I'll Be Damned... Literally

 

Here I share what it's like to survive a cult. I talk about my journey and everything it consists of, including my time in-group to when I left, and the steps after where I've had to build my life from scratch. I'm honest, I'm raw and I share the conflicting emotions I often feel. It's not always a pretty picture, but it's a real one. I hope that at the very least it helps someone else out there feel less alone. That's why I share my story, speak words that sometimes I have to choke out because I remember the old fear of daring to breathe a word contrary to authority. I write here because I once wasn't allowed to even think the words. 

Here's speaking my truth again...

I grew up the tenth child of twelve. Being closer to the youngest in age, I had a ton of older siblings. Some abused me. Some protected me. Some said they loved me, but I was on the receiving end of their hate. Some truly loved me and those are the ones that have had my back even through my exit out of the cult. Once my exit came, some stayed; others left. Some of them shunned me publicly for leaving the Independent Fundamental Baptist movement, saying I was out "fornicating" when in fact at the time I was a childhood sexual abuse survivor so traumatized I couldn't physically be hugged by a man, let alone experience emotionally safe sex. Ironically, that incident occurred after I spoke up against marital rape on this very blog.

In hindsight, I understand now I was also shamed and shunned while still in the IFB. I missed services due to a then undiagnosed chronic health issue and suddenly I was having God's judgement prayed down upon me, pleading that included worse health problems or even my death if need be. Yes, my family prayed God would kill me for leaving their church. As much as it harmed me, it also was the push that had me running out the door. I was an outsider in the inside. When I needed to stand up and get out of there, there wasn't much holding me back. I'm thankful now. 

Last week, it was running into a family member and not recognizing my own nieces because I never met them, never held them in my arms as babies or attended birthday parties all because I left the faith... more specially a church called Faith. In that moment, in the cold aisle in my local grocery store, I felt my heart warm. I suddenly wanted my family, had hope blossom inside of me that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance. Maybe it wouldn't matter that I wore jeans, listened to the music that got me through PTSD attacks, didn't attend church–maybe I could just be me, their sister, an aunt to their kids. I held onto that hope for about ten minutes until it was snatched away. 

While in my vehicle, another vehicle pulled up. Windows rolled down. Then, I got the message, which was given spitting, with anger and through gritted teeth: Eternal damnation is real. I can be forgiven. I don't have to burn forever. My sins, all of them, can be forgiven. 

What sins exactly? I accepted their twisted salvation as a child just like them, so no, I didn't need saving. 

Maybe it's because I don't attend church anymore? I don't trust churches after researching hundreds of crimes that occured solely in IFB churches. I trust the facts and church isn't currently safe, not to mention I don't put up with spiritual abuse anymore. 

It could be the "sin" of wearing pants as a female, listening to "worldly" music, watching movies or reading books.

Maybe the "sin" of calling out abuse, calling the cops when abuse occurs, not staying in their abusive church and the movement it belonged to. 

It could be a ton of sins and it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't matter because in that world, family isn't family. It's Us vs. Them. You're either with them or you're against them. I simply escaped a place that was torturing my body and brain. If that's a sin, I am the worst sinner out there. I'm not sorry either.

Back in the car, I'm sitting there. I hear I don't have to be the damned. Then, they drove off. I held back tears. Hope left just as quickly as it arrived. I felt stupid for daring to dream. I saw beyond their faith; they only saw me as a worthless sinner that, although they said forgiveness was out there, I wasn't convinced they wanted a mansion next door to me if I accepted their interpretation of Jesus. 

That's a family reunion if you leave the Independent Fundamental Baptist Church. I wouldn't honestly recommend it. 

I'm thankful for the family I do have. For the three nephews and nieces I get to shower with love as their aunty, even if I can't do that for the dozens more like I dream of. I'm thankful for my siblings that have fought right alongside me, that have encouraged me, that have held me as I've cried my heart out as it was crushed. Years ago, the assistant district attorney on my childhood abuse case took me and these siblings aside and pointed at each of us. He said words I've never forgotten, "Blood is not thicker than water. This is your real family." This is my family. I'm blessed. 

Just the other day, I had a reader of this blog thank me for speaking up and they added that they knew it came at a cost. I don't hear that very often, but it was no less true in some ways. I've been asked if I regret it, wished I didn't speak up after all. 

I don't. 

Even if it hurts sometimes, I don't. 

I can't.

Because while I have experiences like a sibling shunning me, all over again, I also get messages of entire families leaving. Fierce formers are leaving and I rejoice with each and every one of them. It's empowering, it's beautiful, it's a balm to my soul. 

I hold out hope that one day my entire family will get free. In my heart, that's my own real plea. Because while they may pray I return, I beg any god out there that they will leave. I know the damage they, too, have experienced. I know they, too, hurt. I know they're enslaved believing themselves to be truly set free. I know they believe so strongly in a god who they believe is loving, but they also don't understand what love feels like until you step away from the hate. I know the fear, I know that false sense of community, I understand their loyalty to a man called "Pastor." I know. But I also know that leaving is possible. I hope it becomes a reality for them. In the meantime, I live my life beautifully. Repairing the damage and building castles out of the stones thrown. 

I've learned after living a good portion of my life pointing out the damned and damning others, I'd rather be the damned. I'll be damned anyway in a lot of people's opinions (particularly IFB's) no matter what I do or don't do. I chose a different path and that's okay. 

To my sibling who shared their message with me in the grocery store parking lot: I love you. I hope you also leave. If you need a sister to back you up when you're on the receiving end of that kind of message like the one you gave me, I'll be backup.

I couldn't stay in a cult, so "damnation" was my freedom. 

I'm damned. 

It's wonderful. 

Photo courtesy: My sister for catching a real moment of me loving life freely.