Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

Yesterday, I nearly ran into a person who was a key figure in my life for the last fifteen of the twenty-one years I was in the IFB movement. I was shopping and instantly turned the other direction out of shock, out of years of hurt, and because I wasn't sure I could hold my tongue. I remained in years of abuse as a child because of these people, have chronic PTSD and long-term and incurable health issues that my doctors have clearly stated came from the constant trauma I experienced. It's been seven years since I last saw them. I'm still the same person, but I've also grown significantly as a human being, too. The discomfort didn't trigger a panic attack, something I always thought would be a given when I've imagined that moment over the years though. I moved on and went about my day. I don't even know if they noticed me and didn't lose sleep over it wondering. I ended up feeling peace just from knowing I'll never be in that prison of a church again...

Next month marks two years since I started sharing both the past and present in what fundamentalism can look like. I've written through numerous stages in my life and am left in awe on how much its changed in just a short time. I started much from the beginning, trying to depict my earliest of days in the cult and what that personally looked like. I shared unique stories from my upbringing in that isolated world. I wrote posts, deeply painful ones, while taking on my past church that continues to fail victims still to this day and who allow wolves in their midst. I never dove into that tough time and don't plan to today, but you never know...give me a few tomorrows and I may just do that. I had to relive a lot of painful memories two years ago and while doing so, this blog became a wonderful outlet to put emotions to paper. 2019 was the year that kicked my butt into gear and truly jump started tackling the great obstacle of choosing me for once. 2020, I feel was a year of perso...

  Healing isn't pretty.  It's raw, it's emotional and it can be downright messy.  Often, healing is portrayed as moving on from a terrible time in our life and into a new happy, thriving chapter, filled with smiles and freedom. Rarely do we see the messy parts–the set backs and mistakes, frustration and tears, the moments where we're convinced we've gone backwards on our journey instead of forward. So often, the actual process, which is complicated, isn't highlighted. We only see the crushed victim, struggling to keep their head above the rising water and then suddenly jump to the part where they're a survivor and thriving on the shoreline. We don't talk enough about the swim, the days and nights of being able to only tread water, fighting to stay afloat. We show the rescue, but not the recovery. In many ways, the hardest part is starting that recovery and being committed to learning ways to help us process the old and navigate the new. It's about re...

One of the most wonderful times of the year is upon us and signs of the season are everywhere we look. I found myself happily smiling at holiday lights decorating neighborhood homes and the brightly lit Christmas trees gleaming through their front windows. I love wreaths on their front doors and the warm, homey feeling I imagine is just beyond them. The holidays are supposed to be joyous, filled with loved ones and the love they bring to you on display just like those decorations. And although many do find that to be true this time of year, sadly, not all do. Cult survivors can be that exception and some don't have a home to go back to for the holidays.  This can be for many reasons and through this blog post I'm going to try and tackle some of those possible reasons. I hope that by doing so others will open their hearts and consider survivors of all stripes, and the difficulties they may face during what is supposed to be the jolliest time of year. Shunning Shunning is sadly c...