Once Upon a Time in My Oceania

  Here I share what it's like to survive a cult. I talk about my journey and everything it consists of, including my time in-group to when I left, and the steps after where I've had to build my life from scratch. I'm honest, I'm raw and I share the conflicting emotions I often feel. It's not always a pretty picture, but it's a real one. I hope that at the very least it helps someone else out there feel less alone. That's why I share my story, speak words that sometimes I have to choke out because I remember the old fear of daring to breathe a word contrary to authority. I write here because I once wasn't allowed to even think the words.  Here's speaking my truth again... I grew up the tenth child of twelve. Being closer to the youngest in age, I had a ton of older siblings. Some abused me. Some protected me. Some said they loved me, but I was on the receiving end of their hate. Some truly loved me and those are the ones that have had my back even thr...

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...

  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 ...

  Upon waking up after leaving a cult and finding myself grappling with that fact, I also started to grieve. I grieved my exit and what leaving cost me: access to family within it, loss of community and the people I knew all my life. And then there was the grief that comes along with realizing you were lied to, manipulated and controlled. Even the realization that the cause wasn't real, worthy or righteous: all of it I grieved.  I also started to see more clearly on all that the cult stole from me, including my childhood.  I don't blame my family for the things the cult stole. I understand too much on how people get sucked into an religiously abusive group and I believe they joined because they believed it was not only the best thing to do, but the only right decision. As much as it can be frustrating and easy to do, I try not to direct my frustration at them. I remember well how controlling and manipulating the Independent Fundamental Baptist movement was and I have no d...

  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...