Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

I talk about many of the troubling teachings I took away from Christian Fundamentalism throughout this blog. Well, the teaching of respect was a big one. Often, I've referenced that members and followers answered to their authority figures—the heads of their churches, homes and families. Being disrespectful was not only something that was to be avoided, it was an actual sin. This complicated things for a number of reasons and are places that I still find myself struggling to navigate through. So many areas of my life were impacted by this group rule. Very easily, it could be hijacked and used as a dangerous and manipulative weapon by those with sadistic intents. So deeply was this teaching engrained that it was second nature, so members—men, women and namely, children—were often mistreated by the demand to always be respectful. It started with the conditioning in the home. From childhood, I knew that honoring my parents was vital in order to live a long life. At a young ag

I had an unlikely ability to arise in the final years leading up to my exit from my past fundamentalist community and that was the ability to actively begin omitting. This was unusual due to the fact that that meant I had something to keep back. Thoughts uniquely mine began to develop, take root and form an argument that would build deep in my gut and reappear to debate while I was alone or at night, unable to go to sleep. Thoughts like wondering why I wasn't enthusiastic about serving in my church, feelings of disillusion with leaders and the cause, and the ever growing isolation that seemed to swallow me up whole while in the midst of a congregation. I began to have doubts and with them came the gnawing feeling to understand why.  You're not to understand why. You're to do or die.  That was a mantra I heard often growing up, demanding that asking why is proof of rebellion. Those final years I didn't fight to hold the doubts at bay anymore; I couldn't ignore