Worthy

 

Accepting that life is not a puzzle I can solve, a code I can crack, that it doesn’t come with a roadmap has been one of the biggest obstacles I’ve encountered.

I’ve encountered a lot of change in my life. For years, it felt like things would never turn out my way. I was stuck in this cycle of just hanging on and settling in–true survival mode at its finest. I lost years to crippling anxiety and depression, and so many moments curled up on the floor in flashbacks. 

I remember one of the first flashbacks I had ever encountered. I couldn’t make myself get in the car to go to my IFB church. I was about 20, and I could not make my body get ready– no brushing my hair, no putting on my limited makeup, not being able to iron my long skirts. I just couldn’t do it. I watched as my family left without me and I curled up on the floor of my bedroom and sobbed in the fetal position on my green scratchy yet soft rug. I was a failure! I knew I would once again hear from the church people that I was rebellious, backslidden, not a believer after all. It was so hard to hear I was not a believer when I believed so incredibly hard, that I don't think it’s possible to be that strongly connected to a god. Simply by not showing up for a service, I was convinced I was the worst and biggest failure in the world. Why wouldn’t my body and mind just cooperate? Why couldn’t I just do what I had always done for my entire life? 

Curled up on the floor, my body shook violently. I was a little child again being abused and I left my body and saw it from above. My long jean skirt tangled around my skinny frame. My red t-shirt was a big slap in the face to the teachings against harlot colors. I was broken on that floor. I was numb and stuck in a feeling of unrealness. I no longer felt that I existed. Wasn’t sure why I did it if I couldn’t even do the basic things as a Christian– go to church. I was a failure.

Failure has been a big fear of mine. I always felt this immense pressure on me even from a little girl to be good. Be very, very good. Be the best. Be kind. Be gentle. Be nice. Be respectful. Be respectable. Be real, not fake like so many others. I swore to myself at a very young age that I would be the best Christian, best person that I could be in spite of the adults who constantly fell from grace. 

I have no doubt that this pressure is part of the conditioning from my upbringing. I could not say no to anyone or anything. I would always find myself standing up for the person being mocked. I couldn’t turn away from someone in need. Compassion drained me. I felt very odd in a world where I was taught to not care about the rest of the world. I had compassion in the church but I rarely had compassion for myself. 

I also felt deeply in my core that those who harmed others hadn’t fallen from grace but were beyond it. I stared them down in anger. I refused to interact with them if I could, and when I did, I physically went to the bathroom and scrubbed my hands clean. I didn’t care if their “blood would be on my hands”-- they had others on theirs. In a way, I shunned what I believed was evil.

I always felt these big emotions–both the negative and positive ones. They would suck me up whole and devour me. I didn’t have any tools but to breathe and get alone. Often, that looked like music, writing, and nature.

It was terrifying being this kind of person in an environment that squashed any feeling that wasn’t positive towards the church. I don’t honestly know where the drive to survive and fight came from. Desperation? Knowing I wanted to protect my siblings? Having to parent myself and others? A need to support friends? Being stubborn and fed up, maybe?

Lately, I've been looking into my past. Both in therapy and in preparation for a future project. I gathered notes, documents, my bible, pictures, and flash drives of information. I felt myself sit back in confusion on how I got through so much– no, more like HOW I did it. I tried to solve every problem that came my way even back then. How does someone gain that ability? To somehow gain autonomy in a world that banned it?

Today, that looks different but also very much the same. It translates in trying to fix everything that feels off, overworking myself, having to-do lists that swallow me up but eventually do get completed. I sat at my work computer in a total mental shutdown recently. I couldn’t process a single number or word. I was just over the hyperfocus. I wanted to cry my eyes out. I couldn’t remember why I was working other than to provide. Everything I had done prior was to make a way for myself or others. I had been so used to just surviving. I am done surviving. But leaning into just being is very difficult. I want control, after all! Sure, I have passion but passion tends to quiet itself in mundane tasks for myself.

I sobbed like a baby–like the little Lydia that hadn’t had her needs met– when my therapist told me I was doing a good job in my life, my marriage, my work, in my friendships. Then they told me some of the biggest and powerful, freedom inducing words ever– you do not need a pastor, a man or a church to tell you what to do. You are more than capable. You always were and you’ve been capable and doing the hard work since 5 years old. 

I used to take so much pride in my work ethic. In my ability to volunteer. To give so much to so many. To pour into others like I was never poured into. And I still am proud of all that hard work. But healing means acknowledging you, too, need to have needs met.  My identity had been all about what I could do for others that proved that I was not like the distorted, selfish, so-called Christians that raised me in their churches. They created a monster in me–this monster of constantly giving until depletion. That monster isn’t scary. It’s just sombering.

There is this saying by many cult professionals that if you want a person with the best work ethic, hire an ex-cult member. Why? Because we were brainwashed and controlled to give, give, give, and give some more. And this continued because the cults that we were once a part of convinced us that what we gave–often our all–was never ever enough. So we would give more and more of ourselves and continue to lose every slice of our being in that giving. We were the abused partner and the church was the raised fist of our abuser.

Back to that hard floor and the green scratchy but yet soft rug on my bedroom floor ten years ago where I was a failure in the eyes of a church. I cried out every tear until I became numb. I had called myself all kinds of negative titles. I convinced myself that I was the worst person. I repeated over and over, “I hate me, I hate me. I HATE ME.” What I hated was that I was not able to just be like every other church member and show up. Somewhere in the back of my clouded mind and numbness, I realized that was not all right to say to myself. I pulled myself up and scrubbed my eyes with my fists and decided to take a bath with candles. I sat numb in hot water while others gave their all at the church house. I had given everything so much, for years, I had nothing left for myself. My body and brain decided enough was enough. I wouldn’t go back. 

I can’t say that it was then and there that I started to see myself as worthy but it was certainly part of the baby steps that led me out. I know I’m worthy today. I do. I really, really do. But past habits that I was raised with still slip into my life post cult and I’m still learning how to catch those and healthily respond and try different ways of thinking and approaching things. 

I am not ashamed to say that I have needs. I do. I have many. Some I can meet on my own. Others come from deep relationships and connections that are proof of a safe circle I have built for myself. I have those that are my rock and I, theirs. I have a wonderful husband who has been gentle to the little Lydia that suddenly appears with mistrust and insecurities, who is a safe place to land when I need to cry and express how overwhelmed I am. I love him and it feels wonderful to be loved with the same effort I pour into a partner poured right back into me. I have a twin sister that has been my cheerleader and who I can be completely honest, raw, and a “failure” in front of. I have friends and I have therapy. And I have myself. It’s been a little while since I gave enough credit to that last one, so let me do just that.

Lydia, I’m very proud of you. So very proud of you! Your hard work. I know you carry a lot on your shoulders. A good portion of it is not necessary and yet you carry it. It’s time to set some of those things aside. And here are a few: being the good daughter, being a perfect wife, saving your siblings, needing to appear put together (no one is and that’s because “being put together” is a societal farce), working so hard that you overwork yourself, pouring into others when you are nearing empty, feeling unworthy, and that incredibly heavy burden of being a good person. You are good. You have ALWAYS been GOOD. You were not evil when you came into this world and you will never be evil when you leave it. You were just as innocent as every baby you see and smile over. You need the same gentleness you give to others. You need to wrap your arms around little Lydia and whisper gentle and empowering affirmations. You don’t always have to be scared. The world is overwhelming but it is not out to get to you. Life isn’t trying to teach you anything; it’s just happening. You can just be. Be in this moment. You can just be yourself. And while you continue to find who that is, let me remind you of a few things that are very true about you: you care, you love, you have moral fortitude, you are ever curious, you are passionate, you believe in kindness, you treasure the big and little things in life, and people do think you are pretty wonderful, because you are. 

I think this, or something along these lines, is what every cult survivor needs to hear from themselves and those around them. We were harmed very deeply. We were fed lies that eroded our souls and self worth. And because of that and so much more, we have to do the hard work of healing those wounds that we never asked for. It’s not fair, but it unfortunately is the way forward as cult survivors. In case you are feeling like a failure, that you simply suck, I'm here to remind you that you are not the only one who often feels like that. We’re human–not broken, just human. And we don’t suck. But life can sure feel sucky and guess what? We no longer have to deny that on some days. But the great part of freedom is learning the ability to also know that a sucky page in a chapter is just that– a single page (okay, maybe two) but the book goes on.