Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

  By Noelle Myers One thing many survivors of cults have in common is a sense of a lost childhood. Of course, big things like Halloween and prom were absolutely forbidden. Allocated as “of the devil” and “sinful” these childhood rites of passage were looked at with longing, watched from the outside like the proverbial kid in a candy store window. More than that, for me, it was also not doing many things children get to do. I could never ride the quarter machines, because all our money went to the church. Dance class was out – as being worldly and sinful – moving your body was a no-no, and let’s not even think about a leotard or the (gasp) music. Skiing, swimming, and most sports were out because of violations of the church-imposed dress code.   Even going to the gym was frowned upon (for women at least) due to the large number of men present and the lack of a “moral” dress code.   I can’t speak to what it is or was like for men, although I personally noticed quite the d...

  I knew it was possible that the new people in my life may stumble upon what I write on religious abuse, trauma, and cults. I also knew that they could possibly learn more about me than I was ready to share just yet. When I first started writing a blog, my articles, or social media posts on the abuse I survived, specifically in the Independent Fundamental Baptist movement, I didn’t worry too much about that particular aspect of being vulnerable about my experiences, on the internet, no less. I had a goal in mind, and I followed it. I started writing, raising my voice when I could about the things I cared about in the moment. I was all about “giving the damn” for once. It was with my first real connections post-cult, especially those of the romantic and friendship variety that really brought my writing to the forefront. At first, I struggled to know how to share about my passions surrounding abuse advocacy, mental health, and especially cult awareness as they are paramount to me....

  Becoming nostalgic for the life I once had in a cult happens very seldomly in my experience. But when I do, and I travel down memory’s lane, remembering the moments that were not as painful, I feel a connection to a part of myself that I lost. When you leave an environment that is hurtful, you know down deep it was always the right call to walk out the door. That does not change when you experience nostalgia for a time that you knew all the answers, had a role to play and in a community of your own. Last night this was me. I suddenly found myself diving deep into waters I rarely traverse. I found myself laughing about some funny moments and then crying over the things I missed. For example, I recently watched the movie RESPECT in a theater (gasp!) about Aretha Franklin. Aretha was a very religious person and throughout the movie, I found myself quietly singing along with the songs she had sung, songs that I hadn’t heard in nearly a decade. I sang a lot of those songs. In a co...

  By Anonymous When Lydia asked me if I’d like to write, I was torn. I have a lot of people in my life who are wonderful, and they don’t fit the into box of abusive or cult-like at all. But I did run into some people who were critical, condescending, and plain mean. I did try to do everything “right.” I thought if I did everything right, people would see that and be nice. I was wrong. It took me a few years to realize that some people would automatically oppose whatever my family and I offered the church. For example: activities. If they came to activities my husband had planned and was in charge of, they’d do their part with food or whatever but then they’d hang out in the other room and wouldn’t participate or see how well he was doing things. Of course some people were great. I am not talking about these people. Long story short, I went through a terrible depression. I don’t mean I was sad.  I mean I couldn’t function.  I couldn’t focus ...

  By Noelle Myers “Children should be seen and not heard” is a phrase many of us grew up with. This phrase is an old English proverb, dating from the 15th century and was written by an Augustinian clergyman. At that time, the phrase was not aimed specifically at young women. Yet it was something most of us, especially women, in the cult, knew and understood applied to us. It may not have been explicitly said, but it most certainly was implied. Women, in particular, were to be meek, silent, and submissive. We were to be “seen” (but only if we fit a certain mold – looked a certain way). As a child, many of us were taught not to speak unless spoken to, to remain meek and sweet, no matter what the circumstances, and to always, always acquiesce to “authority” (read: male) figures. The pastor was akin to God Himself, infallible, never to be questioned – but so were most of the men, especially those in positions of power. We were never to complain about anything, not the ice-cold French...

  I grew up convinced I wasn’t going to be able to make anything of myself. I was taught I was unworthy, worthless, and that I wasn’t even ordinary. I wanted nothing more than to make my parents proud, carve out my own path and convince myself I was a somebody. I realized I wasn’t just a somebody, I’m me. And that’s a good thing. If you would have asked me ten years ago where I would see myself today, you’d get an answer of a Baptist wife, mother and hopefully using my love for piano to make music or even teach a Sunday school class. I remember when that last one became impossible after I made waves in my past church. I wanted so much to be considered as a candidate to teach young teens and specifically wanted to focus on their self-worth, but that never happened. Now, I look back and am glad, because I would’ve encouraged rebellion in the ranks (you can laugh here; I am). Teaching others while my journey was just beginning and heading in a different direction, nonetheless, wou...