Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

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...

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 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...

Trigger Warning: this article contains adult content and references to sexual abuse and domestic violence Her eyes are tired, her gaze locked on the gray tile below, and silence is stretched out between us while we stand there. It's Sunday morning and in the crowded space of our church's ladies restroom there's two other young girls quickly checking their hair in the only mirror in the building. One sixteen year old is raving over the pale pink nail polish she convinced her parents to allow her to paint her nails the day before. The other disappointingly remarking that she's not allowed to indulge in the luxury but is sporting a rich perfume that is not only turning my stomach, but also choking me to death. I recognize the scent since I have an aunt who wears it. Letting out a discrete cough, I rest the back of my head against the floral wallpaper behind me, my only thought on finishing up as soon as possible with my own primping once my turn comes before the worship ...

Surrender My past life was a big contradiction. Being told one thing, but seeing it done a different way. Certain things felt as if their very definitions went against each other. Love, for example, was said to be without limits and yet, there were limitations everywhere I looked. Who was deserving of it (no one), who received it (some, but not all). Mercy was taught and said to have been given, but each mistake was scrutinized.  The very moment you were shown grace by an almighty power, then the real war had begun, they told us. Be prepared for a fight, we were warned, because there's nothing more hated than a Christian. I came to find that the list of enemies was long, that it continued to grow, and eventually it became apparent that everyone hated me. Believing that because you are the "peculiar people" that you were hated only isolated a group more. There were restrictions on how we worshipped, who we could worship with, and what we were worshipping about. It wa...