I Don't Need You to Agree I Survived a Religious Cult, But I Did

 

It's difficult to explain to those who haven't also had the realization that they, too, were once in a religious cult what that's like. It's something that I've also had to try and tackle while undergoing therapy for my chronic PTSD. I know at least I'm not "crazy," but it still doesn't change the fact it sounds crazy and is uncomprehensible to the mast majority of people who listen to me explain what my life once consisted of. 

It doesn't help that the word "cult" has been grossly sensationalized and stigmatized, whether by Hollywood or even other cults themselves. It seems the very worst controlling groups tend to draw the brightest spotlight on them that society has a unconscious threshold of what constitutes a cult. Basically, if you didn't have some terrifying rituals or lived on a compound, suddenly you are not a cult survivor. 

You can easily be invalidated. 

But for those that have lived that life and left, we've experienced two very different and separate worlds and there are no adequate words to truly describe what that was like. And yet, many of us (like myself) try to do just that in order to sound the alarm, raise awareness, or make a last-ditch effort to process some very extraordinary experiences in our lives. 

Granted, you can get the expected backlash. Not everyone understands or wishes to even try to, and certainly current members of the particular group you left and now are trying to blow the whistle on don't especially care too much for you. In my case, it's frustrating and sometimes hurtful, but also bittersweet. 

Bittersweet because I'm a thousand times thankful that I was able to successfully leave, and yet, they're not free. I try not to pick up that burden and put it on my shoulders to carry, however. I cannot make them hear what can be a devastating realization once its had and I cannot convince them to leave. If you've had your eyes open to seeing the environment you're in is abusive, controlling and isolating, it's up to that person to make their feet move out the door. I can't make them listen, I can't make them see and I can't pull them out. It's up to them to make that decision. Unlike the decision to join a cult, leaving is a very conscious and scary one.

Describing you're a cult survivor is tricky and often nerve-wracking. Although I openly write about it, in my personal life, it's incredibly difficult to own that truth or express my reservations on not also being open about it. Part of the conundrum is the fact that online survivors can connect with other survivors regardless of the particular cults they were once a part of. There's a silent understanding when you stumble upon a survivor of a similar stripe. You don't have to explain that struggle; they just "get it." For those who are unfamiliar or haven't experienced the trauma that being a cult victim is you're not always sure what response you will receive upon that person hearing your story. 

Admitting you once were part of a cult can feel just like that... Like you're admitting to a sin. I chose that word specifically. Much like admitting, it can feel like a confession of sorts, sharing this big and bad secret that you've deftly tried to protect by trying to not "act" like a cult survivor. I explained it like this to my therapist.... I don't want to come off as that "cult kid," fear being misunderstood and inevitably shunned. All over again.

Imagine a pretty house, nothing fancy but fairly accepted as any average family home. Like any house, it has doors and windows. Now, envision that there's a lively party going on just beyond its walls. From the outside, you can hear the laughter echo from inside, the friendly conversations and camaraderie that only old friends have. You can see the smiles on faces and embraces exchanged through its windows. Suddenly, you so much want to be a part of it, join the party, but you are a stranger and uninvited. You would probably feel like an outsider, unsure of how to act even if the invitation was extended, you'll try to tell yourself as you keep on walking down the street, away from the fun, away from that sense of community and belonging. As a survivor of religious trauma, I often feel on the outside even on the inside of that house. I constantly sense I'm just peering through those windows...

There are so many challenges that come with leaving a cult. I do not have to prove to a non believer of my experiences that I am, indeed, a cult survivor. As much as their validation would be easier, I do not need it. Although their acceptance would be helpful and meaningful, that doesn't mean I must have it. My reality was not chosen unlike their denial. I no longer have to prove my worthiness, my loyalty, that I am speaking truth to another living soul. I do not have to show my scars so they can see there once were wounds.

But I do share them. Not for the scoffers, but the survivors. For that wandering soul feeling lost and on the outside of their own metaphorical house. For the curious in order to normalize the existence of cults and less stigmatize them. Not every cult is like Charles Manson's "Family." Lots of times they're churches with "Baptist" on their signs. Still, the harm they do is widespread and felt deeply by those who they abuse. 

I also share for me. To process, to acknowledge, to strive for acceptance, but to also see the personal growth in my own life. To document the roadmap that has led from my own personal hell towards happiness. To sit here, writing this, smiling as I do it and say that I am happy. As always, a work in progress, but grateful for the progress and the understanding I don't need to be perfect. That I don't need to not be a cult survivor. That is my experience. That is a theme throughout the first 21 years of my life. I can't change it. I'm healing that past version of me, but building for the present and future now. 

I don't need you to trust my experiences were real. I don't need you to trust that I've researched and tracked down my roots, connected and communicated to hundreds of survivors on a one-on-one basis, that I have talked to other cult survivors from other groups and documented abuses of power over women, men and children from my own that I left. I don't have to convince you that I'm convinced, that professionals are, too. I don't have to tell you that those who follow versions of healthy Christianity have broken hearts over the damage done by those who bear a similar name, but not the burdens of the hurting. That supposed "Christians" have caused those hurtful burdens in the first place. 

I don't need you to agree that I survived a cult to know that I am a survivor of one. I don't need your belief in me that I am trying to heal from things that even I don't share here. I don't need you to hear me out and change your mind. I'm out. I left. I made that exit, took that step and ran away. I'm safe. I don't need you to believe me, but others do. 

It's not my job to do any of that. It's yours. It's on you. To hear the cries, to bind the wounds, to care, to demand change. To believe when a person says, "I survived a cult." 

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