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...

  Christmas used to be banned while I was just a child growing up in the IFB world. With the often complexity that can sometimes be in homes and in churches in that environment, some members would celebrate, and others would not. Some embraced Christmas trees and Santa to a degree, while others swore such things were complete evil and would shun them. In my experience, the first IFB church to influence my family had shunned everything to do with the holiday, including gift giving. My family celebrated gift giving on a day that emphasized thanks and gratefulness more, and that was on Thanksgiving. This tradition brings back a lot of fond memories for me and as child I would be so excited to get my gifts a whole month earlier than most kids. However, when I reached a certain age and realized that others, especially the outside world, celebrated Christmas in a more acceptable way, I longed to experience that Christmas spirit in the same way. My first Christmas was when I reached the...

  I knew it was possible that the new people in my life may stumble upon what I write on religious abuse, trauma, and cults. I also knew that they could possibly learn more about me than I was ready to share just yet. When I first started writing a blog, my articles, or social media posts on the abuse I survived, specifically in the Independent Fundamental Baptist movement, I didn’t worry too much about that particular aspect of being vulnerable about my experiences, on the internet, no less. I had a goal in mind, and I followed it. I started writing, raising my voice when I could about the things I cared about in the moment. I was all about “giving the damn” for once. It was with my first real connections post-cult, especially those of the romantic and friendship variety that really brought my writing to the forefront. At first, I struggled to know how to share about my passions surrounding abuse advocacy, mental health, and especially cult awareness as they are paramount to me....

  It's been some time since I wrote about songs that helped me leave my IFB church of fifteen years and the entire movement as a whole. During that difficult time, where such a heavy decision weighed on me, music was a friend. That music was banned only served as just one more proof that that environment was controlling. I'll never understand, even years later, why such rules have to apply (learning and understanding cults does provide some insight). The experience of leaving a religious cult is difficult to put into words, although you see me try my darndest on this blog. With this post though, I'm going to share ten songs that express, for me, what it was like to leave a cult and that journey afterwards. Dear God - Dax This artist asks the tough questions for many of us trying to figure out what to believe, especially when spirituality was used as a weapon against us. I love his honesty and I relate so much.  Cost of Doin' Business - FIFTH When I stumble upon other ...

I had an unlikely ability to arise in the final years leading up to my exit from my past fundamentalist community and that was the ability to actively begin omitting. This was unusual due to the fact that that meant I had something to keep back. Thoughts uniquely mine began to develop, take root and form an argument that would build deep in my gut and reappear to debate while I was alone or at night, unable to go to sleep. Thoughts like wondering why I wasn't enthusiastic about serving in my church, feelings of disillusion with leaders and the cause, and the ever growing isolation that seemed to swallow me up whole while in the midst of a congregation. I began to have doubts and with them came the gnawing feeling to understand why.  You're not to understand why. You're to do or die.  That was a mantra I heard often growing up, demanding that asking why is proof of rebellion. Those final years I didn't fight to hold the doubts at bay anymore; I couldn't ignore...

I never encountered something so terrifying than being faced with decision-making. Not only are life changing decisions intimidating, but sometimes, so are even the average, everyday minuscule variety. I can't lie, it can be frustrating and overwhelming, this byproduct of living in a fundamentalist environment where the only "decision" you made was how quickly to obey the top guy. As a child, I recall a children's tune that was quite popular in our group where youngsters would spell out the word obedience in a joyful voice. I still remember it now, "O-B-E-D-I-E-N-C-E. Obedience is the very best way to show that you believe!" At 10 years old, I finally memorized it properly after my 4th grade teacher was left dumbfounded while I struggled to hack a spelling test using her suggestion of referring back to that commonly sang song. I was left embarrassed because not only could I not spell the word, but my Sunday school class from my primary days was more obs...