It is hard to believe we are already in May. I’m at the part of my publishing journey where I feel like I’m on a fast moving unstoppable train. I’ve moved through the developmental editing process and now I’m waiting for my manuscript to come back from the proofreader. I’ve sent my short bio and photo for the book cover (wow, book cover) and now I’m thinking more about the actual physical book. Some days I’m excited and optimistic and other days I’m freaking out and anxious. No matter how I’m feeling on any given day, I’m feeling gratitude always. This journey has changed my life. even if I never sell one single copy of my memoir, the process has healed me in so many ways.
I’d be lying if I said I do not worry about the church and how they will receive what I have documented. I’ve also come to realize that these fears are grounded in my childhood trauma and there is nothing the church can do to hurt me. Writing my memoir has been its own form of exposure therapy. I’ve combed over and over this part of my trauma and that has taken much of the power away from it.
Next steps will be to work on the document when I get it back and then start reading for the audio book. My summer is full already but so is my cup.:)
Whew, the last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. I don’t think anyone can accuse Atmosphere Press of moving slowly. I’m enjoying the quick pace. If you know me, you know I hate to wait, That being said, it’s a lot. I’ve met with an acquisitions editor, my project manager, and a book cover design team member. Any time now I should also be hearing from a developmental editor. I can’t wait to dive back into my memoir and gain some fresh perspective.
When working on the book cover I had to send ten examples of covers I like so they can get a sense of my aesthetic. Then they asked for excerpts from the book to give them a feel for the narrative. I also sent them a list of words I felt described the mood of the book. I can tell that this part of the process is going to be challenging for me. I want a cover that provides the reader with a good idea of what the book is about, but also a cover that isn’t too dark or depressing. Once I have some options I will create a poll so you can give me your input.
Along with Final Girl, I’m working on a new book. The working title is A Spiritual Home. It’s weird to be back at the beginning of a project again. I’m feeling energized by the challenge. I will continue to provide updates on both books here as I have them.
Hey friends, I was invited to be on a podcast to talk about healing and moving on after leaving the church. It was a wonderful conversation that I think you’ll enjoy.
Happy Tuesday! I’m sure some of you know I have a Substack, but I’m not sure if you know I post journal prompts over there. My prompts are for those who are thinking about leaving or have left a UPCI church or other high-control group. If you haven’t checked them out yet, follow the link below. I’ve covered many topics. Let me know if there is a topic you’d like to see covered.
Many of us here in America have been struggling. The election did not go the way we wanted it to, and now we are feeling demoralized. If you’ve been keeping up with my Substack you know that I have been trying to engage in self-care and self-compassion in order to make it through this difficult time.
I have therapy today, and as I’m sipping my coffee, I’m thinking about how the current political landscape reminds me of the church I grew up in. One of the big standouts is hypocrisy. I do not understand how the evangelical church can quote Jesus on the one hand and be so viciously mean on the other. Before I dig into this further, I need to say upfront that I’m not interested in debating with anyone who identifies as MAGA. I’m writing this from the perspective of a survivor, and I will not tolerate any trolls.
When I was a little girl growing up in the United Pentecostal Church, I experienced it as having an undercurrent of meanness. Some of that was due to how judgemental they were, but also because of the classism and racism that was always bubbling under the surface. It never felt safe to me, and although they taught me about Jesus, I couldn’t see him reflected in them. They were a harsh group of people and not likely to show you grace unless you were a man.
I don’t understand how you can be pro-life and care nothing about children and mothers after the baby is born. How am I supposed to see you as caring about family values when you’re okay with separating children from their families? When you despise those seeking asylum and your greedy desire to keep what is yours and not share with those in need, you’re not reflecting the Jesus you claim to be your savior.
I realize I’m probably just preaching to the choir, but I’ve felt a need to voice my feelings. I’m sure many others feel the same way. It’s triggering to be swimming in this political cesspool while constantly being reminded of your religious trauma. I keep returning to the question, why can’t people see through the hypocrisy? Sadly, the answer that floats back to me is that maybe they can, and they don’t care. I believe that the UPC church knows in their heart they are wrong about so many things, but in the end, they just don’t care. They like the feeling of sitting in judgement of others and the feeling of superiority they feel about other Christians. Just like the MAGA evangelicals they use the parts of the Bible, they can twist into a club to hurt others and leave the rest behind. I suspect Jesus is just too woke for them now.
For those of you who have been struggling, I hope you are taking care of yourself. I’m always here to provide any resources I can. You’re not alone in your feelings and questions.
The last couple of weeks have been a challenge. As you know I’m currently writing a book. I’ve been feeling stuck and frustrated with the process. At the same time I’ve been having many fresh realizations. It feels like more and more layers of UPCI indoctrination are being stripped from me. I’ve had mind blowing ah-has that have left me overwhelmed as I’ve tried to process them. I find myself thinking how strange it is that there is still more to be stripped away. It feels like after all these years there should be nothing left, but there is always more.
For decades I have been seeking to better understand what happened to me when I was a child. I’ve engaged with all sorts of ideas that range from Christian to atheist, always unwinding the past and trying to make sense of it all. Writing my memoir has heightened my questioning which in turn has given me more to unwind and process. Writing while processing can be really taxing and so at times I feel compelled to just surrender to the waves. This means stepping away from my keyboard and taking time to just tear the layers away and see what is underneath. Each wave removes another layer and then there is a tiny transformation, I am changed. Some of these transformations bring joy and that is always a nice surprise. Other transformations reveal another layer of anger and resentment. Next, I have to make peace with whatever has been revealed. I have to learn to accept this new to me self that has been buried deep within. During this time I usually end up asking myself many questions, this part can lead me right back to the unwinding stage. Finally when my emotions and questions have quieted down I can find my way back to the keyboard. Hopefully then my transformed self can bring something fresh, a deeper insight to it all. This is often needed as it can be hard to keep revising the same chapters over and over.
My desire in sharing this with you today is just to reach out. I’m still here, I’m still willing to listen and help, and I’m still working through my own trauma. Please feel free to check in and let me know how you’re doing. Now, I’ve got to get back to my book.
It’s Sunday and I’ve had a slow start to my day. I’m planning my week while siping a cup of iced coffee. While doing this I am reminded of how my Sundays were when I was a child. They were anything but relaxed. My mother was often very stressed on Sunday morning. She rushed around the house trying to get both of us ready. While doing this she often talked about how she felt people in the church didn’t like her but she made herself go anyway because she didn’t want to anger God. This was not the best way to start a long day of church. We didn’t just go to church in the morning but we also attended an evening service. When I was young there was usually a fight in-between as she tried to get me to hurry up and eat my lunch so we could both get a nap in before returning to church for the evening.
Age 4
Being at church with my mother was never a good time. She was always worried about what people were thinking and who was talking behind her back. She did not tolerate any silliness during the service and would often pinch me if she felt I wasn’t paying attention. She allowed me to bring a toy with me, usually a doll when I was very small but even then I was expected to be quiet and pay attention. Because my mother preferred hell-fire churches the sermons usually scared me enough to keep me inline without her having to do much. I was always happy during the worship portion because I loved to sing but when that other part rolled around I wanted to be anywhere but church. After church my mother would run down who said what to her adding up her hurts one by one. I usually just quietly listened because I had my own worries to unpack. Was the pastor right about hell and what happens if you miss the rapture? Was it true that God and Satan were always watching? One to count my sins and the other trying to tempt me?
As I grew older and my mother stopped attending church as much, but I still stayed faithful. I attended Sunday morning and evening and also Thursday night midweek service. There was never any question about whether I would be in church on Sunday. People even looked for a UPC church to attend when they traveled. It was better to be safe than sorry. My Sunday morning started very early. I had to get ready and then to the church to hop on the Sunday school bus. I helped pick up kids along with the bus captain. There was often no heat or air conditioning on the bus. I remember my toes being very cold in the winter. Once we arrived at church and all of the kids were seen to their classes then I’d go to my own Sunday school class. By the time that class started I was already exhausted. Sunday school was either super boring or we were being raked over the coals by the youth leader for “something I’ve been noticing lately” or whatever. After Sunday school I raced back to the bus and made sure all of the kids made it on. We dropped them off one by one and then doled out candy as they disembarked. Once back at the church I was free for a few hours before heading back for prayer time. I tried to make the most of this in-between time because I knew Monday often meant going back to school and the grind of the week.
Sunday night started with pre-service prayer time. I tried to attended this as often as I could. It wasn’t considered required but most of the adults I admired went and as with most things it seemed better to be safe than sorry. During this time I would pray for missionaries, my family, and lastly myself. I tried to turn it all over to God but my worries were never lifted. I thought that was my fault because I just didn’t have enough faith. One thing I did enjoy about Sunday was being able to see and sit with my friends. Once the service started I would lose myself in the worship and singing. This was the one thing that uplifted me. During the time I was being abused Sunday meant I saw my abuser. I watched him pass as a good Christian man all the while knowing his secret. The sermon came next and that either drove me to the altar to recommit myself to God or I left feel guilty about not having enough faith. No matter what the topic was I never felt good about myself. I may have felt good about God but I always walked away feeling hopelessly broken. The next day whatever good I gained from church washed away in the reality of my family and church life.
During my childhood church never felt like a choice. It was always a requirement if you wanted to make it to heaven and escape hell. It was always stressful and a reminder that I would never measure up and that God was the ultimate scorekeeper. I never experienced grace or comfort. My family was stressed about it and they passed that down to me. There was always the question of whether or not we were going to the right church to add to the mix. Even as a young child there was a seriousness to being at church. The Sunday school stories seemed harsh and so did the teachers. When heaven and hell hang in the balance you really can’t afford to enjoy life.
Lucky for me that has all changed now. I feel like I can breathe on Sunday morning. I can rest, get little chores done, and plan my week. No one is reminding me of how flawed I am and I can lay my head down at the end of the day without worrying about hell. I do take time on Sundays to focus on the spirituality I practice now. The difference it my current experience fills my cup and I walk away feeling at peace. Being required to go to church so much might seem mild compared to much of my story but don’t let that fool you. A childhood of Sundays served to keep me trapped in a belief system that hurt me. After all those years I’m still unwinding that damage. Sunday church was the mechanism that kept me in the pews taking in all of the toxic messaging. Sunday church ensured that my abuser had access to me at least once a week. I went to church sick because I always believed that my illness wasn’t a good enough reason to miss even one chance to go to God’s house. The underlying reason was fear. No matter what stress was happening in my life it was never a good enough reason to step off the treadmill of Sundays.
If you’re trying to step off this treadmill please feel free to reach out to me. I’d be happy to listen and help in any way I can. Remember you’re worthy of rest, time to care for your needs, and time to heal.
Whew the last couple of summers have been challenging. Many of us in the survivor community have had to be brave in ways we never thought possible. Looking back it makes me beam with pride to see all we have accomplished. I have not seen the kind of justice I’d like to see but I feel good because I know I’ve worked hard to bring forth as much justice as possible. I’m tired but I’m not going to quit because this work is too important to me.
Speaking of rest, I have taken time over the last few days to strive less and rest more. I’m in the midst of a fibromyalgia flare and I’m once again reminded that I am not invincible. My eating disorder has popped back up probably due to stress and so I’ve had to be mindful to fuel my body. I’ve been struggling to sleep well so I’ve had to give myself some grace on the days I sleep later than I’d like to. All of this work has a cost and right now the cost is my sleep, my ability to eat, and the flaring of my chronic pain disorder. I’m not trying to come off as complaining but I’m trying to be honest about my personal limitations. I’m grateful that I can fill up on time with my children and grandchildren. I’m lucky to have two sweet doggos who are always up for a snuggle or a game of fetch. When I’m on my own I try to remind myself to breathe deeply and show myself self-compassion. Self-compassion is key to remaining healthy when doing work that is triggering due to trauma. I’m also working toward leaning into my softness and not feeling like I have to be in self protection mode all the time. This is especially difficult due to the C-PTSD I suffer from. Trying to heal while being hurt by the process of your work, being triggered daily, and never feeling like you’ve done enough can really throw a person. I wrestle every day with the drive to keep moving forward and also the desire to cut myself a break. This week I’m trying to be on the side of giving myself a break and resting.
This blog post is about what comes next so I suppose I should let you all in on what I have on my agenda. I’m currently working on revisions for the book I’m writing. It is exciting and taxing. I’m loving the process and I can’t wait until I have something to show you! I’ve also been considering what I’d like to research and share with you all here. The church teaching that caused me the most stress as a child was the theology of the rapture. I intend to talk more about that here and on my Youtube channel as I unwind the teachings that I took in as a child. I finally feel like I’m in a place with my trauma where it is safe for me to do that. After that I’d love to dive into the idea of original sin, but I feel that is a ways down the road. What would you like to see discussed here? Do you have a trauma sticking point you’d like me to cover?
Lastly, thank you. Thank you for sticking with me for so long as I work through my childhood and try to gain justice for myself and others. In some of my toughest times your comments have helped to see me through.
I’m back after a long break! I’m writing a book and so I’ve been putting much of my focus there. There are some things happening within the UPC Wisconsin District and hopefully soon I will have an update for you all.
The reason I’m here today has to do with some fresh spiritual abuse coming from my family. I do not have a ton of extended family and I’ve mostly put space between them and myself due to how judgmental they can be. I know that my mother’s fear of the rapture and hell came directly from her parents and then she passed it on down to me. When she decided to attend a church that her parents disapproved of it created a ton of drama in the family. Their brand of Christianity comes with a heavy dose of fear and standing in judgement of others. My uncle Mike is an assistant pastor in Florida. He posts the services from his church onto Youtube. A family member made me aware of some things that my uncle Mike first said about me and then about my brother. This all came about because my uncle has had some really unkind things to say about my brother and his sexuality and lack of church attendance. I stayed out of it until I felt I had to step in as a shield for my little brother. Then my uncle Mike turned his venom onto me. After I asked him to stop talking about my brother and I in his sermons and also to stop harassing my brother I blocked him from my social media. After this he went in front of his church and told them that he had been to the gates of hell because of the conversations my brother and I had with him. He has gone on to lie further about his communications with my brother. I just don’t understand how you can get up in front of your church and lie about your family. Both my brother and I have been nothing but respectful toward him in these conversations. I did tell him to remove the beam from his own eye before trying to remove it from my brother and I. I tried to explain to him in language that he could understand that he should focus on his own salvation.
My brother and I have suffered a lot because of our family. Many of them have held a zero tolerance policy towards homosexuality but also just towards churches that are not exactly like theirs. Every time they attempt to speak with us about God it always comes with a fear chaser. They dangle hell over our heads and then wonder why we want nothing to do with them. Here on earth they have not been kind, loving, or nurturing. Instead they have been judgmental, intolerant, and cold. They speak about the love of Christ but that is not what they are projecting out into the world. They only have love for those who are exactly like them or believe close enough to what they believe. Over and over I have heard how much they miss me and yet whenever I interact with them I’m told that hell is waiting for me. My uncle Mike even alluded to wanting to be present when we are standing before God so he could bare witness to what happens to us. Maybe if they approached us with love, acceptance, and care we wouldn’t feel the need to run away from them. Maybe if they presented God as love instead of a wrathful judge we would be more inclined to want to be a part of their faith. I have presented my uncle Mike with this perspective but he doesn’t want to hear it. Instead he uses his interactions with my brother and I to talk about how there isn’t much time and you never know when you’re going to die. He talks about us making his life so hard when we didn’t go looking for a fight with him, we are just living our lives. He attacked and then is hurt that he didn’t get the response that he wanted. I feel that even if we agreed with him and came back to church we wouldn’t ever be good enough. We would never be right. We only serve as a way for him to toot his own horn and celebrate his ability to scare us back into the fold.
I wish I could say that I’m beyond being hurt by them. Whenever something like this happens it triggers that part of me that has suffered so much at the hands of the church. It reminds me of my mother and all that she suffered because of her family. I think of her praying night after night begging God for help and never feeling rapture ready. I was the only witness to that pain and I lay the blame firmly at the feet of our family. In this moment as I feel the tightness in my chest that comes when my C-PTSD is triggered, I’m trying to remember to be grateful. I’m so grateful to be free from the fear virus that my family line carries. I may not always feel free and so I have to remind myself. I’m surrounded by my children and grandchildren who love me and a supportive community of friends. Lastly I’m free from the scary, always constant monster of a God that was introduced to me in my childhood.
Yes that is me. My face covered in acne and my uncut hair frizzy all over the place. Not exactly the picture of temptation that the church tried to make me feel I was. It was hard to walk the harsh line set in place by the church when all you want to do is get away from all of the adults and explore the world around you. That desire is normal and part of adolescent development. It felt like the harder we tried to be “normal” teens the harder the church tried to bind us closer. Shame was a tactic often used along with the old standby, fear. Pretty much everything that a teen would enjoy doing was off limits to us. This was a very tough time for me. I felt the pull of the “world” and then I felt guilty for desiring what is perfectly normal. Most of the things my friends and I did were so harmless. One thing we enjoyed was going to the movies. Now this was a big no no and so we often felt edgy and like big sinners when we did it. We would have one girl look out for church people and another buy the tickets. All the moves we went to see were G or PG rated. Things like “Pretty in Pink” and Disney movies. At times I would feel so guilty and swear to myself that I would not go again. It really made me feel sinful, but then at the same time the call of teen culture was very hard to resist. It was made harder by the fact that my parents did not see going to the movies as wrong. So I had to be my own spiritual police. I have happy memories of going to these movies with my friends. We would get candy and popcorn and for a little while we could forget the world we lived in. The movie theater was in the mall and one time a woman from the church did see us going in. She kinda waggled her finger at us but she did not tell on us. Interestingly she was also the women who helped my mother pay our light bill that one time. She was always kind to me and I’d like to think that when she saw us her compassion kept her from telling the pastor.
I would often have sleep overs and sometimes I would go to sleep overs. This did not start happening until I was maybe 14 or 15. Some of the more liberal parents would have me over and these same parents would let their daughters sleep over at my house from time to time. It didn’t happen all the time but maybe if one of the girls had a birthday or something like that. My one friend Joann and I would cuddle up on her bed and listen to the radio. Usually to hear this one love song that we liked, “Almost Paradise”. It was 1984 and Footlose was the movie associated with the song. We watched Footlose in the theater and the story resonated with us. We could understand what those kids were going through, a town that outlawed dancing sounded an awful lot like our church. One particular weekend her parents let us go down to the local county fair and we walked around trying to look like everyone else in our skirts and uncut hair. We talked to boys our age, worldly boys, and for one night I felt kinda normal. These boys were not bad boys, they did not try to get us drunk or get us into bed, they just wanted to talk with girls their own age. Looking back I can’t help but comment on the difference between “worldly boys” and church boys/men. I can only speak from my experience, whenever I interacted with boys outside the church they were very sweet to me. They did not try to get into my skirts or lead me down a path away from the church. Usually they just wanted to talk on the phone or watch tv with me. Without exception, every boy I dated within the church tried to be sexual with me in some way. You might say that maybe they thought I was easy because they knew about SD and what happened when I was younger, but it wasn’t just boys from my own church. It also happened with boys I met at church camp and other youth activities. They all wanted one thing, physical intimacy. Some were sweet and innocent in their approach and others were downright grabby. I suspect that this is because of the churches attitude regarding sexuality. You are not supposed to think about it, talk about it, or act on any desires unless you are married. I am not advocating that teens be allowed to run out and have sex, but I do think that pretending that teens are not overrun with hormones and questions about sex is just ignorant. Creating an enviroment where just thinking about it and having questions is frowmed upon causes curiosity to bubble over. I’m about to make a rather blunt statement that could be viewed as controversial, but by now I think if you’re still reading you’re expecting my opinions to be this way. I think the church watched young teen (and in some cases pre-teen)girls being courted by adult men way too old to be trying to gain the attention of these teens. I believe many in leadership thought it better that these teens be courted by adult men than boys their own age outside the church. The boys outside the UPC were seen as bad influences but the adult men trying to sleep with teen girls were seen as safe choices. When I was a teen I had five or so dating options within my church. You are not supposed to date outside the UPC and long distance dating often did not last. If you did not like the boys in your immediate area you would just have to pray God would bring the right boy at the right age into your church. When I say 5 or so options that was including at least one boy who some would argue was too old for me. I was attracted to older guys, like in their 20s but luckily for me none of them bothered me too much. That being said it is normal for teen girls to get crushes on guys who are too old for them. These church guys are dressed nice, they smell better than teen boys, and they are just more mature. The trouble comes in when the adult men are paying too much attention to these girls. What teen girl within the church would want to date an akward teen boy vs a handsome man who is also manipulating her? You watch them in church, these men, and they are all putting on a godly show, and so you think you will be safe with them. Then when they get you alone it is another story. This is complicated by the fact that females are expected to guard everyone’s purity. It doesn’t matter if you’re 11 and he is 29. Even though these men are fully grown adults they are often seen as the victims.
I dated, if you can call walking around together at camp dating, a few boys. For the most part they were all preachers kids. All of them were pretty experienced sexually. They all wanted to find a dark corner to kiss and pet in. It almost seemed like they had something to prove. I don’t blame them, they were young like me and trying to figure out the world. They probably suffered being a preacher’s kid, I’m sure that road had to be a tough one. As strict as the church was regarding sexuality, as much as they tried to ignore it and pretend sex wasn’t happening, it was going on all around them. I’ve said this before, I think the UPC has a sex problem. I feel the more you try to ignore something the bigger it becomes. I think that had they just been willing to speak more openly about it that might have acted as a release valve.
I fell in love or what I thought was love. I was 16 and there was a part of me that thought I might marry this boy. What I witnessed within the church is people date and then they get married. We actually dated a couple of times, once when I was about 15 and we got back together when I was 16. We spent a lot of time together and talked on the phone every night. He was the one, I was sure. In the end he broke my heart. This might sound silly and trite but it was awful. I sat by him at school, we had assigned seats, and our world was so small I could not escape him. It did not help that he started dating my nemesis the next day. I want to be clear that we were teens and I’m not trying to drag either of these people for who they are now. When he broke up with me he said this, โIโm breaking up with you because I cannot keep my hands off of you.โ I admit we did make out a lot. Up until this point he had never mentioned it being an issue, in fact he was the driver in that part of our relationship. I said yes to his advances because I thought that is was what I had to do to keep a boyfriend. We never had sex, Iโm pretty sure I would have said no to that. I wanted to save myself for marriage, but heavy petting I would allow. I canโt say that I blame him now he was a boy trying to figure things out too. His mother, the dreaded church secretary, hated me and Iโm sure she reminded him often that she did not approve of our relationship. At least a couple of times I heard her say things that were pretty unkind regarding me, I believe she wanted me to hear. My nemesis was the direct opposite from me. She was white, blondish brown hair, and her dad was an elder. They had money and now he is a minister within the church. She was a golden child. This doesnโt mean she did not do all of the things I did, it meant that people didnโt care. Only the lower classes get held to the strict standards. They can turn a blind eye if you are the right kind of person, much like my abuser SD.
When this relationship ended it broke something inside of me. Seeing him walking around with my oh so perfect nemesis was almost unbearable. It was a final โfuck youโ from the church or that is how it felt. This was the start of a long time period of almost constant shut down or dissociation for me. The first thing I did was I found the baddest boy (actually he was a man within the church) I could and I started to date him. His name was Mike and he was a known problematic church member. He was in his early 20โs and I was 16. BTW, no one ever questioned our age difference and no one ever checked in with me or counselled me about it. Mike had been in and out of the church as long as I could remember. I had known him since I was a preteen. He has done time and I think he just recently got out of jail. He was a drug dealer and user and felt like the most dangerous choice on the menu. He would attend church and rededicate his life to God and then backslide. I ran into him on the backslide and we became an item. He started coming to church with me and I reveled in the looks of disapproval. It wasnโt his age that was the issue, it was his sinfulness. Members of his family were part of the โinโ circle so that meant they cut him a little slack but I donโt think anyone trusted him or believed his godliness would stick. We would sit together in church and then he would take me back to his place. I would watch him and his friends play guitar and smoke weed. I felt bad like I had switched sides and now I was walking in darkness. He took my virginity and I did not care. It felt like something to be crossed off a list. They think Iโm a slut so I will be a slut! It wasnโt about enjoying the sex, I didnโt, it was about giving up and giving into my destiny. I was destined to be rejected by God and hell was all that was awaiting me. I conflated the churchโs rejection with Godโs.
Mike learned one thing from the church and he learned it well, women are property. Even though he smoked weed and drank he would never let me partake. He said that he had to protect me. This might sound sweet to some people but trust me it was not. He was very critical of everything I did and more than a little jealous. It soon became clear to me that I was his Madonna figure. When he finally got his life straightened out he would marry me and be a good Christian man. He had to preserve me for that moment. Just like SD would rail at me when I was 11 Mike would rail at me about our sinful behavior. When he was backslidden he would want and expect sex but when he was trying to be a Christian he would tell me what an evil temptress I was. He would write me long letters about how bad I was and he would even break things off with me, then a week later he would be begging me to give him another chance. I showed my friends some of his letters and they started to tell me that they thought he was psycho. His letters would sometimes be 7 to 10 pages of handwritten text, double sided, on notebook paper. He was a musician and so he would often include song lyrics. โ…American woman, get away from me, American woman, mama let me be. Don’t come knockin around my door, donโt want to see your face no more. Colored lights can hypnotize, sparkle someone elseโs eyesโฆโ โBeen dazed and confused for so long itโs not true, wanted a woman never bargained for you. Lots of people talk and few of them know, the soul of a woman was created belowโฆโ Now I had not been exposed to these kinds of songs. Yes, I did enjoy popular music but it was the 80โs and when I snuck to listen to the radio it was Madonna not Led Zeppelin I was tuning into. I started to become afraid of him. Eventually it was me who ended things. He did not let go easily. In fact he stalked me at my job, and had to be removed by my boss at one point. His excuse was that I was his virgin. He deserved to own me because he took my virginity. I get where this idea came from. In our church if you were single and caught having sex you had to get married. That was the right thing to do. Once he had sex with me it was his duty and right to marry me…eventually. In the meantime I had to wait for him to figure his life out. He would show up at my house and question me about who I had been with and what we had been doing. Eventually he faded away.
Often Mike would not attend church with me and so I would go alone. I still went to everything but I became as silent as the grave. I no longer went out after church with my friends and I no longer sat with anyone. My close friends would look at me with worry, this was a constant after my big relationship ended. My friends, teenage girls, stopped talking to him and even left the room if he entered. At school none of them would sit with him and eventually I got in trouble for it. I was told to call off my dogs more or less. The thing is they did this all on their own, a little rebellion because of the unfairness of everything. My closest friends were girls of color and also poor. They knew the score. I never told them to do anything, I was too broken. I think they were afraid. I was always the strong one and I just checked out. I stopped socializing at school, I stopped eating, and I stopped sitting with them at church. It came as no surprise to me that I was blamed. Eventually our principal called all of us older kids into a room and demanded that everyone be nice to him. We were a family and it was not ok to be angry at him for his choices, he was after all one of the chosen kids.ย
As you might expect, none of the adults around me, not even my youth pastor asked me if I was ok. I went from sitting in the 3rd row to sitting in the back by the door. I stopped opening my Bible during church and I stopped singing. I was defeated. I was tired and very depressed. I was going through the motions after years of struggle. I dissociated much of the time I was at church and I had become a shell of my former self. I know I have shared with you things that some might see as sinful, I see them as normal teen struggles. During the time I was a teen I also worked hard to serve within the church. I tried hard to be a good kid and I wanted Godโs love and mercy, I just never felt like I could attain it. I would go to camp and be so uplifted and then I would come home to my own church and the feelings of depression and defeat would return. I kept pushing on despite my pain until I had to leave out of self preservation. That is a story for another day.ย
Debbie McNulty 