The Long Road Home

[09Athena]

I was born in 1968 to my newly devout parents. Only a few years prior my mom led my dad to the Lord. Within months, my mother led my grandparents and her two sisters. In the summer of 1965, my parents married. For those of you who remember the late sixties may appreciate the chaos of courage and uncertainty. I was born only a month after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was shot. My parents became seekers of absolute truth and wanted to know what it meant to be devout Christians.

 

They met up with other Christians and started new church and small publishing companies called Outreach. Within a few years the church was filled with young Christian families who worked hard to publish Christian tracks, stickers, and greeting cards.

 

My mother was eager to start having children and began to read books on raising godly children. She learned that children are born with original sin--from a first breath until God changed the heart. A parent’s job is to rid children of their sinful nature and prepare them to serve God. My mother beat me for the first time when I was six months old. She had laid me down for a nap and I began screaming--arms and legs stiff and body red all over. My mother was alarmed at how such a small and seemingly sweet small thing could be so rebellious. She knew it was time to begin training my heart to live for God. She took off my diaper. She checked for any pins that might be the cause of my screaming. Not finding any other explanation, she beat my bear skin with a stick. She put my diaper back on and laid me down again. Again, I screamed. She repeated the process. I can't tell you how many times. I only know this story because my mother would tell it again and again to other young mothers eager to raise children to serve God.

 

By the mid-1970s, Outreach was a full grown undenominational church. Don and Dean were the leading pastors. My father and Roy Lessin were back up pastors of sorts. My father is too shy to be considered a speaker. Roy and his wife Char began teaching young parents in the church a systematic way to raise children. In 2005, I wrote an open letter to Roy Lessin explaining how his teachings affected me. You can find it: http://cdugan0.tripod.com/RoyLessinOpenLetter.html

 

In 1979, Roy and my dad put together a book published by Bethany Fellowship Press. Roy became a parenting expert. It was common to sit in church and hear children screaming as a parent would hit them with a stick. From the time I was able to sit on my own, I was to sit still and listen to our pastors speak on Sunday morning, Sunday night, and on Friday nights. My three brothers and I would try and sit still. My behind would become so sore. I would move a little hoping it wouldn't be too much. We'd always find out on the way home. Once my mother lined us all up, one by one we stood in front of the dresser, removed our clothing and stood as she beat us.

 

During one Friday night service, a father was beating his two-year old for something. Screams could be heard as the sermon continued. The neighbor called the police. Roy and a few of the elders rushed out with their Bibles in tow. Everyone prayed that God would intervene. I didn't pray. I wanted the policeman to take the baby away so I wouldn't hear the baby scream. God did intervene and the congregation rejoiced.

 

I remember once coloring a picture of Abraham sacrificing Isaac on an alter. The Angel of the Lord was behind him as Abraham held the knife above Isaac's heart. A few days later I sat next to my dad as he painted a picture. I asked him if he would ever sacrifice me if God asked him to. Dad laughed nervously. He thought for a moment and said that he hoped that God would never ask him. He said that sometimes we don't understand God's plans for our lives. He'd have to believe that God understood something he did not. I no longer trusted my father.

 

The night before my first day of Kindergarten, we went to a Sunday night church service devoted to learning about the end times. We watched a movie called "Thief in the Night". The theme song still haunts me, "I wished we’d All Been Ready." I stood before my bed with a heavy heart. I felt a type of sadness like I'd never felt before. All my beautiful clothes that my grandmother had bought me were laying their waiting for me to put them away. I burst into tears. My mother and father came in asking what was wrong. "I won't be able to wear my new clothes because Jesus is returning." I cried. They laughed because I was being so cute. They had no idea the weight I had in my heart. I had no idea that this weight would be in my heart until my mid-20s. I would never grow up. There was no reason to do anything but learn to be a warrior for God.

 

That wasn't the only disappointment I had. I was born a girl. My brothers would grow up to be leaders of their households and in the church. I was being groomed to be submissive. I would serve a man and give birth to his children. You can't imagine the horror of this for me. I was the oldest of three children and later four. I was born with the gift of talking and telling my siblings what to do. I wanted to grow up and lead. I hated my female self. This hatred would only grow as I grew older.

 

In the early 1980s, my parents decided that it was time to get serious about their faith in God. They had already changed our diet to all natural foods without white sugar or flour. Our church thought my parents were getting strange. Dad quit his job and started freelancing. They pulled us out of school. From Junior High until the end of my high school studies, I would never see the inside of a class room.

 

For days on end, we studied at home, milked goats, and ran a small farm. We went without electricity for a time and then limited access to electricity. We looked like mountain people. We sometimes smelled bad because we had no indoor plumbing. We were waiting for Christ's return. We were preparing to live through tribulations. My little sister came when our lives turned. She never went to a hospital except for one time, went to school, had vaccinations, or new what it was like to have a room of her own--until we all left.

 

I was her second mother. I spent so much time raising her that my dad taught me to beat her too. I beat her one or two times. The last time I beat her, I saw the look of terror in her eyes. She would have done anything I wanted of her. Anything. I put down the stick and wrapped her in my arms. I promised to never hit her again. I never did.

 

The beatings and mountain lifestyle ended shortly after I turned 18 years old. I moved far away to Portland, Oregon. I didn't know how to ask for a job or do normal adult stuff. All my schooling was Christian so I knew very little about history, math, and no science. I was lost. I moved in with my maternal grandmother. She had been sheltered all her life. She was little help. I learned much later that she probably didn't know the extent of the beatings we experienced. If she had, she would have been powerless to stop them. I'm glad she was in my life as much as she could be.

 

From 18 years of age until about 23, I thought about ending my life. Those were dark years. Everything was a struggle. I went to church after church looking for a sense of belonging. I found none. People who tried to help me couldn't understand my language. I talked so different. I could speak in tongues and talk about how bad our government was. I struggled with finding and keeping friends. I was terrified of men. Everyone around me was suspect. Even Democrats were of the enemy.

 

I started and stop therapy several times. It was as if I could only handle a little at a time. I can't tell you how many people just liked me--just being around me. There are several who are still my friends today. They knew I was nuts but didn't care. Neither of them were from any particular church.

 

I don't know what the trigger was, but I let go of church. I found myself enjoying my own Sunday morning rituals. Progressive Christians and non-Christians were so much better and less demanding to be around.

 

Then at 25 years old I met my husband. He was non-Christian and seemed to understand the world better than I thought I ever could. I married him about two years later. What I didn't know was that he was also wounded. He was 17 years older than me and likely suffered from PTSD. He'd gone to Vietnam and had a horrible upbringing. For 14 years he told me things about myself that kept me in constant shame. I was fat, wore too much makeup, embarrassed him--you name it. He talked me into leaving Portland, Oregon to move back to the area in which I had grown up. My parents were now my new neighbors.

 

The first three years were hell. My paternal grandmother died and left me some money. Against my husband's wishes, which were uncharacteristic of me, I went to school. I couldn't believe the things I learned in school. Every day, every paper, every piece of homework was a new opportunity to see the world in a new way. I learned cool concepts like socially constructed notions. I learned about chemistry and anthropology. I learned. I learned. I learned. Then I went back to therapy.

 

I told someone what it was like to be hit on my bare butt. The shame I felt. The worthlessness of being hit and being a girl. School gave me a new language--my own words. I could speak without struggling to be understood. My voice was vulnerable and soft. But my words were clear and strong. My therapist told me to leave my husband. I said, "I was groomed for him. If I leave him, I will find another like him. Fix me and then let's see what happens."

 

I graduated in 2002 from Chico State. In two short years, I transformed into a professional working woman. I became an instructional designer and within two months had my first job in San Francisco. My marriage plunged into another dark hole. For six years, I went to work and lead teams creating new cutting edge eLearning. Alternate weeks I picked up a month's worth of groceries and worked from home. His verbal attacks were ferocious during those weeks at home. I would descend down the mountain feeling shameful and stupid. Close friends would try to get me to see myself as the smart professional woman I was.

 

In 2005, I wrote my open letter to Roy Lessin because I had so much pain with my anxiety disorder and home life. I went back to therapy in San Francisco. From 2004 until 2008, I talked more and more about my upbringing and my marriage. Each month I got stronger, my husband tried all sorts of ways to keep me humble and shameful. During a phone conversation, my husband belittled me, shamed me, called me names, and told me how much I didn't try hard enough to love him."

 

I wrote an email to my therapist saying I just wanted her to witness my conversation with him. I didn't want her to do anything. The next time I talked to her, she gave me the phone number of National Domestic Violence Hotline. The kind woman on the other end of the phone listened to me explain that my therapist was wrong. My husband wasn't emotionally abusive. Then she said my husband sounded like the man she was married to who was abusive. I started crying, "I said do woman like me make it?"

 

She said, "Woman like you make it every day. Women like us make it. It's going to hurt for a while as you find your way. It will be like cleaning out the garage. All your stuff will be on the front lawn. Then little by little, you'll get it all put back the way you want it."

 

I've told this story or one like it back in 2002 here on this forum. I found so much comfort in the Ex-Christian community. I wondered if it was within the rules to tell my story again six years later. I've told me story to many people, but not like this. Not with this ending. You see, I don't know when God disappeared from my life. I suspect it was gradual. I've borrowed Buddhist principles to give me a different way of looking at my heart.

 

It's been almost three and a half years now since I've found my freedom. I still feel anxious and afraid. I still have nightmares. I still worry that I won't find love or that someone won't love me. I've learned that being vulnerable to myself, my new found community of friends, and to that which scares me brings me even closer to feeling a love that words cannot describe. The power that I've found in compassion for myself and for those I care about is boundless.

 

I spoke to a group of Atheists a few weeks back. I told them my story--a much shorter version I assure you! As I left the stage, one of them said something about "We don't have Morales." Now keep in mind, I was raised to think that Atheists were right there with Satanism--whatever that means. I felt at home with them. They asked me what I believe now. I said, "I believe in 'I don't Know'. I guess that makes me Agnostic. There are so many things to worry about in this life. It seems unimportant to me to worry about what will happen to me when I die."

 

Since my speech, I've wanted so badly to find more people in the Bay Area like that group. I miss having a place to say what I believe in. I miss the acceptance and scrutiny you can only get from groups that look at everything.

 

I don't know if there is nor is not a God. I simply know this: My life has opened up, my heart has experienced such love, and my mind has much more room for my thoughts since I let go of Bible God. I was born in 1968 to fundamental Christian parents in a world filled with chaos. I choose to live my life without certainty that religion offers and with what courage I can muster for that is, in my opinion, the real beauty in life. I finally feel at home.

[Positivist]

Athena, what a harrowing and disturbing journey! I am so glad you are making it!!!

 

I share some similarities with you:

The theme song still haunts me, "I wished we’d All Been Ready."

I had no idea that this weight would be in my heart until my mid-20s. I would never grow up. There was no reason to do anything but learn to be a warrior for God.

I too never thought I'd reach adulthood. I mourned my childhood while I was still in it! I made huge life decisions based on the fact that the end of the world was nigh and I lived in constant torment that I'd be persecuted and tortured to make me deny Christ but I knew if I only could stick that out (being torn in two, being put on 'the rack') that I'd make it to heaven. Failing this, I'd spend eternity in hell. I was 6 and these thoughts persisted into my twenties.

That wasn't the only disappointment I had. I was born a girl. My brothers would grow up to be leaders of their households and in the church. I was being groomed to be submissive. I would serve a man and give birth to his children. You can't imagine the horror of this for me. ... I hated my female self. This hatred would only grow as I grew older.

I was in the same position. I hated myself for being the 'lesser sex'. I was groomed from the age of 3 to care for others ahead of myself, to be pretty (gag) and to serve men. It was drilled into me that my place was to suffer, bleed and breed, and that men were amazing and that women sucked. I heard this from my mother constantly, and from the pulpit as well. I even had to iron my brother's clothes (in addition to my own, until I finally told my mother if my brother wanted to wear such retarded clothes he could damn well iron them himself). It's taken me decades to get past the fact that I am female. (Thank goodness for the good news of evolution!)

Against my husband's wishes, which were uncharacteristic of me, I went to school. I couldn't believe the things I learned in school. Every day, every paper, every piece of homework was a new opportunity to see the world in a new way. I learned cool concepts like socially constructed notions. I learned about chemistry and anthropology. I learned. I learned. I learned.

This is great!!!! I am really pro-education. Education gives us the opportunity to view the world differently and equips us with the language to describe ideas. It is so freeing!!

 

I commend you, because what you did is hard! To be a female with (our) backgrounds and yet to have gotten an education is truly amazing!!!

 

This is me, cheering for you!

 

Yay us! Onwards, sister!!!

[blackpudd1n]

Peace be with you, Athena

[buffettphan]

Oh, Athena, I don't even have the words........................

 

I'm just so happy you made it out of that horrible cult and all the abuse and brainwashing. I wish you nothing but the best from here on out. You deserve it! You are an inspiration.

 

(((Big Hugs!!)))

[Adam5]

Hi Athena, Thanks for sharing your testimony. Wow. The suffering on this forum, for what, a bunch of fairy tales and man made religious dogma. Its so tragic. Its dreadful what religion can do. Wishing you peace and love in your life. Adam

[freeasabird]

Thank you for sharing, that took much bravery. Welcome!

[GardenerGal]

Thanks for sharing that --- so glad you are here and free!

[Spectrox]

Welcome to ex-C, Athena. What a story! I'm afraid I can't top that. My faith and then deconversion were much more private. It's amazing that in spite of all the abuse you suffered, you managed to find a way out of it to become more authentically you. How on earth did you manage that?

 

From your photo you look absolutely beautiful.

 

Unfortunately I'm horribly disfigured and hiding behind a mask (not really, that's just my avatar!)

[09Athena]

Thank you all for your kind words and warm welcome. I'm so glad to be back with the Ex-Christian community. Spectrox, authenticity comes from vulnerability and loads of determination to never give up on oneself!