Here's to Walking Away...

I've been working really hard to make a beautiful life for myself. As any trauma survivor knows all too well, rebuilding (or in my case, building from scratch) a life that has seen abuse is super intimidating. In spite of this, many survivors do cross over into thriving territory and look back on how much strength it took to get to the top of a mountain, only to climb one after another in that one's wake. I have certainly climbed a few mountains. Currently, I'm climbing a couple personally. Those that love me cheer me on with each step, and I'm forever grateful and thankful that they are in my corner.

Those that have seen this fight in me for healing know just how much harm I had experienced. There are many layers to the harm, which is difficult to even separate when so many aspects contributed to that hurt. There is the childhood abuse that lasted many years, the spiritual abuse that went on until I was a young adult, and the long and tedious part of my journey where I entered trauma therapy. There are a few reasons behind why I started to "get well" after the sicknesses that trauma contributed to...

First of all, I started finding my voice. While I absolutely spoke up for others, by far, the most important step in all of this was that I started speaking up for myself, and to myself. What that allowed my brain to do was confront the lies that had molded it; that created a puppet that lashed out at the great puppeteer that was my pastor, some of my family, and even the version of God I was taught. I snatched the nearest sharpest object to me, and methodically started cutting string by string that made me do a dance I never wanted to be part of.

I think this is where writing really came into play. With each word, blog piece, article, and even random social media rants, I started to evaluate what I had only ever been told as fact; I began sifting through that "fact" and found a lot of fiction. I entered this phase with abandon... well, not quite abandon, although I did end up abandoning a lot of the teachings I had been brought up with. Diving into research was just the tip of the iceberg on what became my journey of freeing my mind from a cult-made dungeon. 

The first chapter looked like this: books, lots and lots of books. No topic was off limits. I started reading history, about wars, controversial conflicts that occurred in American history, political opinions from all sides, journalists' points of view, war journalism, human rights campaigns, genocides, and about the Civil Rights movement. I read and listened to the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.'s speeches, his sermons, his beautiful way with words.

I read about anti-violence campaigns to bring about change. I read about different faiths from Christianity to Islam, from traditional and fundamentalist's points of view. I grew up reading the Bible all of my life, so I decided to read the Qu'ran. I would take notes, or more often, write a small essay for myself about what I took from what I was learning and how that applied to me or how it didn't. It opened my mind, it broadened my views, and it offered information to contradict, or at the very least, allow me to consider more on the outside of the box I grew up in. 

I started watching documentaries from pivotal historical moments to religious leaders of the world. I was fascinated by nature, science, and gentleness. I found I could agree with some things, and not with others, and still find common ground with differences. I found it easier to respect those differences. I often read the stories of those from different religious backgrounds that left their faith communities to find freedom, including the ability to question beliefs without fear of retribution by their communities.

All of this led up to the point that most people want to know about... the moment I realized I was in a cult. That moment came not too long after I left the church I spent 15 years of my life in. I had been away for 6 months after it became incredibly unsafe. My trauma felt afresh again; more layers were added, and I was reeling in its aftermath. I stepped away from church, a church that had broken my health and spirit. By doing so, I actually started to rest my body physically and mentally. It allowed my nervous system to begin the vital phase of calming (the fuck) down. It also provided me the ability to think. To breathe, consider, reconsider, and evaluate more safely and more clearly without the constant interference of the preacher, my family, and the pressure of being the perfect IFB Christian at every corner.

Granted, I still fought interference. When you grow up in a controlling church that preaches damnation for those that walk away and those beliefs are held so strongly by the members of that church it is like the air they breathe, someone isn't going to sit by while you walk your way away, right into hell, abandoning God, and taking the pastor's testimony down with you. I started hearing rumors of my devotion wavering months before I left. This rumor is probably the scariest if you are a member of a cult.

My health had gotten worse and so I didn't show every service. I started experiencing the fallout in how I was treated, rumors were always flying even years before this, and so I noticed that I was no longer invited to sing as normal, participate in other special activities in the church, etc. I also knew that the times I refused to participate would come back to haunt me. I started saying "no" to the pastor, to family, to members on doing things because I wasn't up to them, and also, at times, because I was really struggling with living that life when it went against my moral code. I was feeling the beginning stages of what shunning while in group looks like. I had all the emotions but didn't have words to put to what I was experiencing. Years later, I know.

When I did step away, I started to receive "thoughtful" cards in the mail from concerned members for my health... except they weren't about my health. They wrote instead that they were praying that "whatever was getting in the way to bring me back to church would be removed." I ripped up the card, and stomped on it, never telling another sibling it was also sent to them. I had a handful of messages sent to me and even a few letters, but overall, it became crickets after I left. In the first 2 weeks of not showing up as my body and brain started fighting for me to step back from the IFB, I found out that a family member had started asking prayer for me in a very special request. 

I was held up in prayer that God would do whatever it took to bring me back, even kill me if I didn't and would go on to ruin the church's testimony. Because I grew up with these beliefs, I knew what this meant. That prayer was a sobering one, and only used when people leave the church or the faith. I realized then that I was considered a non-believer even though I believed with my whole heart for years. I just didn't agree with abuse, with bullying, with unkindness. I believed in walking in the truth, not living a lie.

So, I walked. Walked away, and out the church's doors. I wanted to argue, to scream at the top of my lungs that if I wasn't part of the believers, neither were they. I was in the fold, I was a believer, but in the end, I couldn't waste my precious energy there. I knew that they had decided for me... I was never one of them because if I had been, I'd either be there, in their church, or dead, period. I wasn’t sorry I wasn’t dead.

It took me many years to truly practice not wasting my energy arguing their stances against me. Still to this day, the gossip wheel will turn, and I'll be alerted to another rumor surrounding me. I have learned to shut the conversation down and not pay any mind, but sometimes, you still hear the rumors regardless. Most often, the information is inaccurate and so far removed from reality that it has become laughable. Other times, they want to poke fun at my happiness.

The hardest part is separating family from the church. To be quite honest, I don't think I ever really could. We were brainwashed into believing that the church came first, always; that it was protected above our very own loved ones. And the sad thing? There is absolutely no need to protect a system that needs fixing. The strongest and wisest of missions include growth, transparency, and vulnerability. But when you build a system that is portrayed as the only one true way, you get a messy pit of control, lies and frankly a great misunderstanding of the overall (and real) world.

Surely, the IFB isn't the only system or group that has these issues. It's sad that this issue is so prevalent in religious settings, institutions, and even corporations with no religious connections at all. Sacrificing members for appearances, or in the case of the IFB, its "testimony" is and will likely be the outcome we see when it comes to crimes that impact the most vulnerable in controlling communities. I personally feel that the IFB perfected this, but I’ve come far enough along to realize that many, many different groups practice the same.

Today, I've been focusing on myself, making a life after the IFB. Instead of writing this piece in a matter of hours, I wrote it in over the course of two months (or honestly more). I am busy living, building, and learning. I've entered a different phase, have stepped into another chapter. And it's only right that I take a moment to think on that... When I first started this blog, I'd never, ever imagine my life right at this very moment. Wow.

I've been so busy creating this life of safety, beauty, and love, that it sometimes surprises me that I ever lived the IFB life, that I grew up so "odd" and away from the real world. I recall now inwardly rolling my eyes as my partner told me once that my time in the IFB would feel like school. For over 12 years of your life, it will feel unending, you may have a bully around every turn, you may feel embarrassed, struggle making the cut, but eventually one day, you leave the school buildings behind. When I initially heard that, I thought, “Well, that is a trivial way to compare trauma.” Now, I see that it does feel that way though, for me. I feel like I learned a lot during those lesson periods in the IFB. 

I sometimes feel that I’ve completely “graduated” and moved on from the IFB until there is a moment of culture shock, of feeling like the outcast, of being overwhelmed entering a new experience that has me nervous beyond anything. I suddenly remember that I'm a survivor of a cult and I have one of two responses: I panic and have to calmly remind myself that I'm still learning and give myself a little grace to learn, make mistakes, and get better; and then, I have this moment of overwhelming and incredible peace. A peace that truly does pass all understanding, except I know where it originates from... freedom. Of making tough decisions that broke my heart into a million pieces but in the end helped put me on the road I am on now. And today, I feel that peace, that joy, that comfort, that thankfulness and gratitude, with reminders all around me that I not only broke away but that I'm creating for myself what was never given to me in a cult called IFB: a life of my own choosing.

I’m not sure why that in the past few months I’ve been thinking on that part of my story…where leaving was the highlight or why sometimes the memories feel fresh. I do know that when change is all around me that I feel that initial fear of the unknown that really saturated my entire existence for months… years, really. I felt so vulnerable, exposed, but also exhilarated. One day, I left my past world and then the next, I realized that world was a cult! Okay, maybe it wasn't quite like that... but you get the point: it was surreal! It was like entering a new relationship, getting to know myself more and more and waiting even tentatively for what would happen next with both longing, excitement, and a bit of nervousness, too. It's like showing up at restaurant, ready to order one thing and then finding it's a buffet. It's like the first intense moments when you are waiting for a show to begin combined with its ending. It's like a million different things....

I'm sensing this combining of my past life with my current one, learning to embrace all the ugly while making a beautiful masterpiece. Last night, I took traditions that were created for me way before I was born. I set up a Christmas village, allowed it to sparkle into my small home with the safest partner I have ever had and our pets. I decorated my first Christmas tree and beneath it sat a stuffed animal that I bought for myself after it was stolen from me as a young child by people who had contributed to tearing my life apart. I sat Oscar down and petted his little bear arms. My partner noticed this and gently asked if I was experiencing a memory, to which I just nodded. I am almost thirty and gifted myself a piece of my stolen childhood to bring back a tradition that I loved. I feel that Oscar is proof to how much I had to save myself, take care of myself, and build my own life after a cult.

It's not fair, never was, that children are born and raised in such chaos. I don't even blame my parents. I don't really blame anyone. I have accepted it for what it was and live in the now. There are so many things I would absolutely change, but when I consider what I left and what I have now, I only feel gratitude and such a huge sigh of relief. I decided to stop just wishing for a life that was safe and worked for it. I'm still working on it; every single day and it continues to be the most priceless gift I give myself.