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The Introverted Duckling

How a Christian Cult Stole my Childhood (and so much more)

This post (or series of posts, if it 

becomes one) has been a long time coming. I've wanted to tell my story so that other people can avoid falling into similar traps. So that my loved ones can understand what I've been through and what has made me into the person I am today (for better or for worse). And, most importantly, so that I can continue on the path of healing I have been blessed to be set upon. 

It's scary to write something like this. Especially when you know that some of the people who read this are still part of that church and may come back to me with hostility, or an attempt to make me feel like I'm just being overdramatic and have a crazy imagination. But do you know what, even if I haven't got my facts 100% straight, it doesn't matter. What matters is how it made me feel, and where it has left me today.

Imagine being at the very vulnerable age of thirteen or fourteen. Your body is beginning to be flooded with hormones. You're not a child anymore. And you have an intense desire to fit in and belong, at any cost. Especially to belong to the 'inner-circle' of the church you have grown up in from birth. You're looking up to the people who are older than you to help you navigate these tricky teenage years. You believe they have all the answers. They tell you you mustn't have anything to do with 'the world'. That means not being 'perverted' by its influences, so no TV, no 'secular' music, no spending unnecessary time with 'non-christian' friends (unless you are willing to bring them along to youth events at the church in the hope they might be converted). 

It meant going to every service - or 'meeting' as they called them - they had. I was at church Tuesday night, Thursday night, Friday night, Saturday night, Sunday morning and Sunday night. Not to mention weeks of church camps in summer. These weren't what you'd imagine church camps to be like. It wasn't simply barbecues and water-slides and singing "Kum ba ya" around a bonfire. Rather, it was women (and a handful of men) standing on a platform during countless 'meetings' held in a marquee or hall, believing themselves to be closer to God than probably anyone in the world, shouting out people's apparent 'sins' during prayer-time for all to hear, and sometimes during the sermon; casting out 'demons' with shouting of something they called 'tongues' from poor people they believed to be possessed. 

People stood singing at the top of their lungs with one hand, two hands thrown into the air in a mass display of emotional hysteria, trying to rid themselves of the terrible things inside them that were apparently keeping them from God. They vowed to give up make-up, to abandon their non-believing families, to stop watching their box-sets, and as kids we even threw cut-outs of boys into the bonfire, declaring that we would give up relationships until God told us we didn't need to be single. Which, by the way, would only be when the church leader agreed. Because EVERYTHING; every life decision had to go through the leaders. I remember telling a leader I hadn't got into primary teaching at university when I was 17. "That's ok," she had said. "I never believed you were meant to be a teacher anyway." Like she had more insight into my life than I did. At 15 I lost my dad to a devastating illness. I was distraught and broken. I flung myself further into the life of the church. Anything there was to be done, I did it and more. I gave out hymn-books. I took crèche and helped out with children's groups. I played guitar for them. I gave up some Saturdays to work in the church coffee shop. And I still felt like I wasn't doing enough. I felt like no matter how hard I was trying, I wasn't 'good enough' to be considered one of the really spiritual people. You know, one of the 'in' crowd. In spite of this I was depressed (understandably) and would come home from school to lie in my bed and cry. As well as this I lost a lot of weight and developed an eating disorder. This didn't prevent one of the leaders from using a photo of me (with my collar-bones sticking out and my face as thin as a skeleton) to promote the 'work of God' amongst their youth. Apparently I was a shining-enough example of their kind for their website, but not yet good enough for God. My mum didn't like to see me crying so much, so she decided I needed prayer. This meant scheduling an appointment with a church leader and having them lay their hands on me and begin working themselves (and consequently me) into a frenzy, screaming in 'tongues' at the top of their voices and pushing me backwards and forwards. I didn't want to cry anymore; I didn't want to hurt anymore. I was told that I had a demon of grief; that was why I was crying so much. It had to come out. Apparently it was finally gone and I was 'free'. Free not to grieve my dad's early demise anymore. So began an agonising repression of healthy grief; I was so scared of proving that the prayer hadn't actually worked. I even stood in front of the whole congregation and told them what had happened. A miracle! I was saved! But I wasn't. I was chained up in the lies they had taught me, desperate to please and without a clue as to who I was outside of the church. Things got worse. I had never been a confident girl, but any hope at building self-esteem was shattered through the teachings about 'impurity' and 'modesty'. My body was a temple so I shouldn't encourage the lustful glances of young men battling sexual temptation at every turn (a.k.a hormones) by wearing anything too tight or short. Skirts had to be below the knee. Make-up was frowned upon, as well as hair-dye. I had to schedule an appointment with a leader to ask if it was OK to wear foundation because my skin had begun to break out and I felt terribly self-conscious about it. She said that a cream or powder was fine. Wonder what she would have said if she'd known that I opted for a foundation mousse.

I felt sinful for having any 'inappropriate' thoughts about boys. When I started having feelings for a non-Christian boy at school, I felt so guilty that I called up a church leader and confessed. She said she was horrified and couldn't believe I had 'let something like that happen.' Apparently crushes were of the devil. Along with any films over a PG rating, Halloween and even cinemas. Apparently cinemas were where demons liked to hang out, waiting to take possession of any unassuming soul. Of course I never attended my prom. I told all my friends at school that I was going on holiday. Apparently lying about that was OK, but going with my friends to have fun and dance wasn't. Then, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles; I got out. I decided to move to France for my year abroad. I don't know how I was allowed. I guess they thought I'd be miserable, miss the church terribly, and maybe come back with a few convertees. But it wasn't to be. I found myself a lovely little Anglican church full of lovely people who weren't at all like the 'christians' I was used to. These people were kinder. They were interested in me as a person. What did I like to do outside of church? Who was I? At the beginning I couldn't answer that, but I slowly discovered my love of singing when I sang in the church worship team. I discovered I loved shopping and pretty clothes, as well as make-up. I realised I could wear shorter, tighter things and not be labelled as a prostitute. I realised that wine wasn't the devil's juice and could be enjoyed sensibly. My new friends took me dancing; it was great. I started to feel just.. free. Gloriously free. I felt like myself, for the first time in my life. I wasn't trying to impress so much. I was just enjoying my new-found freedom. I realised that my old life had been a lie, and that I could never go back there.

I had to endure a lot of rejection from people in my old church. Even an e-mail, basically telling me to remember the hell that was waiting for me while I dyed my hair and danced. But the only true hell for me been the one I'd grown up in for the past nineteen years of my life. 

My faith and beliefs have evolved a lot since then. I no longer go to church, but I still like to hold on to the belief that Someone is taking care of me (not the god of my childhood, thank God!), that love is what's most important and, in fact, all there is at the end of the day.  

Organised religion, unfortunately, has left a bitter taste in my mouth. But one thing I have taken from my experiences is my determination that no-one should ever have to feel how I felt. No-one should have to feel that they are somehow depraved from birth. No-one should have their spirit broken, especially in the name of religion. Everyone should be celebrated. I think each person is a child of God, or a miracle, or amazing; however you see things, and we each have the right to follow our own path. 

You said if I left I'd be miserable. You said I'd be lost and hell-bound. But I'm happier than ever before and your hell is far behind me now. 


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