Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

  I was always terrified of the outside. The world was scarry and dangerous. As a little girl, I was always aware that evil lurked around every corner—in the churches with different names on them than my own, in those who were at ballgames, my neighbors, and even some of my unsaved relatives. It was so ingrained in me that I avoided all those that were labeled the “lost.” I would protect my testimony, myself and my family and not dwell with sinners. The world on the outside was viewed from the lens that I was conditioned with. Most have heard of “red colored glasses” and seeing the world in that light… well, mine were those of suspicion. Suspicion and fear because of a religious dogma that put commitment to your spiritual family above all. Even when that spiritual family physically beat you, screamed how terrible you were and that you were unworthy of good things, even when that family sexually abuses you or keeps you from help—that spiritual family deserved your loyalty. Loy...

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...

  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...

  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...

  Part of recovering from a cult is healing the parts of you that the cult hurt. In my case, a cult controlled, and its fear ruled my entire childhood. There are only photographs of my childhood days in cult clothes and doing most activities connected to the church. It’s very hard for me to even look at these photos without feeling a deep-rooted sorrow for my child self. I know now what I had missed, but mostly am aware of what was taken. I’ve been out closer to a decade after spending my first adult years as well inside. There is no secret key to healing from a cult experience. But there are strategies through things like professional counseling and connecting to survivor communities and such that can prove helpful. I’m not simply healing from a cult (although there is nothing “simple” about surviving a cult), I’m also healing from emotional, verbal, mental, physical and sexual abuse and overall neglect. It impacted my everyday life, has touched even my future in ways like diffi...

  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...

  The search for personal identity isn't reserved solely for those that leave a cult-ish group. Many of us are actively looking for our unique selfs, that one thing that separates us from others, all while bringing us together with our "tribe." To identify with others and find community.  This very thing is often exploited by abusive groups and cults use it to their advantage while recruiting new members. They offer all the answers, the community, that sense of belonging and purpose many search for. They exploit the very humanist of experiences–the ability to be a part of a family not created by blood. To know who you are. Because of this particular exploitation, they separate a new member from their very self, manipulating them into taking on their new cult identity, convincing them in the process that it's the "true" them. Much like trauma, there is the you before a cult, and if you leave, the you after it. Some of us only have the cult identity and nothin...

  It's difficult to explain to those who haven't also had the realization that they, too, were once in a religious cult what that's like. It's something that I've also had to try and tackle while undergoing therapy for my chronic PTSD. I know at least I'm not "crazy," but it still doesn't change the fact it sounds crazy and is uncomprehensible to the mast majority of people who listen to me explain what my life once consisted of.  It doesn't help that the word "cult" has been grossly sensationalized and stigmatized, whether by Hollywood or even other cults themselves. It seems the very worst controlling groups tend to draw the brightest spotlight on them that society has a unconscious threshold of what constitutes a cult. Basically, if you didn't have some terrifying rituals or lived on a compound, suddenly you are not a cult survivor.  You can easily be invalidated.  But for those that have lived that life and left, we've exp...

  I cried today. Bawled. Snotty nose, swollen red eyes, and shoulders that shook cried. What caused this intense reaction? Christmas cards. I thought 6 years later I'd be stronger than this. That it wouldn't bother me as much. That distance and its friend time would have helped heal this old wound. I also naively considered the fact that this year my life has had much more happiness, new and unexpected changes, that were also welcome and that those things would lessen the sting. I thought I had grown and yes, I know I have in some major ways.  But the truth is it still hurts. So I'm writing this. To my family who I won't be seeing this holiday season because I left the Church: I think we all secretly dreaded the holidays long before I left. The stress to be perfect, to add up to others' depictions of good Christian families was tough. There was always so, so much pressure. Or maybe that was just me feeling it. But, I think we always knew that, although there were la...

With all the dizzying aspects of leaving a cult, I couldn't imagine a life of happiness and fulfillment, let alone a life where kind souls would enter my life and change it for the better. I was concentrating solely on the confusion, grief and surviving of all the years where I was owned by a manipulative and controlling force that was my past church and the movement it belonged to for some time. I was unprepared, so unprepared, and my personal circumstances only complicated my exit and the eventual few years afterwards. I'm thankful I left, but for me, leaving was just another traumatic experience to process. I'd go on to shut down, crippled by that grief, reeling from years and years of living in a constant state of survival mode. To say it was a dark time in my life would be an understatement. I once told someone dear to me that I was like the dead just walking around. I just existed. It felt like a lonely existence, too.  Coming back from trauma isn't an easy task. ...