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I was raised in an extremely legalistic, hell-fire and brimstone Baptist church. I did not believe that I’d ever measure up to expectations of God at a very early age. I can look back at that now and realize just how fully controlled I was, but it took a lot of work for me to get here.
My parents were divorced when I was 4 and since my dad was in the military and frequently deployed, my mother ended up with custody of me. However motherhood was never her calling so she sent me to live with my grandmother in Jamaica when I was 8 years old. I’ve shared here before that Jamaica is a country that’s so religious that even the National Anthem is a prayer. We were Baptists, but I attended a Catholic Primary school and was expected to attend morning devotions daily, attend mass weekly, and say Hail Mary’s as a form of punishment. Believing that being forced to participate in Catholic services was wrong, I complained to my family only to be told that it was more church and I needed all the church I could get.
That first year was filled with some scheduled prayer or devotion every day at school, home, and church. There was Sunday school, Vacation Bible School, Christian Summer Camp, and mandatory weeknight Bible Studies. I was to learn scripture and “hide” it in my heart until I was pure. We attended one of the biggest Baptist Churches on the island, and our pastor was the denominational leader for the entire Caribbean. Almost every member of my family served the church as members of the choir, Sunday school teachers, deacons, ushers, and my uncle served as the head of the Youth Ministry. On the surface, it was an ideal Christian life, what could I possibly have to fear?
[Before I go on, I'd just like to add that I'm not sharing this for the first time. I'm not a victim, but a survivor who went through years of cognitive, behavioral, and sexual therapy to be the well adjusted person I am today. I co-run an abuse shelter and sharing my story is part of the therapeutic connections I have with my girls, who are also survivors.]
When I turned 9 my uncle, the youth minister started sexually abusing me. That abuse escalated to rape and continued until I was 14 years old. He kept me silent for years by making me the sinner. He told me that it was my sinful nature, and the sin within me that made him abuse me. He would pray when he was done and ask God to heal me of my sexual nature so it would not be a temptation to him. Back then I was a good Christian girl and felt that I was to blame. That amount of spiritual, physical, psychological, and sexual torture was enough to break me. It only ended when my dad left the military and I returned to America to live with him. Having never dealt with the trauma and keeping a secret of that magnitude, coupled with the fact that I felt I was to blame led to the first of 3 suicide attempts.
But I did not die. I spent 3 months in a psychiatric hospital and didn’t speak a word for 67 days. When I finally spoke I told my mom what happened and I went to live with her and her new husband. Her side of the family is also deeply involved in the church. The families agreed that it would not go beyond them so that neither side would be publicly “embarrassed.” I was the victim of emotional, spiritual, and sexual torture for years, but protecting the reputation of both families was their priority. When I was 16 I declared that I would never attend church again. When I turned 17 I walked away from a full academic scholarship to distance myself from the members of my family and live on my own. I only spoke to one member for 16 years.
My 3rd and final suicide attempt happened when I turned 21. I had never dealt with my abuse and didn’t have the coping skills necessary to make it. I remember waking up in an ER to a nurse saying, “Thank God you’re awake.” The very last thing I wanted to do was thank God. I wanted to throw things but I could not move. I had taken an overdose of my psych meds and one of them had temporarily paralyzed my upper extremities. The doctors, who said I should have died, were also unsure of the long term neurological damage I’d done to myself. I distinctly remember cursing God for not letting me die. Instead of ending my pain, he was sentencing me to life of paralysis and suffering. Had I not suffered enough in my young life?
Fortunately after that episode I was able to find the right therapists. It took years of hard work before I even started enjoying life again. When I turned 24 I slowly started to visit churches. I never interacted, just sat in the back pew and bolted after the service. That was until I visited the church I attended for the last few years of my walk. It was a small church that met in a school. There was a sense of something that I’d never experienced in a church. It actually scared me so much that I didn’t go back for months and started an email relationship with the pastor and his wife before I returned. It was the first time in my life that I’d ever thought of God as friend and not judge and executioner. They learned that I was a reader and started recommending material for me to read. It finally came together for me when I read Phillip Yancey’s “What’s So Amazing About Grace.” I found grace in situations where I’d not been able to see them before. The fact that I’d survived and had no apparent permanent damage from my OD was no longer seen as God abandoning me, but as him extending his grace to save me. That became a part of my testimony, I was actively involved in my church, and for a few years all was well.
The problem is that I’ve also always been a thinker. Examining the miracle of me being alive when I should have died caused me to question the events that led me to such a dark place to begin with. Why should I be thankful to God now when he was not there when I needed him the most? How could he allow someone who worked for him to hurt a child and sell her a bastardized version of sin and guilt? Once I started asking questions, they kept on coming. I went to my spiritual leaders for help. I enrolled in seminary to get a better understanding of my religion. The pastor who had guided me back into the church, had moved on, but is still a close friend. He encouraged me to ask my question, to continue on my path. He said that God would be waiting for me when and if I returned.
The last time I attended church was Easter Sunday 2011. I now identify as an agnostic-atheist solely for the definition; because I’m unlike any atheist I know. I don’t quite fit in either the non-theist of the theist world. Despite no longer believing in God, I continue to be on a spiritual journey that has nothing to do with faith, and everything to do with people. Despite my current views about religion, I am very grateful for the last few years I spent in the church. The fallout of my leaving was not pretty, and I’ve lost a few of my friends. However, had I not spent time with a few people who were gracious and loving, the last image I would have taken away from religion was what my family did to me. The cover of the bulletins they handed out at my last church read, “Met With Love, Transformed By Grace.” There really is something amazing about grace – for without it I’d probably be unable to continue on my journey unburdened by hate.
Men suck. People who hold there power above us suck.
I don’t think men suck. I did for a very long time, but that’s because I only had examples of controlling, manipulative men who used religion and their authority to cower me into submission, and shame me into compliance. I’ve since loved men who have shown me respect and love I’d never thought possible. Not all of these relationships are intimate, but friendships forged out mutual understanding and basic human decency. If I were to have left the abuse and brain-washing of my childhood untreated, I would be in a very dark place now. Fortunately I faced down those demons and can assign blame to specific individuals and not a gender as a whole.
AnonymousWow – reading this made me cry. I’m really sad to hear what you went through and then also really intrigued to hear more about where/how you found the strength that you seem to have now? I also am a former evangelical and like you, I would probably describe myself as agnostic/atheist for want of a better category. I do feel that I have left the brain-washing part behind but I still struggle with the ‘big questions’ – what happens after death? how do people reach peace with their mortality without believing in something bigger? how can we find happiness when we know so many people are suffering? Hmmm maybe I am getting too deep for the “appetiser” section but your post made me want to ask you how you deal with some of these questions?
Hi Kirsty. I wish I could say I was a rock who did this on my own, but it took YEARS of support and hardcore therapy for me to be where I am now. Interestingly a lot of my guilt was wrapped up in religion. There was the guilt I felt about not being able to forgive, but then I realized that some things were not wort forgiving and if God couldn’t understand, then I’d just have to deal with the consequences.
As a non-theist, I have far less guilt. I’m exactly the same person I am now that I was when I was a believer, except I no longer attend church, pray, tithe, or read the Bible for devotional purposes. Leaving religion didn’t make me a better or worse person. It simply made me a person who did not believe in gods. I’m no more moral now than I was before. Things that I couldn’t reconcile with my faith, like children suffering or people dying by acts of God, are easier to deal with without God in the equation. I can see the social, political, environmental, and other real life causes for the problems, without resorting to asking God why he’d allow these things to happen. I no longer have to struggle with trying to justify my continued support of a god that would let terrible things happen.
I struggled with the big questions for a very long time. I still don’t know all the answers, but I do know that I no longer struggle with god or religion. My life is far from perfect. I hit an emotional wall at the beginning of the year that knocked me off balance and is taking much longer than I expected to resolve. However, I’m still hopeful, happy, and convinced that my physical support system – people I can actually see and talk to – is much more beneficial than praying or taking problems to god.
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