Tag Archives: fundamentalism

Agnosticism/Atheism, Christian Years, Emotions, Healing, Heretic Years, Leaving Christianity, Pain, Personal Memoirs, Personal Recovery, Secular Wings, Spiritual Abuse, Trauma Talk, Zoe's favourites

Breathe, Live – A Repost

10 Comments
  • Breathe, Live.

So from my post yesterday I’ve decided to consider my words here:

“When I left the church I literally became an introvert, not my natural inclination. I literally went underground. If anyone thinks that spiritual abuse ends when you finally get up and walk out you are mistaken. It can get even uglier (depending on circumstances) after you walk away, even when you still call yourself a Christian. It can be brutal. I think this also can depend on one’s personality. I’m sad in so many ways for the days and weeks and years that I wasted grieving a world that never gave me a second thought after I left, while I sat on the computer looking desperately for help in Christian forums for the spiritually abused and hurting Christians which often can lead to further abuse. Ironic. I poured through books. Christian books, Christian authors who wrote about abuse, about legalism, about literalism, about denominations, about who is right and who is wrong, who is righteous and who is carnal.”

I’d like to climb back into this space to expand on this a bit. Yesterday’s post was a rant.  I’ve blogged about all that stuff years ago.  As the years go by though I often find myself shocked by the commitment of time and money that went into trying to sort it all out both intellectually and emotionally.  I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to put words into the physical despair.  I always want to go there.  Always.  I likely will, probably have and can’t remember it and am too tired to bother looking through my archives for it.  Some of it will come out in my stories I will try to tell.

This post I think will be about the highlighted part above.

I noticed I typed the word “sad” in my above quote.  I’ve had a lot of sad in my life.  I remember when I wrote that word I wondered if I should change it to “regret.”  I chose sad.  After pondering it maybe the correct phrasing would be, “sad regret.”  Though I think most of us who regret are sad about it.  I want to paint a picture of who I am during those years in my 30’s & 40’s as a result of spiritual abuse.  I was devastated and wasted.  I was a stay at home mom with chronic illness and emotional stuff that was being poked day after day night after night year after year. In hindsight, bleak.  Our children were in school, Biker Dude at work, and I was alone for hours wandering in a house, a library full of books, Christian books, authors from various denominations and theological positions, and a dinosaur computer (though not at the time) that I turned to after reading the book The Subtle Power of Spiritual Abuse.  I found the forum that Jeff (co-author of the book) started many years ago.  This isn’t easy to admit.  I don’t like how I feel remembering it.  Tears well up in my eyes.  There were many years that I feel were wasted searching.  I was very much alone.

I developed social anxiety and a panic disorder.  I was suffering with *PTSD-like symptoms.  There’s more to all of this but will leave it at that for now.  One of my former friends use to say that God never gives us more than we can bear.  I use to think to myself, ‘Yes He does!’  I’d look around at my friends and think they’ve got their own burdens to bear that God allows.  I’m not adding to God’s load by sharing mine.

So what do I mean by “very much alone” . . . good question?  I think I mean I had too much time on my hands.  I wasn’t working out of the home (had my reasons) and what happened in the church paralyzed me with fear. There I was, stuck.  How did I spend my time alone?  I was a profuse reader and writer.  I took copious notes and studied.  It’s like I was getting ready to teach a university class or something.  It’s like I was trying to heal myself and heal the world all at the same time.  I was desperately looking for the one Christian truth that was true.  I didn’t know it was elusive.  I didn’t know squat.  Though I thought all these authors of books from then and now knew. Then I realized they all knew differently.  Then I tried to make the differences insignificant.  All the while there I am with my various Bibles at hand along with Strong’s and Unger’s and note books and note paper galore.  Ink, ink and more ink. Copious piles of ink and paper in this drawer, in that drawer, in the closet, in the library, in the desk, in the china cabinet, in the kitchen buffet drawers, in my Bibles, in my books, in my purse. The bookmarked websites, here, there, everywhere.  The underlining in my Bibles.  The notes in the margins.   The prayers. Oh the prayers.  Without ceasing. The prayers.  Prostrate on the floor, tears shampooing the carpet.  On my knees, sore as the knee caps bore the weight of this thin but often frail frame.

If Jesus can die by crucifixion I can damn well kneel to pray.  

Sitting on the bed gazing as the seasons passed by and sometimes not seeing anything but winter.  Page after page in my journal of poetry, things written meant for books, prayers wondering if this season, winter, would ever end.  The nights, in the dark, laying in bed, sitting on the couch, in the lazy-boy, searching the sky, the moon, the stars . . . grasping for Him. His truth.  The many spiritual baptisms in the tub and the shower.  Every moment, every cell, all Jesus all the time.  I never felt He left me.  I knew I had to keep praying, keep searching . . . the truth would come.  I’d find the right denomination, the correct exegesis, the true Biblical interpretation.  I’d find the people who were waiting for me, for our family.  God would lead.

In a very odd way the people who died at Jonestown just came to mind.  

I’m not churchless during this time.  Though we left the one church after years and walked away from our lay youth ministry, we remained.  I remained in church for many more years. At that time, I’m still surrounded by people, by activity, by shared beliefs and the hope that this church will work. Thing is, it was more of the same.  When I realized it, I walked.  But I still searched.  I, alone in the house spent hours everyday pouring through resources and praying.  The topic of spiritual abuse came out into the open. Books were written.  I read them all.

Picture me then.

I’m alone, curled up in the black computer desk chair in the computer room.  I read on the screen.  I glance at my Bible, I look outside, what season is it?  The clock ticks away the seconds, minutes, hours.  The kids will be home soon.  Didn’t they just leave for school?  You need to stop, to pull yourself away from this search, this place of pain.  You are alone here.  No one knows you do this.  God knows.  Yes.  Is there more to life than this?  Yes.  Did I miss it?  Yes.  There’s so much I missed by sitting there every day, my pacing the floor, praying, reading, studying, crying dehydrated tears, aching, sleepless, tormented, afraid, isolated and torn. That’s what I regret with sadness.  I stopped living.  I beat myself up for not being able to figure it out.  Everything became hyper-spiritualized. Everything was a spiritual war.  When I say I beat myself up I mean mentally and physically.   I felt like shit.  Listen, if you feel like that you are not living.  I use to be a fun loving person. 

Suddenly I found myself in an abyss I couldn’t climb out of but I didn’t know it at the time.  Part of me wonders if I’m still here in this blogging world for those who don’t know they are in an abyss.  Don’t hurt yourself. Don’t do it.  You are not shit.  You are not trash.  You are not stupid.  You aren’t.  Breathe.  Take a walk.  Pick up your camera.  Change the dialogue in your head.  I know it’s a huge task.  Take 10 seconds and change the dialogue.  It’s a start.  Find something that is creative.  I don’t care if your crocheting is crooked, nor should you.  Garden.  Paint.  Start a blog. Breathe.  Live.

  • *I was eventually diagnosed with PTSD and later with C-PTSD which is complex trauma. Not just one event, but several, one on top of another. Many layers, having their primary roots in the first 20 years of my life. I’ve resurrected this post since it’s resurrection time in the Christian community and though my profile here is low, I am reminded of those who are still hurting and it’s my way of saying that I’ve been there and I understand from my own personal experience.

I have added a new category on the blog, mostly for quick reference for me, titled: Zoe’s favourites.

This blog was first posted a few years back HERE.

Blogging, Eve Garden God, Secular Wings

Poor Adam

2 Comments
ZOE

In the beginning . . .

Poor Adam, led astray by Eve. If she had not shared the apple with him he would have never seen her naked. 🙄

I enjoy looking back at Bruce Gerencser’s older posts and seeing the comments that I sometimes left.  I had a blog that I started titled Eve Garden God and wouldn’t you know it, I lost the password.  It was on the Blogger site, way back in the day.   I use to think it was the treatment of women in the evangelical church that first scratched the doubt in my soul, so to speak.  I use to get so tired of the church blaming women and then when called on it, they’d say, well yes, Adam is fully responsible but still . . . Eve.  Yeah, the snake serpent thingy in the garden didn’t deceive Adam, just Eve.  Personally, I don’t think there was a serpent in the garden.  I just think it was Adam’s penis that was the snake.  Alas, that’s another translation, I think.

Where was I?  Oh yes.  By the time I was just about to leave Christianity, I remember saying to some people who still considered me a Christian:  The only thing I take literally in the Bible is, “In the beginning.”  That’s it.  After that, forget it.  Who knows?  I sure don’t.  All I know is, Christianity and the whole story had a beginning.   As do all stories.

 

Aging, Agnosticism/Atheism, American Billboards, Blogging, Christian Years, Christianity, conspiracy, Emotions, Healing, Heretic Years, Humanist, Islam, Leaving Christianity, Life, Pain, Personal Memoirs, Personal Recovery, Politics, QAnon and others, Salvation Seasons, Secular Wings, Spiritual Abuse, Trauma Talk, Zoe's favourites

In case anyone else wants to know where I’m coming from, where I’ve been and where I’m headed.

26 Comments

Violet: “If I were asked which country in the world hates the US the most, I would have to say it’s Canada.”

Zoe:  I would say if I was asked, the U.S. does a fine job of hating itself and one another.  Then maybe China and North Korea might hate you more than Canadians.  Of course, I don’t know which Canadians or Canadian bloggers you are referring too.

Violet:  “I don’t know why, but it seems it’s a Canadian religion to bash Americans every chance they get. You know what’s odd? I almost never hear of Americans having vitriol for our neighbors North of the boarder.”

Zoe:  Almost never but sometimes?

Violet:  “I notice that you never talk about your own country on this blog, but persistently harp on every flaw Americans have. I’ve read many Canadian blogs but have had to bow out of all of them for this same reason.”

Zoe:  I gave up talking about my own country when my adult children assumed positions in the community and province that would expose them if people knew who their mom was and what she was writing online.  That’s also when I chose the option for search engines to ignore my blog.  I also moved here to this new url (14 years ago according to my WordPress Anniversary notice last week) when I made those decisions.  Up and until then I was followed by bloggers all over the world in the Christian community.  During that time I spoke up politically about Canada frequently as it pertained to religion, not just Christianity but often involving Islam.  I wrote frequently about honour killings and wrote a long article encouraging a former Premier to outlaw Sharia law.  The next day he did.  Did he see my article?  I don’t know.   The point being I was a prolific writer and at that time unafraid in regards to my government.  I have been a political person my entire life, having written to my Canadian government during my college years as well as being outspoken in the community, medical and educational system.  I’ve also had politicians in my family.  It’s in me.  As well I have been an advocate for the abused outside the church, for those with special needs, for those who are dying and in the mental health field.  At one point, I became very concerned about exposure and people figuring out who Zoe was/is.  I also developed a fear because I was outspoken regarding Islam and the honour killings happening here.  I was brave then.  I’m not now.  And though I wrote about this in a previous blog and during my busier blogging days, I was scared to death of a former friend’s “lover” who at one time was involved with (removed as this info. can still trigger me).  Shortly after being verbally and abusively in written form, attacked by her, my husband had to pick me up off the floor from being shattered in a million pieces as she told me I was an abomination to the Lord and responsible for raising and immoral and corrupt generation of children.  Narcissists love to hit you where your strengths are.  Meanwhile she’s carrying on an affair with a converted preacher (removed this info. as it is still triggering) guy.  But I’m the abomination.  And just sharing that there is too much information to put in a blog.

In my 30’s I fought for my life with severe illness, spending almost 2 years in bed, only later to be hospitalized and fighting for my life sick with intestinal disease as well as battling a body and mind that were deteriorating.  If I’m not mistaken, you suffer as well.  In my 40’s I began to deconstruct my religion and belief system understanding that I was falling apart emotionally and mentally due to Christian abuse and felt the extreme weight of guilt and shame for having taken part in it, raising my children in it, losing friends over it and being active in youth ministry.   As well, I began to develop deep understanding of the roots of original trauma from my youth.  I’ve never been the same since.  This blog is read by maybe 6 people though all kinds of people *follow* it and commenting here is at a minimum.  You have been privy I believe to some of my password protected posts and know some of the shit I’ve been through.  You also know I’m not a human being who ignores the humanity of other people.

Violet:  “We’re PEOPLE, Zoe. Just people, trying to get through our day despite being ruled by an imperfect government. Just like everyone else on earth.”

Zoe:  On the night I posted David Frum’s Twitter message, I had been texting my close friend who is American and lives in Michigan.  She told me she was terribly depressed about the U.S. President, the postal service debacle, and told me “Don’t come here, it’s awful!”  She forgot that we can’t go there as our border is not open.  My point being, she was terribly upset and in the years I’ve known her I have not heard her admit to this kind of depression.  I tried to lift her spirits and planned to talk to her the next day.  And so I did for several hours.  She kept asking why these people in the U.S. believed Trump.  How can they not see he’s lying, his narcissism, his cruelty.  We talked about David Frum’s Twitter message.  I found it interesting, so I posted it.  She hesitated to talk about the QAnon stuff because she knows it triggers me and I told her we both could talk about it since we both were upset about it.  I don’t go on and on in writing anymore Violet.  I’m tired.  I’m no longer going to invest in the behind the scenes explanations.  No one reads here because I write great instructive exposes on anything.  This is like a personal diary that I sometimes write poorly in and for the most part anyone that reads here and sometimes comments here has done so with grace.  I suspect many have moved on.   And that’s not a problem with me.  Every day I think about moving on too.  Often I can’t even form sentences anymore.  I might start something and not bother with commentary on it.  I’m just putting it here for something to do.

Anything I write regarding the U.S. is because I’m fucking shitless scared of the world we are living in.  Yes Violet, I’m a people too.  And yes, the U.S. is a big part of my life from the time my ancestors landed on your eastern shores.  The branch I was in stayed loyal to the throne and headed north.   Others stayed south.  In doing so, some of my ancestors died before they got here.  They were considered traitors.  Some of my ancestors came up the St. Lawrence and participated in establishing a Christian religion and nation by eliminating Indigenous peoples all in the name of Christ.

The U.S. Southern Baptists highly influenced the Independent Fundamentalist Baptist Church here in Canada and to tell you the truth, the U.S. was the bees knees and we were beneath them when it came to the one true religion.  Our speakers on creationism, evolution, abortion and demonic activity travelled from the U.S. to tell us all about it.  The gospel groups came from the U.S. to sing their praises.  Our printed materials for Sunday School came from the U.S.  to indoctrinate our children.  Our youth programming came from the U.S.  Seminars and mission events were held in the U.S.  We were inundated with the U.S. conservative evangelical movement and when the church growth movement started, we did it too.  During my short stint in Bible College some of our full-time profs were Americans.

We have friends and family in the U.S.  By the way, the U.S. family are very conservative and think we Canadians aren’t the sharpest tools in the tool chest.  Talk about vitriol.

When I came online in 2001 , to forums looking for help with spiritual abuse I knew not one Canadian.  When I started blogging a few years later, I still did not know one Canadian blogger.  When it came to Christian blogs they were American.  I literally lived in the American Christian world day and night online.  The books I read were written my American authors.  The forums were run by Americans.  It formed my world view both religiously and politically.  And though when I deconstructed what I use to believe I slowly left that world with as much grace as I could knowing that once again I was disappointing people I had networked with for years.

When I started writing as an agnostic and then an agnostic atheist I found only one online atheist woman and she was American.  She stopped blogging years ago.   Later I found John Loftus’s blog and though it was way out of my league that’s where I started to learn of others who had left Christianity and were blogging about it.  Then over the years, ex-Christian blogs blew up all over the place and guess what?  All American.  I was still fully engaged in the U.S. as we all wrote about, commented on and discussed leaving the faith.  I think a few other Canadians were in the mix but I no longer know as I myself don’t read hardly any blogs.  If you look at my list of blog sites, almost all of them are dormant as many people aren’t blogging anymore.  I still leave some of their blogs listed just in case by chance someone pops in here looking for information and maybe then they can find stuff that will help them with their doubt and changing beliefs.  Maybe they won’t feel so alone.

So I’ve just sat around in here, though less and less as the years pass by, toying a bit  I suppose with what might have been or what should have been.   Then Covid-19 startled not only me, but you and an entire universe with traumatic changes.  I decided to try and develop a cohesive way of learning about QAnon and trying to understand mom so that every single time I am in touch with her I am not literally slain and knocked off my feet for days, weeks &/or months at a time.  And I’m sorry but I can’t talk about QAnon without talking about the U.S. President, his government and the people who believe it.  And yes, we have QAnon here in Canada but every bit of mom’s stuff comes from U.S. websites.  So I am pissed beyond measure.  I’ve been traumatized since Trump came down the escalator.  I’m not the only one.  And yes I know people are dying and starving and killing one another and despairing.  I bloody well know that Violet.  And though you aren’t reading this, I’m content to know you’ve moved on because this blog doesn’t meet your expectations anymore.  Hell, it doesn’t meet mine, apart from the fact that I can come in here because it is my blog and prattle on about what ever it is that is making me sick to my stomach at the moment.

Violet:  “I initially came to this blog because we both had similar experiences of being beaten down by religion. Religion was something I was born into and had no control over when I was a child. Now I’m leaving this blog because because I’m being beaten down for being American…something I was also born into and have no control over. You can say I’m taking things too personally, but when I read post after post of hatred toward the US, I feel unwelcome here.”

Zoe:  You can take it personally.  If there’s anything I’ve learned now by age 64 is that a woman has every right to take whatever it is that she finds offensive and hateful and leave.  I don’t hate the U.S. Violet.  That is over the top.  It’s because I care that I’m angry, scared and traumatized by what’s going on.   I am taking what is going on in the U.S. personally.  You want to blame me for hating the U.S. go ahead.  I only hate Trump and the goons who once ran against him and all said on tape that he was terrible in every way shape or form.  Now they have bowed down to him and kissed his ass.  Yes, I take that personally because as the U.S. goes often the world goes and it damn well affects/effects Canadians too.  As well, right from the start, what is going on in the U.S. government reminds me hook, line and sinker of my days in church.  Is this all stuff for a therapist?  Yup.

Violet:  “I wish you only the best on your journey. My journey leads me elsewhere now.”

Zoe:  Okay.  You may feel unwelcome here.  I would never dispute what you feel.  For the sake of people who may read here and wonder, people who have the password to my password protected posts are not unwelcome and Violet, that includes you.  I don’t give my password out to just anybody.  There are people who have asked and I’ve said, no.  We are people and there’s so much more to both of us as human beings than what is shared on this one blog.

Addendum:  For those reading this, I apologize for the discomfort.  I’m feeling it too.  I do not expect anyone to feel they have to respond &/or comment.  We’re all entitled to come and go and to give voice.

“Say what you want to say and let the words fall out, honestly . . . ” (from the Brave song.)

Agnosticism/Atheism, Christianity, Emotions, Healing, Humanist, Secular Wings, Spiritual Abuse, Trauma Talk

Trauma Lens

4 Comments
When you see that my blog is in private mode, I’m not in there blogging.  I’m taking a break because I’m over-loaded.  I close it for my own good.  I thought I’d open it again, as I found myself really delving in to my reality over at Jim’s blog in this post Pure Atheism.
The following is a comment I left that is my reality.  Over the years, as a result of a ton of reading, a ton of therapy, and putting so much together I understand that all of my writing (much of it all shredded except this blog) has been through the lens of trauma.  Generational – trauma.  Church/Christianity – trauma.  School – trauma.  Medicine – trauma.  Illness – trauma.  Death – trauma.  Politics – trauma.  Relationships – trauma.  Society – trauma.  Cultural – trauma.  Gas-lighting – trauma.  Hormones – trauma.  (Wait?  Hormones?)  :D
Okay,  okay Zoe!  We get it.  Point made.  My comment at Jim’s follows.  There’s a whole lot going on over there in the thread.  Jim was asking me what I think in regards to the questions he asked and I found myself actually explaining the difficulty I have sorting through stuff to actually get to the point where I can participate at the required level.  Meaning, can I just answer the question?  I realized, actually no and found myself confessing why?
Just keep in mind that my comment really didn’t have anything to do with the topic until after my confession and I dealt with my anxiety and then just concluded with what I think.  OMG, this is exhausting.  :mrgreen:

I’m curious as well Jim.

One of my issues, struggles, problems is my C-PTSD. (Where’s Victoria when I need her.) 🙂 Not an excuse. It is the default lens I exist in. It’s why I often don’t comment and when I do it’s not until days or weeks into thinking through and around and over and under a trauma world-view. Sometimes I enter into conversation prematurely. Meaning, I haven’t worked through the trauma enough to not be triggered by the topic(s).

I usually lack the confidence (I once had) to answer those types of questions. Rest assured though, I consider the content though I may not have a conclusion. Again, not an excuse. I’m just often troubled as I consider it through a trauma lens. For example, even the term “other connective practices” can trigger me. Naturally, my own experience with a family with mental illnesses, abuse, layers of trauma and belief-system trauma/abuse colours my feeling neurons and my cognitive neurons.

It’s not the authors or the commenters problem.

See I see the phrase “something besides atheism” and though you many not mean it, I read it as a derogatory statement. You’re looking for another conversation. I’m stuck at, “what’s wrong with atheism?”

My apologies for the sidetrack.

I will try to connect by saying for me, I think it likely that connective practices are natural. I don’t attach the word spiritual to them, though I understand the place holder that word is for the unexplained.

As for is there space for these practices? Yes. Tons of them are taking up space and always have. That is true. Does it make them true? I don’t know. I often think there are natural explanations. I cannot though come up with a natural explanation for humans tele-transporting to Neptune say for a weekend off, as my mother believes.

My mother who is a conspiracy theorist and the aliens are already here says they are true. She also knows that I consider myself an atheist and retorts that I am the most spiritual person she knows.

Christian Years, Christianity, Eve Garden God, Spiritual Abuse, Trauma Talk

My Fault

6 Comments

This is dialogue I took down yesterday morning on a recent FoxNews segment on Justice with Judge Jeanine and Franklin Graham – Samaritan’s Purse.

JJ: “Why would God allow this kind of thing to happen?”

FG: “Well I don’t think God planned for this too happen. It’s because of the sin that’s in the world judge. Man has turned his back on God and sinned and we need to ask for God’s forgiveness and that’s what Easter is all about. It’s about God so loving the world that he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life. Jesus Christ came to save sinners. He didn’t come to condemn the world but to save the world. And if we put our faith and trust in him he’ll forgive our sins and heal our hearts and he’ll change the course of our lives. And this pandemic, this is the result of a fallen world. A world that has turned its back on God and so I would encourage people to pray and just let’s ask, let’s ask God for help.”

Perhaps I should have posted this yesterday for Palm Sunday.  In prep of course for Easter.

You are vile.  You were born in sin.  God being omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent set it up this way.  We didn’t get a say in it.  No free will here.

Yet, it’s not God’s fault.  Nope.  It’s your fault.  Mine too.  God set it up but it’s your fault, mine too.

You lousy, despicable, horrible worm-infested Zoe are responsible for this pandemic.

And the great witness of diverse Christians shout into the universe, “No, no Zoe.  You’ve got it all wrong.”  Then each of them presents “their” God.

Spiritual Abuse, Trauma Talk

Religious Trauma

4 Comments

When I’m overwhelmed or not doing very well, I turn to reading Amish romance novels.

Immediately, my heart started to pound out of my chest.  The Amish are romantic?

Then almost after that I’m thinking, why does everyone think the Amish live in a world of peace?

It reminds me of another conversation I was part of.  The woman was going on and on about how great the Duggar’s are and how she longs for a life of connection and purpose and family just like the Duggars have.  My heart pounded then too.

As she talked I was having a conversation with myself.

Don’t say anything.

Let her talk.

But, in this case, I spoke up as she eventually looked for me to participate in the 3-way conversation.  I mentioned that we don’t know what goes on behind the scenes.  I mentioned that how do we know all those girls are making free-will choices?  How do we know they are not indoctrinated into a faith that will not allow them to pursue a life outside of marriage and children?  How do we know what goes on in their homes?  A conversation that made one of the people very defensive.  I wasn’t argumentative.  Just putting out some thoughts to maybe plant a seed.  Not long after that, what’s his name Duggar was discovered to be molesting one or two of his sisters.  I can’t remember the details.

Those of us who have trauma in our lives know that there is usually more going on behind the scenes of what looks like very good peaceful faithful lives.  It’s not uncommon for me to avoid anything that hints of romantic love in the spiritual realm.  The bride of Christ comes to mind.  I mean, seriously.  Who thought that terminology was appropriate?  Nuns marrying Christ?  Amish romance novels?

I suspect that those of us with religious trauma in our history bristle at any hint of finding ourselves relaxed reading Amish romance novels.

So once again, I listened and thought I could just not say anything . . . until I said something.  So I talked about how for someone like me with religious trauma in my history, I could never sit down and read an Amish romance novel because of what we know goes on in the unseen places.

Same reason I could never watch the Duggar show.  You know for certain it is only a matter of time in a closed-system of belief and existence, that the shit is going to hit the fan.  Just saying.

Something is starting to shift with me.  For the first time in my life I’m owning the word “trauma.”  And for the first time I’m starting to use the term “religious trauma” instead of the term “spiritual abuse.”  The term “spiritual abuse” to me now seems like saying “religious trauma-lite.”  Burp.  Excuse me.  Spiritual abuse is religious trauma.  I’m owning it.

Christian Years, Emotions, Healing, Leaving Christianity, Pain, Spiritual Abuse, Trauma Talk

Every So Often

8 Comments

I Am Reminded . . . it’s like seeing myself all over again.  Another place in time.  A comment I left this morning to someone called The Bride on Bruce’s blog.

 

Very interesting The Bride.

I spent many years (with regret now as I look back) in IFB churches here in Ontario Canada. Everything you write here I could say was true of my experience, including “staying” only for the doctrine.

When I look back I realize that staying as long as I did rotted me from the inside out. Every day wallowing in the constant barrage of wretchedness thrown at us. Being a very sensitive person, with childhood and adult trauma, I was very vulnerable to these messages (always backed up by scripture) about how wretched (worm), deceitful (Jeremiah) and unworthy (woman/Eve) I was/am.

As a woman who understands depression and self-deprecating beliefs I know now that staying as long as I did made me sicker. I knew it then as well, but this part of me that was damaged kept thinking “the church” would get it right one day &/or that I could make a difference. It was all wishful and hopeful thinking.

If your church shows nothing of warmth, compassion &/or healing . . . then I’d ask myself (as I once did) if I was willing to die for that supposed “doctrinally-sound” church? Any church that ad nauseum tells you you are “a piece of garbage” is an abusive church.

I tend to think you know this already.

I was not willing to die. I let go. Then I began to heal.

Be safe The Bride. If being there makes you worse, it’s no place to be. Show compassion to yourself.