Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

  The search for personal identity isn't reserved solely for those that leave a cult-ish group. Many of us are actively looking for our unique selfs, that one thing that separates us from others, all while bringing us together with our "tribe." To identify with others and find community.  This very thing is often exploited by abusive groups and cults use it to their advantage while recruiting new members. They offer all the answers, the community, that sense of belonging and purpose many search for. They exploit the very humanist of experiences–the ability to be a part of a family not created by blood. To know who you are. Because of this particular exploitation, they separate a new member from their very self, manipulating them into taking on their new cult identity, convincing them in the process that it's the "true" them. Much like trauma, there is the you before a cult, and if you leave, the you after it. Some of us only have the cult identity and nothin...

  It's difficult to explain to those who haven't also had the realization that they, too, were once in a religious cult what that's like. It's something that I've also had to try and tackle while undergoing therapy for my chronic PTSD. I know at least I'm not "crazy," but it still doesn't change the fact it sounds crazy and is uncomprehensible to the mast majority of people who listen to me explain what my life once consisted of.  It doesn't help that the word "cult" has been grossly sensationalized and stigmatized, whether by Hollywood or even other cults themselves. It seems the very worst controlling groups tend to draw the brightest spotlight on them that society has a unconscious threshold of what constitutes a cult. Basically, if you didn't have some terrifying rituals or lived on a compound, suddenly you are not a cult survivor.  You can easily be invalidated.  But for those that have lived that life and left, we've exp...

  I've been right where you are. I've had the same things said to me and about me, too.  It sucks.  People don't get it and that's frustrating.  It hurts. It's damaging.  It's a negative reminder.  It's a reminder of the harm done. No, they don't get it. No, they don't want to either. They'd rather suggest you are bitter, vindective, seeking revenge.  But for what?  For finally voicing a secret not of your own making. A secret that seared your heart, mind, and soul. A secret your body unfortunately can remember all too well. "I'd think you'd want to forget about it..."  How do you know that us girls don't wish for the ability to not remember the time(s) our innocence was stolen? Instead, we are forced to relive every, single and agonizing moment. We continue to pay even years later.  You would think they'd not ask the impossible.  But they do, because the possible–the seeking of justice–would also reveal their own ugly t...

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...

  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...