Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

I recently came upon this term, glimmers, from a friend. I was instantly captivated at such a notion. A beautiful notion, at that. If you have complex and chronic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, the word “trigger” is not just a word; it’s an experience. It can look like many different things connected to our senses: smell, touch, sound, sight, a taste, an emotional state—our senses are powerful mechanisms that connect the past to our present. However, sometimes these senses produce scrambled signals to our brains and if you have PTSD, you know all too well that it makes you feel the traumatic event is happening right in the here and now. Suddenly, the musky scent of a basement makes me cringe thinking of a few family vacations where the sexual abuse I endured as a child never got a break. Or the sight of a white church steeple reminds me of the house of worship where I was spiritually abused for years and felt stuck. Sometimes, it’s the taste of grape juice that we drank during commu...

  This time of year is always bittersweet for me and a lot of other survivors out there. I remember a lot of traumas around Christmastime and New Years, also a lot of sickness. There was a lot of pressure to do a lot of things and be a certain way. There was caroling, a Christmas play where you’d have to perform and sing, often very ill, and a ton of get togethers to attend. And then, there were a lot of tough feelings and emotions as you either gathered or didn’t with people who were, well, super hurtful. It can be a triggering time of year. There can be a lot of loss and grief. But there is also joy for me. Well, now there is…. For the past few years, I’ve decided with a heart full of purpose to enjoy my time here on earth and make every Christmas one that I remember. Most often that looks like living in the moment. I have a tree, a Christmas village that lights up, and I put Christmas lights on the balcony. There are stockings hung. I have cards from friends and even strange...

  Trigger Warning: Abuse, religious trauma, childhood abuse, sexual abuse I openly share about a lot of difficult things that have occurred in my life as someone born and raised in a toxic religious environment, that I feel fits the criteria of a cult. I don’t throw that term around haphazardly. I’m careful for a few reasons, including trying to prevent misinformation from being sent out into cyberspace and also because my experiences, like many other cult survivors out there are real stories that should never be taken lightly. When you are one that hears a lot of tough accounts of those who have survived trauma, it is easy to be desensitized. This is part coping, part exposure. But down deep, compassion and empathy are there. You understand what it’s like to walk in the often-unique shoes of those who recognize that there are two worlds if you survived a cult: the real one and the cult’s. I was in a cult. Like I said, I share that publicly. And like many other cult survivors of ...

  Confronting a past that has harmed you without any say from you is difficult. Trying to process the decisions and actions made by others against you is a new level of confusing. I remember when I was a young adult, and my one imprisoned abuser started the process to seek an early release after a few years into his sentence. I started to search for anything I could use to speak up on my behalf if the process ever made it farther. What happened was that I stumbled upon notes and information taken by social workers and the detective on my childhood abuse case. It was very difficult reading those notes, seeing the sadistic mindset of my abuser. I remember that when asked why he molested me as a child that his response was that I was “annoying.” In his abusive and twisted mind, he molested a child for being a child and to him who was annoying child at that. I remember the turmoil reading that unwarranted explanation caused in me. I was always told that I was annoying growing up and ...

  I prayed for revival. I wept and cried, pleaded, and begged that God would send a mighty awakening in the IFB movement. At the time, I didn’t know I was praying for the Independent Fundamental Baptists; only that I was praying for Christians. I was taught real Christians were independent, fundamental and Baptist though. We were the “saved” ones, the separated, and sanctified. And because of those things and the teachings I grew up with (not to mention the fear), believed with my whole heart. I took the “man of God’s” words seriously and I did as was told. So, I prayed. I prayed God would revive us. I never got to see a mighty revival overcome the IFB. Not over the years I was there. I struggled to understand why that was the case when so many of us had to have taken that seriously and followed the rules. Before I left, I realized it would never happen. When I heard that I and other young people were at fault for the absence of revival, I felt betrayed. It wounded me and others ...

  I believed every story the preacher man told me, even the gruesome details he spewed with vengeance in his voice and the spit that left his mouth. I took every warning so seriously, could feel the life leave my body as he warned of touching the Holy Scriptures with dirty hands. For weeks afterwards, I would examine my little hands for even the faintest of dirtiness, worried I’d disrespect God and endure his wrath, even to the point of death. That is just one of many examples of how literal I was as a child taught to believe things incredibly literally. I can’t explain how much that literalism damaged my mental health till this day or the impact it has had on me understanding people as an adult. I joke that I’m just a literal person, but the truth is I was told to take things so seriously or I could face eternal consequences. A child’s mind is very impressionable. They are molded by the adults in their life. Their view of the world is crafted by what they are told, what they w...

  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 thr...

  Upon waking up after leaving a cult and finding myself grappling with that fact, I also started to grieve. I grieved my exit and what leaving cost me: access to family within it, loss of community and the people I knew all my life. And then there was the grief that comes along with realizing you were lied to, manipulated and controlled. Even the realization that the cause wasn't real, worthy or righteous: all of it I grieved.  I also started to see more clearly on all that the cult stole from me, including my childhood.  I don't blame my family for the things the cult stole. I understand too much on how people get sucked into an religiously abusive group and I believe they joined because they believed it was not only the best thing to do, but the only right decision. As much as it can be frustrating and easy to do, I try not to direct my frustration at them. I remember well how controlling and manipulating the Independent Fundamental Baptist movement was and I have no d...

Why speak out solely about Independent Fundamental Baptists ? First, it's something I personally experienced for twenty-one years. Second, when I left I was under the impression it was just my own experience, just my church, until I learned that wasn't the case and that knowledge forever changed me. Suddenly, it wasn't just me anymore, just my hurt. Other girls and boys, along with women and men have and continue to experience that very same heartbreak. Thirdly, although I do from time to time address other denominations who are experiencing similar things (because, yes, I'm aware that is true), I tend to share things I have either experienced myself or went on to research. Starting with a particular way of life I was born and raised in, then lived for most of my life, steered me in that direction. IFB is something ingrained in me, I know most of the ins and outs, pick up on particular trademarks, along with the fact I can usually recognize unique aspects. But more o...

Trigger Warning: child physical abuse They were the biggest set of blue eyes I'd ever seen. I'm watching him closely, but giving him his space as we sit across from each other on the unpadded brown carpet. His tiny pudgy hands push two cars around; one red, the other green. He's nearly three and according to my communities word-of-mouth rules, too old to be in the nursery. But here we are, me in my last teen months eyeing him like a hawk and him, going about quietly playing. He doesn't look odd and for the life of me I don't understand the rumors. There's no way this semi-quiet little boy, making tracks on the floor with matchbox cars is demon possessed.  Suddenly, without a second thought, I chuckle and those big blue eyes find mine again. Caught. This time I just smile when I'm unexpectedly handed a monster truck that was just fished out of a wooden toy box nearby. I remember that play bin. It's been around since I was a child, but rarely I see ...