventually told him, and apparently he cried and said he didn't know how to control his tongue, and was so ashamed.

Louisa actually told me that I shouldn't have waited so long to tell her what her husband said behind her back. "Next time," she told me, "You tell me right away."

Again, I was shocked that both Louisa and my mom backed me up in being the unsubmissive leaker of information. I thought they would chide me for not playing my submissive Christian role and for going against the wishes of two patriarchs, both Karl and Clark.

However, neither of them were doing anything taboo. Neither of them were threatened by a patriarch. It was me who was going against a patriarch's wishes, and it was me who was earning for myself another verbal attack at home.

I actually never told Karl that I let the cat out of the bag. Until the other day. He acted worried, but then because he isn't in the cult as much now as before, he let it go. I was wise to not tell him back then.

And even more than that, I was proud of myself for listening to my heart and standing up for myself and my sisters.

The rest of the summer went by quickly after that.

Since then, I haven't been to the family's homestead or to any of my siblings' homes. Also since then, my husband and I bought a new home that is almost two hours away from my family's town. We used to live only five minutes from most of my family members.

Also since than Karl and I have skipped both Thanksgiving and Christmas at my family's homestead, and I haven't called my mom.

My mom is such a gentle and good soul, but I have needed this break from family drama. I did talk on the phone with my mom twice in the last few weeks for the first time since the summer. She actually called me both times, which is extremely rare.

Both times on the phone, my mom said that my dad wanted to see a copy of the email from Clark, so that he could apparently chastise Clark.

I was shocked. As a patriarch, each Christian man in the cult has unlimited power, and simply isn't chided by another patriarch. It has been this way for over 40 years in my family, since long before I was born. Each patriarch is given unlimited control, and they don't cross each other or discipline each other, especially when one is abusing his power. Abusing someone in the name of God is a patriarch's unquestioned right. It just simply happens, and the patriarch gets away with it.

If my dad were really going to check up on my Clark, that would throw the whole system out of whack. I couldn't believe this good news.

Then I could believe it.
 

I have a set of affirmation cards that I flip through and read to myself often, that I eventually will do EFT with. The one card I've been reading several times a day is "I stand up for myself, and life supports me in unexpected, loving ways."

So I've been expecting and thanking life several times a day for being such a lovely, supportive scaffold for me, and for surprising me in unexpected, loving ways.

And because of this, I wasn't so surprised that my dad suddenly might want to put a check on the abuse of another patriarch's power for the first and only time I've had cognition of.

So I stewed for a month or so, debating if I wanted enlighten my dad on what Clark was doing. I resisted it, because what Clark was doing was no more outrageous than anything my dad has done. Why would my dad want to chastise his son-in-law for things he was just as equally guilty of? Why tattletale on the pot, when the kettle is just as black?

But eventually I decided to send the letter outing Clark. In the letter to my parents, I also explained that I didn't feel comfortable visiting their home while Clark was there, sine he was gunning for me (a non-Christian), and I didn't prefer another skirmish with him.

My dad wrote back to me quite a nice letter. But he didn't say anything about confronting Clark. And he also gave me some life advice straight from the cult handbook. Which was kind of him to want to give me advice. But since he gave me advice, I decided I would have to write back and say that I didn't belief in the cult anymore, and didn't feel comfortable taking that advice.

The letter I wrote to Clark was like tiddlywinks and child's play compared to the one I sent to my dad. The one I sent my dad laid it all out there.

I expressed things I have been too scared to tell my dad my whole life.

Writing it was cathartic, and I felt like I was coming out of the cult closet for the first time in my life.

After I sent it, my whole body was burning hot, and it lasted for an hour. I felt so clear headed and empowered after I sent it.

I poured decades of anger, repression, tears, confusion, fear, and pain into that letter.

Then I pressed 'send.'

That night I slept soundly.

 

Here's the letter I wrote to my dad:

No worries, I don’t hold grudges, you are forgiven. As is Clark.

But forgiving doesn’t mean I agree with everything he does or the advice you gave, even though I know it came from a well-meaning, good place.

I do not agree with the Bill Gothard doctrine. I find it to be a doctrine of fear, and one that easily allows a misuse of power by men. It is doctrines like this that keep innocent women like Louisa stuck in abusive marriages, out of fear of demonic attack.

I do not agree that an umbrella with holes is better than no umbrella at all. To say that is to say that it is better to have an abusive husband than no husband at all.

What is also implied is that it is better to have an abusive husband than an attack from demonic influences.

First, I don’t fear demons at all. The rain falls on the ‘good’ and the ‘evil’ alike. Good comes to people whether they are ‘good’ or following ‘the rules’ or not. If you are afraid of demons, then they are there and they will attack you. If you believe in them, they are there because you create that reality as truth simply by your belief. But if you do not live in a place of fear, and you only see love, there are no demons and you are safe.

As such, with no demons to fear, a female doesn’t have to worry about demonic attack, and shouldn’t be forced out of fear to stay with a man who is abusive.

Also, the Bill Gothard doctrine gives men too much unchecked power, and takes away vital rights from women. It should be a woman’s right to stand up and question something that her heart tells her isn’t emotionally healthy, but under this doctrine, women don’t have that right. You often yelled at us and made us cower and said, “Don’t EVER ask me WHY!?!” in an angry tone, and we as females never had a right to even gently ask questions. That is bully like behavior, in the name of God. We were afraid to question, and any time a person is not allowed to question something, that is a red flag.

I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in large part because I was extremely afraid of you growing up, and still am. To get angry when a female child tries to express something and to tell her that in the name of God she doesn’t have that right to speak up…. is unhealthy. I have never been able to speak up and as a female, this has allowed me to be a victim in numerous life situations as an adult. I put myself there because I thought it was good and Godly not to speak up, but in fact this belief served to fail me and I paid the price for it.

I am living proof that the Bill Gothard doctrine is dangerous and unhealthy for women. It is an ego boost for men though. Men get nothing but added privileges so as a man, it is understandable that you probably see nothing wrong with the doctrine. Unless you can live in the shoes of a woman and pray meekly for/live with a man like Clark, then you can never experience how deadly this doctrine is, and how it can cut to a woman’s soul.

I don’t agree with the belief that a woman’s prayers alone can patch a man’s umbrella. That is like saying that a man has no responsibility for his own harmful actions towards women and children. That if he is being abusive and irresponsible, that it is not his fault, but it is the fault of the woman who didn’t pray enough.

Is this Clark’s only problem then? That Louisa hasn’t been praying hard enough for the last decade plus?

Is his holey umbrella that way only because Louisa didn’t pray enough?

Obviously, prayer is not the only answer in patching an umbrella.

The main responsibility to patch an umbrella is the man holding it. If a man is being awful towards other people, it is HIS responsibility to patch himself, not just his wife. 

Yet the wife is held accountable, and the holey umbrella above her is seen as a reflection of her own lack of prayer and submission. And she suffers in silence. She has no power, and she can’t tell anyone. If she does, she is shamed and told to pray more. She is trapped, but feels this is Godly. The blame is put on her, not the man.

And nobody comes to help her. Nobody. Nobody chastises the man. No, it’s the woman’s fault for not praying or being submissive.

Apparently, it is my fault that Karl was treating me badly. There is no help for me except prayer and my being more quiet, supportive and submissive.

I do not agree with that advice. Every cell in my body cries out that is not right. That is cruel advice.

I also do not agree with the Gothard doctrine because it puts unchecked power in the hands of a man. There is no system of accountability above the man except God. I think this is dangerous because it allows the man to just continue on with no interference. Nobody said anything to Clark all those years back, no one is saying anything to him now. Karl starts following in his footsteps, and they both go along merrily, safe because they are Christian males, while your daughters take the brunt of it.

The men continue to get away with it, and your daughters are told to stay with them, be submissive and pray.

How did prayer work out for Louisa? Everyone knew that she wasn’t happy for over a decade, and nobody stepped in to check on her, or ask her if she was ok. Clark was answering to God alone for over a decade, and even so the abuse was going on all this time.  Men answering to God alone is not enough. Prayer and submission alone is not enough. It didn’t get Louisa anywhere, and it still isn’t getting her anywhere.

Action and intervention is what is needed. Louisa and I need to stop being told to meekly take the abuse.

Why do you think that all of your daughters have been in bad relationships, and have been with abusive men, except for maybe (my younger sister) Christy? Even Matt and Joel (my brothers) have been like overly submissive females in that they picked domineering women. Why? Because we have learned from you that this is what meekness is. We have learned that we can’t set healthy boundaries, and this attitude has attracted out of control, angry men who prey on Godly women who are afraid to stand up for themselves.

Perhaps only a female who lives under this doctrine can understand this. Only a wife or female child can understand this. It is the females who suffer, and it is the females who can’t talk about it because they will be shamed or bullied more.

I realize that it is probably difficult for you to imagine what it’s like to be in a female’s shoes under the umbrella. But hopefully you can try to imagine how terrifying and awful and psychologically tormenting it is when there is abuse going on and you think God expects you as a female to take it. Gothard advice isn’t helpful for a female… it actually does the opposite of helping, in that it empowers a man so that the abusive situation continues.

The Gothard doctrine 'might' be less dangerous in the hands of a basically decent man who doesn't have a lot of anger and violence. But it is like giving a free hall pass with no policing and no check-ins if it falls into the hands of a man who is hard headed and already on a violent path.

It is also a woman’s responsibility to be wise enough to know when her man's umbrella is permanently irreparable and abusive.

Because it is a sad fact that some umbrellas will never regenerate.

Some umbrellas will never be patched.

It’s the woman’s fault if she chooses to waste her life trying to patch what will never be patched. I’m done with watching women waste their lives in this effort in futility, with the man beating her down emotionally and physically in the process as a reward for her giving all her life’s effort to him.

Women who stay under a holey and abusive umbrella do themselves and their children far more psychological, physical and emotional harm than if they were to get out from under the umbrella to make it on their own.

Yet under the Gothard doctrine, women are trained out of fear to never question the man, and they aren't allowed to think for themselves or question, even when they are abused. They have no defenses. They basically are blind, and many can't get away because they can't even let themselves realize the horror around them.

I think the Gothard doctrine is a perfect set up for abuse. Take a man who is out of control, angry, can’t change himself for decades on end, is violent and aggressive, and walks around hurting people without even knowing it. Then give that man unchecked power, and tell his wife and female children that they will be attacked by demons if they try to escape his abuse and his umbrella full of holes.

I think that is sickening.

Images: https://www.facebook.com/iamsooohappy?fref=ts

I have watched with my own eyes and experienced being under your umbrella and Karl’s, and I've watched mom and Louisa. I just see sadness and disaster. And I personally have followed the rules to the “T,” so I know that I have given it more than 100%, many times over. I’m not about to waste the rest of my life continuing to be a Gothard guinea pig when I’ve seen time and again it is very harmful for a female, and it only works for a male.

I want No More of It.

It’s unhealthy and has dragged my life down enough.

I realize that you do only mean well. But the beliefs and rigid rules in this doctrine aren’t healthy. It’s better to just listen in to your heart, like Mom does. She was a good person when she was a child before she met you and religion, and she listened to her heart. That’s all a person needs, just to listen to their intuition and heart like she does. You don’t need doctrines or rules or books or sermons to be ‘good’. Just listen to your heart.

Sincerely,

AJ