Talking About It

Talking about it is hard.

Whenever you make new friends there inevitably comes that moment where you have to tell them.

Maybe not right away, maybe its like a few months in.

But eventually you have to say yeah… my childhood wasn’t actually perfect.

“they were really religious… they homeschooled me k-12.” But you seem so normal!

“yeah I have 10 siblings.. no we’re not catholic…” I could never do that! Your mum must be a saint!

“no I will never have that many kids. No I don’t plan to homeschool. No it wasn’t a good experience.”

You sit there feeling like a freak show. Everybody’s gawking because they’ve never even heard of such things. Surely you must be exaggerating?! But in reality you’re dumbing it down, polishing the edges.

And in the back of your mind is the old family mantra hissing “You are so selfish. Telling tales for attention. People are going to think bad things about the family! Where is your loyalty?!”

They all shake their heads in wonderment. Courtship? Isn’t that another word for dating? You are monopolizing the conversation now. But they won’t let you stop. They have so many questions. You’re like a space alien telling stories about your exotic and barbaric planet.

You mentally sweep the years of violence and neglect and manipulation into a neat little dustpan and name it: “It wasn’t really a healthy environment.” And people infer what they want, and you move on. And eventually someone changes the subject and you sit there feeling embarrassed.

You wonder if your cheeks have turned red. Did you say too much? “You always say too much!” You smile and engage in the rest of the conversation. And then you go home and aggressively wash the dishes, fighting back your rising anxiety.

Eventually you find yourself in bed with a pillow over your face.

Trying to slow your breathing. Trying to fall asleep.

Its been ages. It should be so hard to talk about.

Dear Diary: Fundamentalism Through the Eyes of a Child

I don't know about you, but sometimes I feel guilty for leaving fundamentalism  It's not logical obviously, but somewhere deep down I still have this built in self-doubt. "It wasn't that bad," I tell myself, "you're exaggerating " I think about the things I've written on my blog and wonder if maybe I've somehow made them all up. Maybe my memories are flawed, maybe I'm victimizing myself.

In one of these moments of self-doubt, I turned to my childhood journal for affirmation. What I found startled me even more than my memories. Every page is swimming with self-hatred. Half the journal entries read like a suicide note. It's horrifying.

Fundamentalism teaches children that they are sinners. It teaches them to deny themselves, despise their needs, sterilize their personality, and strangle their sexuality. It teaches girls that they are stupid, insignificant, and purposeless without a man. The things you believe about yourself during your formative years shape the way you think, feel, and behave for the rest of your life. Nothing can be more crippling than self-hatred.

To illustrate how deeply fundamentalism destroys a child's self-worth, I am considering publishing some of the entries from my childhood/teenage journals. This will not be a commentary on my family or the things that happened in my home. It will be a glimpse into the mind and heart of a little girl who believed she did not deserve to live. My hope would be that people will see the dangers of fundamentalist Christianity and think twice about the things they teach (or allow to be thought) to their children.

Would anyone find this helpful or interesting? Would you be interested in sharing bits from your childhood journal to add to the illustration?

UPDATE: Many people experienced similar self-hatred stemming from psychological abuse that was not necessarily religious in nature. I welcome journal entries from those children as well as they offer a clear example of how religious fundamentalism is a form of psychological abuse.

Thoughts on Church

I know a lady who was always very deeply involved in her church. She poured her heart and soul into everything she did and was a huge blessing on the congregation. However, because she is a woman, many people were offended by her leadership. There were many issues that arose over the years, but eventually she was pushed out of the church she had been serving for many many years. She recently told me that she has stopped going to church all together. I asked her why, and her answer was both moving and thought provoking. I’ll share her letter below.

Why I don’t attend Church.

First, I was deeply hurt by things that happened at [my old church.] especially the last month. [The pastor] did and said some pretty horrible things to me. I still don't know if he was angry because I was leaving or what was going on. He did apologize to me last year for those last few things, but not for lying to me and about me for all those years.

Second, as I was just taking a break I began to examine what was going on inside of me. I started teaching Sunday School when I was 16 and I worked or volunteered in a church somewhere for the next 34 years without a break. I've done pretty much everything that can be done in a church. And for the most part, I loved it and I was good at the tasks.

However, as the days without church went on, I felt such an utter sense of quietness and peace come over me. So much tension went out of my heart and mind and body. I realized that working in the church has been such a huge source of inner turmoil for me. I have never liked church. I'm not a social person, I could be a hermit and not miss anyone.

However, I know God wanted me ministering to people with my gifts, so I did it. I detest almost all worship services. I don't care for hymns or choruses. I especially resent greatly that one man gets to get paid to study the Word of God and then stand up every week and tell us what he discovered. and most of them do a pretty poor job at communicating. And my beliefs tend toward the traditional so of course, I'm NEVER going to hear a woman preach although I believe one should preach every other week. Men just communicate and use different examples than women and we as women have to always switch it to apply to us.

I gave one talk at [my old church] once at the end of the worship service and you would have thought the sky was falling! I was good and funny and interesting and [the pastor] hated that. And so did others. So sad.

So I realized that I have been staying busy in a church my whole life, just tolerating the social aspect (which wears me out) and the worship service (which I find a waste of time). If I was using my gifts and doing something, I actually was able to enjoy myself. I literally cannot go into a church and sit and feel anything but anxiety, panic, disgust, anger, frustration and criticalness.

I'm not upset with the Church. I think that local churches could do better, but I understand ALL the barriers and issues toward change.

Many many people are served and helped and led to Christ because of churches. I'm not mad or upset with God or Jesus. I know with 100% certainty that Christianity is the only worldview that makes sense and can transcend every culture and every time period. I love Jesus.

I just find church a complete waste of time, unless I am doing something... and I can't do anything anymore. I'm hurt and tired and don't want the fight. And I certainly could never sit back submissively and let all the men make the decisions.

So I worship all week with amazing little vignettes within my life. I'm resting. It has been almost exactly 4 years. I have only gone to church once and it was because my whole family was here. with all the girlfriends or wives and everyone looked so striking I wanted to go show them off and we sat in the 2nd row and we had so many comments. Not very spiritual. :) But there it is.

I find being part of the unchurched very interesting. I am now just beginning to explore what would bring me back to a church. I have very interesting thoughts about that and how to market the whole church experience. For instance, why is the only gateway into church life through the worship service itself? It is really hard to pick and choose and be part of a church society without attending the all- hallowed worship service, why? It is such a narrow gate and one I find many people just endure in order to get the other things they need like a pastor for a funeral or wedding or conversations over coffee etc.

Sorry it got so long. I could keep going. But I'll stop now. It is the first time I have written it all down. Thanks for asking! That was a nice little gift you gave to me without even knowing it.

Have you been hurt by the church? Is there anything you would change if you had the chance? I’d LOVE to hear your stories!

Bound and Gagged by a Lullaby

Lying alone in the dark, I imagined monsters under my bed. They were little devils with bony grey hands, hands with fingers just long enough to wrap around my little ankles and pull me down. I tucked my blanket in tight around my body. Even a smidgen of space would be enough for a serpent to crawl in. I was petrified, and this was a normal night for me. My ten-year-old mind ran frantically down a list of the day’s events. What had I done to deserve this? How had I invited this evil into my bedroom? I thought about the lullaby from my favorite bible-music tape. Maybe if I sang it enough times, it would work like a dream catcher and keep the demons away from my bed.

“I will lie down and sleep, and sleep in peace. I will lie down and sleep in peace. You alone oh Lord make me dwell in safety. I will lie down and sleep in peace”

I chanted the song in my mind, begging God to keep the nightmares away from me. Sometimes I would fall asleep, only to find out that He had not listened.

As I grew older, my fears grew older too. I could push past my irrational terror of the edge of the bed, but nighttime still brought fear. My mind ran relentlessly through the tapes in my head: the tapes that told me how ugly I was, and how fat, and how stupid. I still tucked the blankets tightly around my body in hopes that I could somehow keep the bad feelings out. It never worked. I planned out dozens of ways to kill myself, and wondered who would notice if I did. Whenever things got bad, that same old song would start playing in my head:

“I will lie down and sleep, and sleep in peace. I will lie down and sleep in peace. You alone oh Lord make me dwell in safety. I will lie down and sleep in peace”

I would beg God to let me sleep and keep the nightmares away. Sometimes I would fall asleep, only to find out that He had not listened.

Last night I was lying awake in the middle of the night and my thoughts began to stray. I wondered why my husband hadn’t left me yet. I’m so different now from the woman he married. He must be so disappointed. I thought about how much happier he would be without me. My mind slipped seamlessly into old thought patterns. I realized how disgusting and selfish I am. I started counting the pills in the bathroom cabinet from memory. As my thoughts grew darker, I tucked the blankets around me feet. The corners of the room grew menacing.

“I will lie down and sleep, and sleep in peace. I will lie down and sleep in peace. You alone oh Lord make me dwell in safety. I will lie down and sleep in peace”

I reflexively called out to God, begging him to keep away the nightmares. And then I remembered all the times He had not listened.

Bad dreams and suicidal thoughts are evidence of emotional disturbance. A person experiencing these things needs love, support, understanding, and sometimes even treatment. But I was always taught to ignore myself. Bad dreams happened when Satan was attacking me, suicidal thoughts were just my selfish sin nature shining through. Every time I expressed emotion in my home, my parents shoved God down my throat and silenced me. I picked up on this right away. All those nights lying alone and afraid, I didn’t dare get up or call for help. I took a giant dose of God and shoved it down my own throat.

I silenced my thoughts,

Silenced my fears,

Silenced my emotion.

After 18 years of self-imposed silence, I am finally able to speak. When my thoughts grow dark, I am learning to stand up to them. I acknowledge my emotions. I express my thoughts. I confront my fears. I will not be bound and gagged anymore.

Physical and Spiritual Abuse taught me that I was not worth hearing. It taught me that my heart was not important. It kept me trapped and wasted whole years of my life.

What words are written on the tape over your mouth?