Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

  Learning to be vulnerable after growing up isolated from the real world and being unable to trust the people you were taught were supposed to be trustworthy can leave a survivor struggling to connect post cult. Finding those who won’t judge you or exploit your cult experience can be difficult, adding to that struggle. Because surviving a cultic environment is often a traumatic experience, walking away may also mean walking away with chronic mental health issues such as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and anxiety and depression, not to mention other types of illnesses that were left untreated for a member’s time inside of their cult. The point is that learning to trust others on the outside enough to be vulnerable can be extremely, extremely difficult for survivors. And yet, doing both those things (being vulnerable and trusting) are necessary in making meaningful connections. Building a new safe circle is important. Many of those that leave religiously abusive environments lose...

  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...

For as long as I can remember music has always been a big part of my life. From the very beginning, I was surrounded by it and as a little girl I remember the first time I played a piano. Barely able to peek pass the keys, I fell in love with that instrument. Even picking up a guitar was fun if for only myself and not the ears of those around me. Whether it were a piano or guitar, mandolins, violins, banjos or even occasionally dulcimers—pretty much any instrument, string or otherwise, that could produce a decent tune—I was surrounded by them. Growing up IFB did restrict the genres, however, to hymns, gospel and fortunately, in my case, classical was included. Still to this day, I like that last one and it can crack a sentimental smile out of this girl. By my early teens, I started to get my hands on old rock-n-roll and Doo Wop, and often recorded Elvis and the Beach Boys onto cassette tapes from the radio, commercials and all. By eighteen, I really found myself in dangerous territo...

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...