Childhood, Compassion, Family, Forgiveness, Holiness Standards, Leadership, Parents, Poverty, Self Esteem, Sexual Abuse, Shame, Trauma, Uncategorized, United Pentecostal Church

You Are Worthy

Today I want to tell you that you are worthy. If you were sexually abused as a child you are worthy. You did not draw that older man into sin. He made his choices and he was an adult. You were a child and children cannot consent. I am so sorry if the church did not protect you, love you, and help you to heal. You deserve love, support, and an apology. I am still stunned at Calvary Gospel’s silence. I am experiencing them as no more loving now than they were when I was a child.

You are worthy even if your family did not dress right, or if you are brown or black, and even if your family did not tithe enough. A child shouldn’t have to pay for their parent’s choices. None of us can control the color of our skin or the family we are born into. We certainly could not have controlled our parent’s actions.

You are worthy even if you made mistakes, snuck into the movies, or listened to top 40 radio when your parents were out. These things are not sins, they are a normal part of growing up. No one perfectly listens to the adults in their life. Normal human development dictates that teens challenge adults, it is how we grow and become independent.

You are worthy if you wore a slit in your skirt, asked too many questions, or got bored in church. If you kissed a boy behind the church camp auditorium when you were supposed to be inside, if you faked being sick to stay home from church, and even if you faked speaking in tongues because you were afraid to disappoint your parents.

I see you trying to pretend that you are ok, trying to heal, trying to deal with the coldness coming from the people who raised us. I see you dealing with trauma, being the family outcast, never being 100% sure if you made the right decision when you left the church. I see you wondering if you should have kept your mouth shut about it all.

I understand not being educated properly and how that stays with you all your life. I understand playing small, staying invisible, always waiting for something bad to happen. I understand feeling weird in the world like you can never quite fit in. I understand the world not understanding where we come from and how exhausting it can be to try to explain.

For the men out there I see you too. Struggling to come to terms with what has happened to the women you grew up with, ministered to, your sisters and friends. I see you having many of the same struggles as I have only different at the same time. I know that there are survivors among you and when you are ready to tell your story we will be there for you as you have been there for us.

Consider this my love letter to all the survivors out there no matter what your damage is. You are worthy. Please don’t let those who refuse to ask for forgiveness, who refuse to take responsibility, and who choose to stand in judgment rather than lend aid define you. I see you as strong, brave, and overcomers. We have overcome the lack of love, support, grace, and normal human kindness we should have received as kids. We have found each other and created a life raft for one another and any new survivors who choose to join us. You are good even if you are not perfect. You are worthy.

 

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C-PTSD, Depression, Family, Fear, isolation, Rapture, Shame, Trauma, Uncategorized, United Pentecostal Church

The Process of Leaving and Dealing With Trauma

When I speak with survivors one topic comes up over and over again. The people in their lives who love them cannot understand why they continue to suffer from trauma and pain from the past. Friends, co-workers, and people they interact with online often seem to want to give them the same advice. They want to offer you a quick fix and often that fix comes with a warning about not forgiving or holding onto negativity for too long. What they don’t realize is that the process for working through trauma can take a lifetime. Forgiving and “moving on” is not going to resolve the trauma responses coming from the survivor’s body. It can seem like someone has moved on but if you’re not inside their head and their body you can’t really understand. Triggers can make it hard to not think about things and can effect the body in some very real ways.

When first leaving an abusive group you’re probably in survivor mode. You’re trying to figure out how to get away and then how to live without the community you may have been in since birth. People who have known you all your life might shun you or feel the need to warn you about hell and the coming end times. You may lose family and will most certainly lose friends in the process. Often you end up feeling much more alone than you could have ever imagined. You may not have the social skills needed to maneuver in the new world you find yourself apart of and you may lack job skills or be poorly educated. Add to this a fear of hell and the rapture and you can see why just getting out and acclimating to the world can be a very tall order. Once you’re out you may find yourself dealing with depression, anxiety, insomnia, and loneliness. I consider this to be phase one of three phases.

When I started phase one I was a teenager. I went from a very insular community out into a big world that I was not ready for. When I left the church no one came looking for me. I struggled through the realization that they didn’t care. I always suspected that but when it became a reality it hit me hard. I went to public school for a year and found I had nothing to talk to my peers about. When I was in the church I felt weird like I did not fit in and then when I went into public school I felt the same way. Everyone was planning for their future. I thought I had good grades and could have gotten into college but I had no one to help me navigate that journey. Neither of my parents attended college. By this time my mother was already pretty sick and preoccupied with raising my bother and dealing with her abusive husband. My father’s attitude was that if I had a husband I did not need an education. He felt the same way about driving which meant I did not learn to drive until I was much older. I discovered that I had missed many of the milestones that my peers had experienced and would continue to miss them because I had no way to know what was normal and how to get those experiences for myself. Over time I came to realize that my Christian school had supplied me with a subpar education. If I had someone to help me navigate the gaps I could have taken classes to fill in what was missing, the issue is I did not know what I did not know. I worked in restaurants for a long time and got a little apartment for myself. I did what I had to to survive and tried to tell myself that I had time and everything would be ok. I was always afraid of a wrathful god. When I cut my hair and pierced my ears there was this moment where I was just waiting for lightening to strike. This new world was both exciting and scary.

The next phase comes when you finally feel free from the group and you try to convince yourself that you can live without them and just get on with things. Many people I speak to can be stuck in this place for decades. They convince themselves they are doing great and have just left it all behind. Reality is usually much different. Sometimes during this period addictions will show up as a coping mechanism. Many survivors try to fill their lives with activities, family and work in an attempt to forget about the trauma, but the unresolved trauma is still there like a ticking time bomb. During this time if you talk about your trauma or pain people will often slap you on the back and say something like, “But you’re away from them now so life must be good!” This is phase two.

I left my abusive group and then jumped right into another one. I hear that is not uncommon. I only stayed in that group for a couple of years before leaving. During this phase, I reveled in my freedom and filled my life with having children and experiencing as much as I could after a life of real restriction. The pain of my past never went away. It was always lurking in the background with it’s best friend fear. I tried to listen to what pop psychology told me. I tried to release the past and I tried to forgive. I tried to get on with my new life. Now I’m not saying those are bad ideas, all I’m saying is that they are a very simple answer for an extremely complex problem. They did nothing to address my C-PTSD and in the end, I just ended up feeling more broken because I couldn’t just get over it. Over time I got more and more sick. I have always had insomnia but as I’ve aged it has become much more constant. The underlying stress and anxiety brewing within me caused me to have severe stomach issues that I am still trying to heal. I also have asthma which I do not think came from the trauma but it is well documented that mental health has a big role to play in how severe asthmatic symptoms are. My body was trying to send me messages and I just kept turning the music up louder and trying to convince myself I was ok.

Phase three is what I like to call the “wake up” phase. Sometimes it happens suddenly and sometimes in little things that add up to a creeping realization. By this time the addictions are at a breaking point or maybe you just don’t sleep anymore. However it displays, you reach a point where you can no longer ignore the toll the unresolved trauma has put on your body. Things will pop into your head that you just can’t shake and you can no longer make excuses for. I feel people often reach this stage when they are in midlife and things slow down a little. They have age and experience which causes them to view the world differently. They are fully adults now and are in a better position to judge where they came from. This is usually a crisis breaking point. Illusions fall away and the past you have been hiding from is waiting there for you.

My phase three went on for a very long time. Over the years the creeping realizations would make it hard for me to ignore what happened in the past. When my oldest child reached the age I was when I was molested I realized how little she was. I could see how sweet and innocent she was and I had a bit of a crisis. These things would happen from time to time over the years. As I matured I could see clearly the past decisions that the adults made around me during my childhood as monsterous and cruel. For a long time I would make excuses for them and try to find ways to not face up to how bad things really were. Once I started writing this blog I started to really wake up. It felt like blindfold after blindfold was ripped from my eyes forcing me to look at the trauma I suffered and get real with myself about the repercussions of it. This can be really hard, when you get to the point where you can’t look away. You can no longer deny the truth in front of you or make excuses for people’s bad choices. It forces you to change the way you think and can really change your life in profound ways. Some people lose what remaining family they have, some people just realize the depth of what was done to them in childhood. With all of that comes fresh waves of grief, anger, anxiety, fear, and so on.

Once you can see the trauma you suffered clearly then you have to get to work on healing yourself and figuring out how to live in your new reality. This is where I am right now. I left the UPC when I was 16, I’m now 49, that’s 33 years to get to this point. I am one of those people who is always working on myself, I’m introspective and I’m always seeking self improvement and it still took me 33 years. This is not a quick process and I suspect I will be healing from it forever. I am ok with that and I hope that you can be too. One of the hardest things is when the people you love or just the people you want to like you seem annoyed that “you’re still dealing with that?” They question why you can’t just forget and be happy. If you love me or even just like me some the best thing you can do for me is accept me where I’m at. Understand that this isn’t something that is just going to go away. It is something I’m working on all the time. Sit with me when I’m sad and don’t try to fix it, just let me know you’re there. Take me out for coffee and listen even if you’ve heard it a million times. Lastly try to remember that I’m doing my best.

 

Uncategorized

Rachel’s Open Letter To Pastor Roy Grant

Dear Roy,

I was raised in the church that you now pastor. You never got the opportunity to be my pastor because I left for many reasons some of which I’ll explain later on in this letter. You did see myself and many others grow up in front of your eyes while your dad was our pastor. I have such good and bad memories all mixed together and sometimes it gets very confusing. I should probably be directing this towards all of the elders throughout the years and your father John Grant as well because he was my pastor while I attended. I’m directing this towards you now because your voice can bring the change I feel is necessary to start or continue the healing process that so many like myself need.

I want you to know the people of Calvary Gospel Church were my family growing up. I was loved by so many and so many helped me in times of great need. I will always be grateful for the compassion and kindness I was shown. I’ll always be thankful for the families that took us in and gave us a safe place when my mother left and helped my dad in his time of need. If one can love, be hurt, want change, but still be angry at the same time that’s how I feel. I like many others suffered trauma that even with counseling makes it impossible to want to go back to my Calvary Gospel Church family. I feel grief and loss for so many of my once friends, but also find quiet support from others. It’s weird to have such pain and hope at the same time.

I’ve learned that a family is only as sick as it’s secrets and the same can be said about a church family. There were so many things that were kept secret or purposefully hidden while I was attending both the church and the Christian school. I’ve had the opportunity to talk with six sexual assault survivors from my youth. They were all minors assaulted or raped by adults. There are also secrets of minors touching minors inappropriately. When it’s hidden knowledge that adults are sexually assaulting minors and getting away with it, that behavior is sadly typical in children and some will respond in this way because they do not understand what is going on. I’m sure there are many other survivors that are still scared to tell their story for fear of being shunned or talked about behind their back.

One of those survivors is my older sister. She was raped as a teenager around the age of 13 by Mike Bakken a man in the church that was ten plus years her senior. She went openly out on dates to Pizza Hut with him and myself. There were plenty of other church adults who witnessed it. He had sex with one other underage person that I know of (my friend Deb) before he raped my sister.

I go back and forth in my mind about how all of this could have happened. Was it the culture that taught little girls from the pulpit that a slit in her skirt causes adult men to lust but then didn’t tell those same adult men to keep their hands off? Was it countless adult men dating underage children and teens without any repercussion from the pulpit? Was it that parents were too trusting? Was it that we were so scared of hell that when something bad happened to us as children we didn’t say anything? Was it that 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15-year-old children were to blame for the lust of others? Was it that we were not shown the love we needed so we were searching for love? I think it was a mix of all of it and much more that could take years to explain.

I know I’m not perfect so let me be the first to say to you Roy that I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage, to tell the truth as a child when I saw these things happening and when they were happening to me. I have deep regret and have suffered severe depression because of it. I wish I had been stronger back then. I was scared and I could have potentially helped a lot of children not have to suffer through the trauma I did. I should have asked for help, but I didn’t think we’d be believed. I should have stood up and asked why things were wrong instead of cowardly letting them happen. There was a lot of fear involved in my silence, but I’m not scared anymore. I want to make right the wrongs that happened and the only way to do that is to apologize. I am truly sorry to anyone I hurt with my silence and inaction.

What I want from you Roy, like I asked my dad to do, is to acknowledge that these things happened. Acknowledge that they were wrong. Apologize for the elders and pastors for hiding things and not taking them to the police. Apologize to the people that were threatened into silence. Change your policies so that when people are assaulted, especially children, the police are notified. Foster a culture where when bad things happen children don’t blame themselves for the lust of others. Create a place where toxic shame doesn’t exist and it is safe to tell the truth when one is being hurt. I honestly believe that most people want to do the right thing but are scared to or can only follow your lead. Please be the leader Calvary Gospel Church needs. Please choose to do the right thing for all those hurting people. Please do what Jesus would want you to do.

Sincerely,

Rachel Capacio

C-PTSD, Compassion, Crime, Justice, Leadership, Sexual Abuse, Trauma, Uncategorized, United Pentecostal Church

An Open Letter To Pastor Roy Grant

Roy, it has been a long long time since we have spoken or really had any contact with each other. I have thought about reaching out to you many times but something has always stopped me. I know instinctively that any interaction between us will be painful because neither of us is who we were when we knew each other.

When I was a child I looked up to you as a big brother. You were an adult but just barely and at the time I believed that you understood me. As the youth leader and school monitor, you kept us within the lines without seeming authoritarian. I felt like you understood how oppressive it could all be and so you tried to bring the fun with you when you could. For a long time, you gave me rides to school along with as many kids as you could fit into your old Blazer. I’m sure my mother almost never gave you gas money. It makes me smile now to think of how Norman and Tim would have to hoist me into the truck because I was so tiny and it was so high up. My childhood was a dark dark place and the times when I was having fun with you shine bright in the midst of it all. Even now it makes me smile to remember watching Star Trek in your basement after church and doing donuts in the empty parking lot. I was so scared we would crash and you and the boys would laugh at me. Silly kids stuff but when your home life is so bad things like this make life bearable. When I won a place on the honor roll field trip and my shoes developed a hole I told my mom I would just skip it. She called you and you called around until you found a pair of shoes for me. We never talked about it but you came through for me and it was a big deal in my little life.

I don’t think you singled me out and to most people, these things might not seem like much. Speaking from my child self they were important to me. You just never know how a small act of kindness will impact a child. I always try to remember to smile at kids because I recognize that my smile might be the only adult smile they see that day. Once you stepped back some and John Seidl took over youth group and Sunday school things became harder. He was much sterner and I never felt like I could not let my guard down around him. I’m sure you were not perfect but I always felt like you wanted everyone to feel included. When you were not around school or the youth group as much I felt like there was no adult I could turn to who wouldn’t immediately judge me. Sympathy and compassion were impossible to come by.

This brings us to now. I know that I am probably not your favorite person due to the things I have exposed within my blog. I am sure that you and I disagree on most things. I know that this will probably not bring about the change that I and so many others wish to see but I feel compelled to try. I’m sure it has felt like I’m attacking the church and your family. It has never been my wish to attack anyone. I have only been trying to shed light on my experiences in order to help others and maybe get a little bit of justice for myself. If I thought your father would listen I would be directing this towards him. You are the pastor now and so I’m directing this towards you. I’m writing this to plead with you and Calvary Gospel to change. I’m asking you to acknowledge how bad things were handled with regards to Steve Dahl and countless other abusers. I’m asking you and the church to apologize to all of the people who have been hurt by policies that go a long way towards protecting the church but leave in their path, countless victims. I’m asking you to develop church policies that include going to the police first when a victim comes forward because this is the only way the community at large can be protected from predators and physically abusive people. Lastly, I’m asking that the church no longer tolerate older men dating underage women. It is one of those things that everyone knows about but no one does anything about. By acknowledging the church’s role in the pain of so many survivors you could help bring a tiny bit of healing to my community. We could all rest easier knowing that you are committed to reporting abuse and protecting children. We could all rest easier knowing that another Becky or Debbie is not being groomed within the walls of the church.

I know how hard this kind of change would be and I understand that my posting this publically is going to make things even harder. I’m posting it publically because I don’t believe the church or you will respond any other way. I am also concerned about my words being twisted and this way it is all out in the light for anyone to read. I’m going to sign off for now and I hope that you will be the hero this situation needs. To the other pastoral staff, I’m sure you will see this and I hope you will also be a part of bringing some healing into the lives of so many who have been devestated by Calvary Gospel.

Family, Uncategorized

How Religion Continues To Hurt My Family

This week something really painful happened to me. It felt like being punched in the stomach. It came completely out of left field and so I was not prepared. Earlier I posted on Facebook this cute photo of my dog and myself at the park. One of the comments left by my extended family included condolences for the loss of my grandmother. The thing is I did not know that my grandmother had passed. I was already experiencing a rough week and this was an added hurt that I did not need right now. I quickly went to Google to confirm that my suspicions were correct, and sadly I was right. My grandmother had passed and no one in my family told me. I instinctively knew that my brother had not received a call either.

Both my parents have been gone for a while. I have an aunt and an uncle plus cousins who live in Florida. All of my extended family are Pentecostal even if they are not United Pentecostal. Just like the church I grew up in they all feel they know the truth and are special, even better than other churches. Only they have the real truth! These beliefs have done so much damage to my family.

When my mother had run through all of the “acceptable to her family” churches in Madison we started to attend Calvary Gospel. Calvary Gospel was very similar to the other churches we attended except for one thing, baptism. They baptized in Jesus name and not in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. My mother’s family was so angry when we started to go to that church. They told my mother to never let herself be rebaptized because she would be damned if she did. They also did not believe my baptism was valid. Fast forward a few years and all of our family picked up and moved to Florida leaving my mother, brother, and I alone up here in Wisconsin. We drifted apart. Some because my mother was always the black sheep and some because of the distance. My mom’s family didn’t like who she married the first time and then again the second time. They did not approve of my leaving Pentecostalism and eventually Christianity. They also turned their back on my brother when he came out as gay. They have a very narrow idea of what is acceptable and none of us ever fit into it. Over the years my grandmother would send me letters and cards on the holidays. They were always very surface based and they always ended with a warning about getting my heart right before the rapture. Merry Christmas, watch out the devil is going to get you, was the feeling they always gave me. When my beloved grandpa passed no one in my family told me. When I found out I was heartbroken. He had been sick for a long long time and so I was kind of surprised when he finally passed. Once I found out it was too late to send flowers or fly down for a funeral. I learned of his passing months after the fact. I cried for days right after my third child was born during a time that should have been filled with light and joy. I cried for my lost grandpa and for the cruelty my family delivered.

Fast forward to a couple of months ago, my brother and I had this conversation and I told him I assumed grandma would pass soon and I did not think anyone would tell us. That is exactly what happened. You might wonder why I was shocked, I wondered that myself. I think cruelty always shocks me even when I know it is coming. How could they be so mean and cold? I might be hard for them to find after all of these years but my brother lives in the same area as they do and they could have found him easily. My grandma was not always the easiest person to be around. She never asked about my children her great-grandchildren, she really never asked about me. It was like in her world I did not exist unless I was saved and in the manner she expected. I was not fully human in my lost state. She always cared about my salvation but I know that is because she felt she would be held to account by God if her family was not “living right.” My mother’s siblings feel the same. They did not tell us about her death because they do not wish to talk to us. We are lost and unclean. They, unlike my grandma, have never cared about our salvation. They have made no attempts to proselytize, they have just turned their backs and wiped us out of existence. It is like annihilation. We don’t exist to them. We have no worth because we are not exactly their brand of Pentecostal. Plus there is some racism mixed in. I am the brown grandchild and that makes me even less acceptable. They have no desire to have the brown granddaughter and gay grandson at the funeral to ruin their day.

My grandma’s passing hurt me more than I could have anticipated. I was bewildered by the pain. It was so deep and there was so much of it. After a few days, I realized what was happening. I was grieving all of the lost years. I was grieving the relationship I always wanted to have with her. I was feeling the rejection and abandonment of all the time without her. I was reminded of how much my mother’s family dislikes and rejects my brother and myself. All because of religion (well and a dash of racism). How sad that they have allowed this to keep us apart. How sad that she never knew her great-grandchildren. How sad that after losing her daughter she let herself lose her grandson and granddaughter, her only remaining link to my mother. How sad that even though I walked away from it all so long ago it can still reach out and hurt me.

In all of this, I am trying to hold onto the good things I feel I got from my grandmother. I’m tough and resilient just like her. I’m physically strong and strong-minded just like her. When I was a little girl she always marveled at my sturdiness and made me feel like I was invincible because of it. I’m sure there is more but that is all I can see right now.

Because of how my mother’s family is I have strived to be more accepting of my own children. They are all adults now and they all believe different things about God and spirituality. I try my best to always let them know that I love them no matter what. Nothing can tear them away from me, least of all religion.

Grandma

 

Uncategorized

Mother Issues

I have a feeling this is going to be a hard post to write. It will be hard in part because some of my readers knew my mother and may have even considered her a friend. I’m choosing to write this anyway because I have always tried to be honest here and it’s time to be honest about mom. Through my writing process I feel like she is slipping away from me. I fear that writing about her will forever alter my relationship to her.

My mother passed in 1989. I was 19 years old and that day will forever be cemented as the day my childhood ended. My mother was my entire world. When she passed it felt like everything that tethered me to the earth was gone and I was just floating around on the wind. It felt like all of the color in my life had drained away and all was left was that place I go to when I need to shut down and shut the world away. It felt like nothing would ever be the same again and nothing was. She was everything.

When I was a child it was always mom and I against the world. I now believe we were engaged in some pretty serious trauma bonding. My mother could be very funny and affectionate but she could also be brutal, cruel, and very mentally ill. Sympathy for her upbringing and mental illness has kept me from being totally honest about her with myself. I can honestly say that I cannot remember a time when I was not her caretaker. As a little girl I scrambled to make sure she had her needs met and listened to every worry and sadness she endured. I was acutely aware of how deep her mental illness ran even if I could not articulate it at a young age.

Growing up in my home in the 1970’s it was not unusual to see violence. My mother was physically abusive to my father and he was mentally abusive to her. She thought nothing of flying into a rage and chasing him around with a butcher knife. I was spanked with a belt but that was pretty normal for that time period. What stands out to me is all of the other physical stuff she did. She often pulled my hair, pinched me, and threatened me with hell. As I got older and stopped crying when she spanked me she turned to slapping me. This also was not so unusual for the time period, but a few times she did it hard enough to knock me down to the floor. I can recall asking my father why he left me with her knowing how violent she was and he said she needed me and he did not think she would ever really hurt me. I countered him by saying, “if it was bad enough that you needed to get away then it was bad enough for you to take me away.” He did not agree. He always told me that it was my responsibility to look after her. He couldn’t do it because she was too dangerous for him to be around. What a terrible thing to expect for a child to take on.

She was mentally and emotionally abusive. My mother was very afraid of the rapture and hell was real to her. She would threaten me with hell and missing the rapture for childish offenses like complaining that the shower was too hot. Her and my father bragged about how they hardly ever had to spank me and how I never got into any trouble, like they were expert parents. The reality was I was too afraid to take any risks. Anything I did including not cleaning my room could lead to hell, remember honor thy father and thy mother. Not doing well in school might make me miss the rapture. That is how high the stakes were in my home. My mother was so afraid of hell and the end times that she would lock herself in her room and pray and speak in tongues for hours. I would sit on the floor by the door and wait for her to finish. Praying myself that she would be ok and that god would listen to her prayers. During this time she would play her gospel records and I was not allowed to watch tv or listen to my records. I was alone all the time and then when she got home I was alone some more. This is all happening before I had completed elementary school.

She was scrappy and we were always struggling to pay the bills and keep food on the table. You will never hear me say my mother did not work hard, she was in fact one of the hardest workers I’ve ever know. But even when she was working two jobs we never had what we needed. She was a pick yourself up by your bootstraps kind of woman. She would NEVER ask for help even if it meant exposing me to extreme hunger and deprivation. She was raised to distrust the government and so she wanted nothing to do with social workers or government aid. My mother had so much pride in her gritty determination and I admire her for that, but it is time for me to get real about her choices. It mattered more to her that no one know our business than it did that I went to school hungry. She once became extremely angry with me for telling a neighbor that we had no food. I was somewhere around 1st grade. I learned a hard lesson about keeping my mouth shut. She had family members around that she could have asked for help but her pride made it hard for her to go there. So instead we twisted in the wind. More often than not my dinner was boiled potatoes with just a little salt on them. not the kind of nutrition a growing child needs. I still cannot understand why at times we had more than enough and at other times we had nothing. I can only say that she would cry on my shoulder and I would tell her mommy it is alright even as my stomach churned. I was always telling her it would be alright. I was always assuring her that I didn’t need anything. She was tough, but I was tougher.

When I was molested she did nothing to help me. She showed me no compassion and called me names. She got angry with me and I think she was feeling ashamed of me. Her and my stepdad said some really awful things to me, things I cannot bring myself to repeat. I feel this happened in part because she never really let me be a child. Both my parents treated me like I was an adult and used my intelligence to absolve them of their crimes of not parenting. She did not try to get me help in any way and we went for a long stretch where she did not talk to me. I was 12. The worst thing that had ever happened to me had just happened and I could not go to her. I had no one to go to except myself. When I got older and I spoke to both my parents about this issue they seemed to not understand that it was child abuse and that I was in no way old enough to consent. I started to grow cold when the realization came over me that after caring for her for so long and listening to all of her woes she would not be available to do the same for me. Our relationship only worked one way. On two different occasions a boy of color wanted to date me in a very puppy love kind of way she called me a horrible name. I don’t even want to write it here and I’m sure you can guess what it was. I had no idea what that term even meant but she spit the words out at me and looked at me like I had done something really wrong if these boys were interested in me. She was so flawed and yet all through my childhood she would give me that look, that look that told me she thought I was disgusting. I tried to tell her that these boys were nice and they only wanted to talk to me on the phone but she wouldn’t hear anything I had to say.

She checked out of church but still insisted that I go. She never felt accepted at Calvary Gospel and eventually she just quit going, But because she was worried about my soul and eternal damnation she pushed me to keep going. I desperately wanted her to be proud of me so I did, plus I was scared not to. She knew that the people there were both racist and classist, and she knew they treated her as less than and that is why she left. Somehow none of those worries applied to me. Even after Steve Dahl molested me she continued to allow me to attend for years. I can tell you that if my child was molested by an adult I would be sure that my child was pulled out of that atmosphere completely. There would be no second chances. She knew the congregation was full of vipers, mean spirited awful people and yet she continued to push. The message I got from her and my dad was that I was strong even stronger than they were. My dad could not take my mothers meanness but I could be expected to weather it. He kept telling me that if he took me away it would kill her and he couldn’t do that to her, but what about me? At times I feel neither of them saw me as fully human.

I withered away before her eyes. When I look back at photos of myself during my early teen years I am so skinny. The bones in my neck stick out and my arms look like twigs. Once I got older and could work for my own money I was much better off and it shows in the photos. My eyes have dark circles around them and in every shot I just look haunted. Around this time three things happened, my mother married an alcoholic and had another child, and she started to get sick. She has always had bad allergies and in her 30’s she developed asthma. Once she remarried and especially after my little brother came into the picture she just checked out of parenting me. She let me go on auto pilot unless something happened to temporarily snap her out of it. I became an after thought and soon everything else became more pressing. Jim, my stepdad, liked guns and so they started amassing a collection. He was depressed and wanted a new truck so she bought him one. I don’t think she realized how bad his condition was until after they were married. He couldn’t work and smoked like a chimney. His smoking effected her health and mine and yet she did nothing to stop him. They would fight and I would hide just like when I was little. I barely ever came out of my room and when I did it was always weird. My stepdad would sit in the living room and watch porn after my mother went to bed.. She would often go to bed early when she was working a lot or when she was sick. I couldn’t get to any room in our house including our bathroom without walking through the living room. I was so embarrassed and he just sat there staring at the screen. I feel he did it on purpose because he wanted me to stay in my room. He made it clear from the beginning that he wanted my mother but not a daughter. I complained to her about how antisocial he was towards me and she would throw her hands up as if she had no power. I told her about the porn and she got angry with him but talked to me about it more in the context of, “Men, I don’t know what to do about him.” I was about 13 or 14 at the time. I guess what I am trying to say is that she could never be depended upon to act. She was more like the child and I was more like the adult sounding the alarm to her and telling her how inappropriate things were. I could never have friends over or have anyone spend the night.

I never went to the dentist and rarely went to the doctor. My mother had many health issues and always sought treatment, I cannot sat why I never went to the doctor except that I did not complain.

At age 15 I moved out of her house and in with my father. I was very aware at the time that this was the worst thing I could do to her. She saw my father as a deadbeat (he was), a scoundrel and a cheat. By now I’m sure you can sense how bad things must’ve been for me to make this choice. I came home from school one day to find my little brother who was still in diapers standing in the road. I was embarrassed that the other kids saw this and hurried to scoop him up and bring him inside. Once inside it became clear to me that my stepdad was drunk. He started laughing at me in my distress and I took my baby brother to my bedroom and waited for my mom’s return. When she got home from wherever she was I lost my mind and told her exactly what I felt. As much as I felt I needed to protect my brother I knew I needed to protect myself. I told her I was going and asked my dad to come get me. She cried and I felt bad for her, I felt guilty. A small part of me hoped this would wake her up that she would choose me and James my brother over Jim and his addictions. She stayed with Jim, she let me go. It isn’t like we did not see each other or have a relationship, we did but it was never the same.

If you are still here with me I appreciate it. I know this is a long post. I’m starting to see my mother as a irredeemable character in my life story. Where in the past it was so easy for me to feel sympathy for her and cut her some slack. Now all I can feel is pain for my child self. She never really mothered me, she left me alone all the time starting around age 5, she let me go hungry, and she was so consumed with her own issues she could not or would not help me when I needed it most. She was judgmental, harsh, and obsessed with her own life. She gave me some gifts but the burdens way outweigh anything good. She left me too early. I do not blame her for her early death but I blame her for staying with a toxic man for so long whose habits contributed so much to her illness. I am angry with her for not putting James and myself first. I’m angry because of her learned helplessness. I grieve because in order for me to heal and understand myself fully I have to get brutally honest about her. Even now the little girl in me is begging me not to write this. She is making excuses and showing me evidence to refute my claims. But the evidence doesn’t hold up, there is just too much bad there. I still love my mother but I no longer see her as the heroine of my story, now I know who the real heroine is, it is me.


C-PTSD, Uncategorized, United Pentecostal Church

Fighting My Way Through Old Trauma

Hello dear readers! Although I have not been doing much writing here I have been writing. I have been attempting to hone my skills and get better at accessing the emotions that go along with telling this story. The cost of doing so has been high. The last couple of days I have been writing about my salvation experience among other things and I’ve been trying to do it from my heart rather than just telling the facts. I’ve been opening rooms long locked with yellow tape across them saying, “Do not enter, crime scene!” I am at home alone, except for my doggie companion, most days and I prefer to write when I am alone because it requires a level of solitude and quiet I can’t get at a coffee shop. That being said being alone when writing about trauma can be scary. My C-PTSD has been triggered and I have been having flashbacks and a sense of dread follows me around everywhere I go, it is very hard to shake. This is the very reason I put off this process for so long. I feel like I’m giving birth to a monster. Yesterday I had to stop and ask myself is it fair to unleash this awful story to the world, is it my job to contain the pain and suffering? I know that I have to let the story go out from me if for no other reason than it might save someone else from the same pain. My story might help another survivor, I do understand the power of that, but there is a part of me that feels guilty. Whenever I write about this topic there is a sense of relief. I feel lighter as I sit at my desk and bang away at the keys of my laptop, but once I get up and start moving around in the world that relief goes away and anxiety takes it place. It is so weird to really not believe something in your mind and I know that what they taught me is not true, but my lizard brain sure does believe it! C-PTSD is predictable as the sun coming up in the morning.

Yesterday I was writing about the Mark IV films. Really just a sentence or two in passing. To do the writing I had to look up a quote from one of the films and that was all it took. Was it seeing the DVD cover art or something else that brought that damn song into my head? If you are familiar with the films you know what I’m talking about. BTW please don’t mention the title of the film in your comments it really makes it worse for me the more I am exposed to it. All day long I was trying to get that song out of my head, once it is there it is almost impossible to remove. Then I had to fight off the cascading triggers that come after that one gets in. When I went to bed it was still there insistent that I pay attention and I had to sing other songs to myself in the dark so I could fall asleep.

All of this recent writing has made one thing very clear, it is amazing that I am as normal as I am. How can you grow and develop normally when you believe that everything about you is broken and wrong? How can you have a normal childhood and adolescence when you are afraid all the time? I have often beaten myself up in my adult life for not being as accomplished as other people, for not having a formal education, and for not having experiences that other adults see as normal and expected. I have to keep reminding myself to be fair with myself. I will never be like everyone else.

One thing I know that I need to do is some more reading about recovering from cults. I have always been interested in the stories of people who have survived cult experiences and the question has always lingered in my head, “Is the UPC a cult?” My gut says yes, but then I see people online and in person who say no, it is just a destructive church, but really what is the difference. The survivors in my life have experienced the same outcomes as people who escaped from cults. I say if it walks like a duck…One thing I know for sure is that I am done making excuses for people and I’m done with giving anyone cover.