Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

  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 was taught to never lie. Never exaggerate, never utter a falsehood, never "bear false witness." I, like many raised in the strict world of fundamentalism, feared telling anything but the truth. Unless it was a means to avoid punishment, I was that person who would stand by what I perceived as truth. And yet, looking back I found that wasn't always the case. There were many lies I told during my time entrenched in Christian Fundamentalism and often those lies were lies I told to my very self.  These lies had extreme power over me. Power over my actions, my view of the greater world and the isolated one that was my only life. Many of these lies were lies I'd utter for only my ears to hear as I pondered my current circumstances in that environment and how I was unhappy and feeling helpless. Often, I felt like a captive more than a Christian.  These were the lies I told myself in fundamentalism... I'm all alone. I'm the problem. I have to stay. Every church is...

Dear Friend, No, we haven't met, although there's a good chance that if you're reading this, we've lived very similar lives. That being said, I'm not going to pretend that, even with the similarities, I know what you have been through. I just want to say I see you. You, who are struggling, carrying the heavy burden of indecision, of fear, of the unknown. You, who feel miserable, wondering when that started and where that misery came from. I see you. You, who are tired, downtrodden, forcing your head to stay above water. Confused on why The Master of The Sea has even allowed you to start drowning in the first place. You, who feel guilty, ashamed and discouraged. Wondering, why you just can't be happy, serve your god, be a Christian. You, who past memories haunt, are relived every day. The wounds of abuse still feel so raw and you wonder when they'll ever start to scab over, scar. Heal. I see you. And I weep with you. Y...

Silence and secrecy are often, in my opinion, the key ingredients in keeping any abusive system alive and operating. This also is part of the reason that when truths that shine a negative light do appear, people are not readily in a place to accept them as truth and real concerns are dismissed. Part of maintaining silence and secrecy may look different depending on the organization/group, but in general there are a few common ways of achieving the goal of abuses and wrongdoings remaining unknown, unchecked and hidden firmly beneath the rug they've been swept under and sometimes, expertly so.  In order to insure wrongdoings are kept silent is to start with an environment that doesn't look too keenly on "unnecessary" and unwanted accusations being prompted in the first place. Within this environment, and in my experience, the Independent Fundamental Baptists, leaders constantly preach how sinful it is to sow discord among fellow believers. With this in mind, vi...

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...