Finding The Positive From My Time in a Cult

 

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 conversation with someone in my life that did not grow up in my past cult, I started remembering a lot of things. The songs specifically. I was safe and started to hum old tunes to many of them. I shared that I sang a lot in those days. I joined the choir at around 7 and stayed till around 21, sang with my family and so on. During that time, I remember songs from numerous different gospel genres. Southern Gospel, traditional hymns, bluegrass and so much more. Sometimes we sang traditional songs written by African Americans during slavery and that always caught me after understanding how simply racist the IFB can be.

Music in the movement was an important part of my time in it. Yes, they banned so much. I still am catching up on all the music I’ve missed. Most people laugh when I share my music interests now and how they’re all over the place. But I don’t care. I love music in general. But yes, music was an important facet of my time in the cult.  

During my conversation last night, I remembered the bittersweet moments too. This included when my now late mother would sing. My mom died when I was young. I often forget her voice. But there are recordings of her singing in the church, and I treasure those. She had a lovely soprano voice.

It is very difficult to see anything from my time in fundamentalism as positive. I was such a different person then. But sometimes, with my safe people, I share who I was and what that was like. This has offered me so much healing and it is a way to connect myself with that fundamentalist girl to the free woman I am today. We both were resilient, both had a beautiful heart, both survived so much. I am thriving like I have not.

Another step in recovering from religious trauma is being able to recognize if there were good moments, precious memories (yes, I suddenly thought of the song). Sometimes, we can smile, then cry. I find that for me, at this point in my journey, it has been especially healing to be in this place.

I would change a lot of things if I could. Most are things that are and were never in my control in the first place. Acceptance can be a daily fight. Accepting what cannot be changed can be a challenge all on its own. But what I can accept right now: I am where I am supposed to be. I am healing. I am thankful. Could I dare say, blessed? Yeah, I could.