Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

  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 t...

  Last month, I celebrated one of the happiest days of my very life. I got to marry a wonderful, safe, and fantastic man. I got to do the things I had always wanted to when I envisioned my wedding day . I was the first of my family to have a secular wedding, something I’m not only honored by but treasured deeply. Through hard work and tears, I am making a life that I want. It’s so far from my upbringing but it’s the truest and most authentic of lives I’ll ever have, and it’s brought immense peace to me. My wedding day was not held in a church. While I have felt the uncharacteristically comfort within a house of worship before, I would not say sacred vows to my partner in a system of abuse. I also had to look after myself and practice self-care—I have chronic Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from what the Church has done to my body, brain, and soul. My C-PTSD has been managed really well for over a year and I need to keep that going. And of course, my fiancé and I did not want to have...

  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...

  What is peace? If you asked me as a fundamentalist, I would have answered “a peace of that passeth all understanding,” which because it was far beyond understanding, I never truly did, well, actually, understand it. I never felt peace in abuse. I never had piece of mind either. I just got through it. I wanted to have the capability to experience the peace that was preached but now I know it was simply not feasible in that environment. For many years, I was led to believe that the issue was with me, not the church. If I did everything exactly as I was taught, as the man of God proclaimed, as the Bible “clearly” stated, then, I would no doubt have that peace they always talked about. But I did not. I felt like an anomaly. The odd one, that I was one that had deep wounds that I had caused to myself where peace evaded. The irony is that I was always very confident in that world. I knew that I knew the teachings with my heart and my head. I knew the rules and believed in following...

  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...

  I’m not sure I’ve really deep dived and shared about what it was like in the weeks of leaving my IFB church. The events that led me to that decision were years in the making and very traumatic. Still to this day, there is a part of me that is still baffled that I actually made it out. It didn’t come cost free though. I lost a lot, but gained, in many ways, much more. That last sentence is very hard for me to write, because leaving a church, especially one that your entire existence was based around, means you leave a complete lifetime behind. At the time, I started transitioning into the real world in some ways. I had started listening to music of the time instead of just the hymns and Southern Gospel I was raised on. I started wearing jeans sometimes in place of my long skirts or awkward culottes, albeit terrified church people would see. I wore makeup but was constantly ostracized for it. Those were some surface things. Down deep, I was never prepared. I was still very awkw...

  Picture of Lydia Joy Launderville I think it’s time for an update on my personal blog. Life has been busy, whew! I’ve moved out of the small town that was home for most of my life. It was both a place of dear memories, and also very tough ones. I still go back often though and feel a peace within me that is accompanied by a bittersweet smile (and yes, sometimes triggers because Post Traumatic Stress is real!). I turn on country music often, as it feels fitting and is connected to my roots. While there, I was always on the outside, my family being swept up in the IFB and not really able to join in on the festivities but country music was a theme we heard often. There was still the annual Christmas parade we witnessed many, many times  and every year Brunswick stew was up for purchase once it got colder weather. Then, most often July 4 th celebrations that included fireworks near the small ballfield and I did enjoy their car shows that featured classic muscle cars when it was...

  By  Laurie Penoyer-Phillips Purity Culture doesn't just suppress, enslave, and harm Christian women psychologically, emotionally, relationally, and spiritually...Believe it or not, Christian  men  are targets, too. It recently occurred to me as I contemplated the depth of this deceptive and divisive subject, that the types of Christians who participate so willingly and fully embrace Purity Culture, especially Independent Fundamental Baptists (my personal upbringing) and the like, are really "man-haters" even more than they are misogynistic. Purity Culture (PC), and the Christians who uphold it, treat all men  as totally helpless, mindlessly rutting and grunting, sex-driven Neanderthals who walk, and talk, and think with their penises. It's really quite insulting when you think about it .  In their version of manhood ,  all men remain sexually , emotionally, and intellectually immature way past puberty. Ever-hormonally charged and lust-drive...