Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

  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...

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...

In the years following my exit out of Christian Fundamentalism many conversations have accompanied my time trying to come to terms with the years spent in it. Numerous things I struggled to understand, and making my best effort at putting into words the complexities of that period and how it had changed me forever was not easy. Some, like those who also experienced the group I came out of or others similar, most likely understand the confusion and frustrations us formers encounter. More often than not, it is simpler to just cut it up to "crazy" and try to let bygones be bygones, move on and leave the past in the past. But sometimes, that's not always possible and hashing it out is your best bet at finding closure. I call it "feeling your feels" and it's something that I do allow myself to do when it's warranted. I guess you could say at times that is why this very blog partly exists—to find a way to talk about all those many different things fundament...

No one ever warned me about this part of my life. With everything I read on the subject, very rarely did the conversation come with a "heads up" on what to expect when you begin to wade through the waters of deconstructing from your past faith. As a former fundamentalist, I was not prepared for the sheer ability to ask questions. My existence in my community, especially as a female, meant I was silent and constantly fell into line when told to. As a follower my leader dictated the emotions I was to feel and thinking outside of the box was foreign to me. Leaving meant searching for a new identity entirely. I had no clue who I was to be without my fundamentalist past self or without the pastor leading me each week on what I was to believe spiritually. I wasn't ready to watch friends turn into enemies or hearing past members refer to me as a stranger, instead of the little girl who grew up in their midst for the past fifteen years. I wasn't expecting that some w...

Little girl, living in a box of a world,  Question everything. Scream when they say to sing. You deserve so much more than what they say;  Your existence allows you the option to walk away. Break the mold; find your way. Don't blend in, you stand out with the words you say. Be the night when they're the day. Be the red when they're nothing but the pale. Pick up that book, the one with the forbidden pages.  Read it, breathe it, take it in and wage it. It may be the answer to that burning question and if not, still search on.  Don't give in, don't give up.  These days can be put behind you, they can be gone. ☆ They cut you when it was you they said they loved.  But, little girl, love don't draw blood. Words and rules shouldn't hurt; make you doubt who you are or your self worth.  Leave it alone, let it go. Turn your back on them; put the past down. Sacred Book it may be, but that speaker never ...

Trigger Warning: for the sake of authenticity certain insensitive words towards the LGBTQ Community, including the possibility of referencing particular homophobic slurs are to follow. The author in no way supports the terminology used, but chooses to do so in order to, as accurately and closely as possible, depict the following piece true to memory's sake. Many areas of my life were shaped by fundamentalism. Being born and raised, a cradle to a pew, Independent Fundamental Baptist translated into controversial beliefs and opinions that not only were sometimes unhealthy, but also hurtful to others. I've talked a bit already about some of those things, particularly different forms of hate within Christian Fundamentalism . It's not uncommon that something or someone catches my attention, reminding me of those former beliefs I shamefully embraced for a time in my life. I can recall the uncomfortable cognitive dissonance that occurred when those teachings were chall...

Trigger Warning: for the sake of authenticity certain religious, culturally, and ethnically insensitive words, including the possibility of referencing particular racial slurs are to follow. The author in no way supports the terminology used, but chooses to do so in order to, as accurately and closely as possible, depict the following piece true to memory's sake.                                  His steely gray stare is eyeing me, bloodshot pupils making my own burn. He's been at it an hour now, the booming voice echoing off the sanctuary walls around us. The congregation is attentive, taking in every word and action. This Carolinian mountain boy preacher, proudly void of a degree in theology, is shouting up a storm while pausing for his signature thumbs tugging at the pair of suspenders he wears. The rant against the upcoming election, that the now former President Barack Obama would eventually...