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.
Hello and happy February! I’m sorry I have been away for so long. I’ve been spending much of my free time focusing on my book. It is coming along nicely and I can’t wait to share it all with you. I’m not gonna lie, the editing process has been tough. As I dig deeper and deeper into my own story more and more trauma is uncovered. Along with that, the same old trauma is always waiting for me on the page. I find myself wishing I could just let it all go and not have to keep coping with the triggers that jump out at me when I’m alone.
The writing process requires you to ask yourself many questions. One of the first ones is, why are you writing this book? It’s a good question. Why would I want to relive all the pain and trauma I’ve suffered? Why not just ignore it all and move on with my life? The short answer is that ignoring it is never an answer. It is a part of me and not something I can choose not to look at. The longer answer is that I want to share my experiences in hopes that it will help other survivors feel less alone. A surprising reason to write this book has been to bring about additional unexpected healing for myself. Unfortunately, healing doesn’t often happen without pain. I believe that many people avoid healing because they know that the path through it will bring sadness and the facing of demons from the past.
If you’re a United Pentecostal lurking on my page I hope that you will come to see that the damage done to survivors of your organization is long-lasting. It is never as easy as no longer being bitter and just forgiving. Right now as I’m revising my book two things are looming large in my mind. The first one is the Steve Dahl portion. Through the process of revising I’ve come to realize that the damage he caused me is so much greater than I ever imagined. Its echoes have infected all of my relationships with the opposite sex and my entire sex life. That is a high cost to pay for what many have told me is a long-ago event that I should just get over. It has been heart-wrenching to write about, but what came after was almost worse. Calvary Gospel church and the way they treated me is unforgivable. Writing it all out and seeing it all through my 53-year-old eyes and understanding has brought about a clarity I never had before. I will never understand how grown adults who are supposed to be part of a faith centered on love can just turn their backs on a child. It was mean, petty, and life-wrecking. Writing about it makes my chest literally hurt. A blackness follows me around when I spend too much time focused on these parts of my book. I dissociate and have to remind myself that I have value and I’m worthy. The UPC church can seem very loving until it isn’t. If writing my book can save one person from that heartache it will have been worth it. In the meantime, I battle my demons. Sometimes I win and sometimes I lose.
The second monster I cope with while writing is the Book of Revelations monster. Thank goodness for EMDR therapy. https://www.apa.org/ptsd-guideline/treatments/eye-movement-reprocessing. Without it, I would not be able to write about the rapture and everything that goes with it. That being said, this doesn’t mean that I’m not triggered or that it isn’t scary. I’m not afraid of the rapture I’m afraid of my memories of being taught about it. When I write about it I get that same pain in my chest and a sense of dread follows me for days. These ideas planted in my mind before I even went to school have been with me for as long as I can remember. Visuals pop into my head unbidden and then it can take days to chase them off into the corners of my mind. They’re not gone but they’re not threatening to take over anymore. It is during these times that I wonder why the church focused on hell and the end times so much. There is so much you can teach a small child about god and the Bible. Because the scary stories of the Bible were taught to me so young they took over my mind and everything else about god seemed secondary. Who cares about all those Sunday school stories when we are talking about a god who might throw me into a lake of fire to burn forever. It’s like talking about a serial killer and everyone wanting to focus on how he bakes good cookies. It just seems like the cookies don’t matter if he might slit your throat at any moment. I’m choosing to go through the trauma dredged up in this part of the book for survivors as well. I’m going through it for all the little girls afraid to sleep at night. Afraid they might miss the rapture. I’m writing it for all the adults I know who still fear being left behind. I see you and you’re not crazy.
I’ve been rambling. I’m sorry. When I write about the traumatic responses I experience I get flooded. It can be hard to write as clearly as I want to. If reading this has triggered you here are a few things you can do:
Call a friend who understands. At times we just need to be reminded we are safe.
Get outside. I like to put some happy music on and go for a walk.
Yoga, or some other kind of movement. Yoga really helps me to slow my breathing down.
Cleanse your mental palate. Watch a funny TV show, work on a craft or project that requires concentration, or do something social.
As I’ve been on my writing journey I’ve learned that I have a lot of inner critic work to do. After all this time I thought I knew who my inner critics were and the purpose they served. Last week while chatting with a friend I realized that many of my inner critics are tied to a UPCI inner critic. She’s mean, she hates me, and her main purpose seems to be to make me afraid. Sure she’d like me to fear hell’s flames and eternal damnation but more than that she wants me to fear telling my story. She throws up arguments that center on rejection and judgement from people who wrote me off a long time ago. She reminds me of the pain and tears they’ve caused me and she tells me to shut up before I’m hurt again. She blames me for my trauma and warns me of all the bad things that could happen if I keep writing. Her face resembles a conglomeration of all the mean church ladies I’ve ever known. Because of the work that I’ve done I know that she is making herself mean and scary to keep me from being hurt. The remedy is to remind her that I’m ok. I’ve survived and there is nothing the church can say to me or about me that they haven’t already said. She is the front line of my defenses. She snarls and bites, warns and glares. Behind all that is a scared wounded child desiring safety. I’m grateful for her attempts to keep me safe and I honor all her contributions to my survival. I could ask her to take an extended vacation but I think I will let her continue to stand alongside me for a little longer. Now that I understand this part of myself better I can apply self-compassion and feel gratitude for her service.
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Back around nine months ago I created a playlist to help me out when I was feeling uninspired. Some of these songs remind me of my parents or myself during childhood. Other songs are more thematic and stir up memories and feelings about childhood events. I finally feel like I’m ready to share this playlist here.
This is going to be a short post but I had to stop in and recommend this podcast episode. This episode explains my experience with this film series perfectly. He also explains what Christian parents were thinking and doing at the time when this film series was released.
If you’re interested in hearing more about the judicial procedure process watch the link above. We cover the whole process from start to finish as we each individually experienced it. It’s a long video but I feel it is worth the watch. Many thanks to Deanna Jo for sharing her platform with me.
It’s October and I have been enjoying all of my fall favorites. During this season I always feel super inspired and this autumn is no different. Not much is happening on the justice front but that is okay because it has provided me with a much needed rest. During this time I have been writing and focusing on putting my story on the page. I have created a mail list for anyone who would like updates about my book, blog, and Youtube channel. If you’re interested in signing up the link is located on my Contact page.
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.
Surviving Church and Childhood 