Tag Archives: pain

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

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.)

Sleep? Soon? Okay, now?

In my travels I came across this article.  I have been considering leaving this blog and doing some writing about this part of my journey on a new blog.  Part of me thought maybe it doesn’t fit here.  The other part says:  Why not?  Another part of me told me it’s late, go to bed.  Over the years I’ve actually looked for sites that debunk the QAnon stuff with no luck.   This is the first one I’ve seen (though not debunking) that I can relate to, especially Deb’s story.  Uncanny how similar it is to mine.

Here is the article LINK  

We spoke to people who told us how the QAnon conspiracy theory ruined their marriage, turned their parents into completely different people, and otherwise made their lives miserable.

Deb’s story:  excerpts from the story

[…]

I’ve tried and tried to show her facts, only to have fake news thrown in my face. How do you disprove anything when everything that’s different from what the Q cult says is considered fake news? I asked her how she could believe someone who doesn’t even use his real name. How can you believe someone who has to have everything he says decoded by people you don’t know anything about?

Faith was her answer. Follow the plan, and you’ll see when the mass arrests happen and Trump is the unsung hero that is going to save the world.

[…]

I remember the day my mother said to me:  “Just have faith.”  “You’ll see.”

Some of Joan’s story:

[…]

There are a lot of people dealing with loved ones into Q. They all say the same thing—that you get to a point where you can no longer reason with them. One of the first things I tell people who reach out is you cannot make fun of them. You can’t criticize their beliefs. You can keep trying to show them over and over again how their beliefs are misguided, that there are all these Q predictions where the dates have come and gone and nothing has happened. You can show them these things. But the minute you try to make a judgment call or say, ‘See, look at how stupid it is. You’re an idiot,’ you know you’ll lose these people forever.

It’s been, without a doubt, the most devastating experience of my life.  […]

I remember the day I realized mom was beyond reach.  That she had closed the door and essentially she was lost forever.  The more she was ridiculed, or ignored, or challenged, the more she dug in.  It’s really not much different than the things that were once said to me about my chronic pain.  ‘Wow Zoe, you must being doing a great work for the Lord for Satan to be attacking you like that.’  Or, ‘Wow, look at how they persecute you.  That proves Christ is real.’  The more you mock her the more she believes she’s got it right.

I’ve had some doozy devastating things in my life.  This might be my most devastating one?  My trauma therapist wouldn’t like me using catastrophic language.  I’m not going to move through this without calling it as it is.  Denial never got me anywhere.  I could say instead that it is troubling.  Exhausting.  Mind-numbing.  Beyond words.  Frustrating.  Anxiety producing.  Triggering.  Never-ending.  Painful.  Depressing.   All of them.  And more.  And . . . devastating.

Breathing in for 4 counts, hold breath for 4 counts, slowly exhale for 8 counts or more.  Feel the tension fall out of the shoulders.  Breathe in again.  Feel the shoulders let go further.  Wiggle your toes.  Feel the ground.  Keep breathing.  Relax.  (Good luck.)

Now, go to bed.

Over At Bruce’s

Another evangelical pastor with a message for Bruce.

As is the case, some of us are responding to pastor Nelson.  My comment follows:

Dear pastor Nelson,

How many people “come to Christ” because they have been hurt and are in pain?

Is their conversion illegitimate because they came to Christ for emotional reasons?

I came to Christ for emotional reasons. I was 13 years old and scared shitless by fear of a parent’s possible death and then retraumatized by camp counsellors a few years older than me telling me that even though I had believed in Jesus I had not yet “asked Him into my heart” therefore headed to hell if by chance I fell off the Lake Erie cliff that day and died.

With tears in my eyes on top of a cabin bunkbed I looked out over the lake fog settled in on the campgrounds and quietly talked with “Jesus” as I understood him at the time. It was all emotion. A sincere young teenage girl sincerely emotional and placing her trust in other teenagers and a few young twenty-year olds and giving up her own intellectual mind to people she somehow thought knew better than her.

So pastor Nelson. Was I saved? Am I truly born-again? It was all emotional.

Love/Hate Relationships

… ZOE ~

 

Summer of ’69, thirteen.

I had always believed. Not raised in a Christian fundamentalist home. Raised in a highly dysfunctional home.

A loving Jesus came in handy for a traumatized child.

Bible Camp and the born-againers threatened hell and told of a Jesus who not only loved but also hated. The same scenario I was nurtured in at home.

Not only did Jesus love me but He also judged me. Familiar.

Broken with no sure foundation, I took the bait.

 

My contribution to the comment section for Bruce’s blog post HERE.

Bolding emphasis added for my post here.

Which Is Better?

When your world starts to crumble, then what?  When your beliefs based on your experts doesn’t pan out like they said it would, then what?  When you start to consider, maybe I’ve been wrong.  My experts are wrong.  Now what?  When you are alone alone and your mind tormented with anger.  Doubt seeps in.  Confusion weighs you down.  Your depression starts to worsen.  You start to experience withdrawal that causes even deeper anxiety.  Panic.  Startled.  Frozen.  You slump.  You are trapped and the family you had around you is gone.  Worn out from all the years of trying to help.  Raised to be co-dependent.  Without real understanding, total enablers.  Mixed in the web of love and hate.  Truth and lies.  Gaslighting and contradictions.  Illness.

Mom has deteriorated.  My sibling saw her through two plate glass doors when taking some of her supplies to her.  No contact due to Covid-19.  She lives in a retirement home.  Sibling reports that mom has backed off her conspiracy evangelism but reports that mom seems despondent that none of what was suppose to have happened, happened.  I text back that it is to be expected when one’s world view crashes and burns.

Is it over?  No, not likely.  Mom has had many world views, many belief systems.  When one fails or doesn’t live up to her hope, her faith and expectations, usually another moves in to fill the spot.  Also, often, they all become one together.  All of the belief systems morph into one big miasmic field and before you know it a hypnotic trance comes over all of us as we encounter her smile again and her zest for zealotry.

I use to put posts like this into password-protected mode.  When I first started therapy many years ago it took me two years to say something out loud about my parents.  Two years.  Honour your father and mother.  Loyalty.  To speak negatively of them was sinful.  To bear their burden and the truth was honourable.  Enabling them kept me safe.  A survival technique that actually was helpful.  Then.  Then you start to give voice and you don’t know which is better.  Enabling or silence.

 

Relationships and Retirement Homes In The Era of Covid

My last conversation with mom didn’t go well.  Did she forget that I’ve asked her to not talk to me about her conspiracy theories?  Not likely.  She just thinks that when I ask her how she’s doing under the current circumstances of retirement home living in the era of Covid, that I am the one opening up the conversation re:  all things conspiracy and by golly it’s my fault she tells me this stuff.  The short story:  it’s my fault.  Her words?  “Well you asked?”

It’s not easy.  As my one sibling mentioned recently, mom’s got us both by the short hairs.

Mom tells me she doesn’t know what day it is or for the matter, what date.  I tell her.  It’s the day before Mother’s Day.  It’s Saturday, May 9th.  Tomorrow it’s Sunday, May 10th.  Then she tells me she thought it was later in the month than that.  She mumbles in her complaint tone and tells me the home no longer produces a calendar for them and they no long have events during the day and the food is awful and it’s terrible in there and they (the staff) still wear masks and “it’s stupid and I’m right!”  She follows it up by saying:  “I’ve got to get out of here!”

I remind her she can’t leave.  “They don’t make us a calendar anymore.”  I suggest right now it probably isn’t a priority as there really can’t be any events with virus restrictions.  Have you ever heard someone get pissed without saying a word?  She was pissed because, there is no virus.  How frustrated she is that I still haven’t gotten that through my thick stubborn head.  And with that she went down the whirlwind of conspiracy theories.  Short story.  Her sources are legitimate.  She knows every fact.  She’s right.  I’m wrong.  I’ll see.  There are doctors who agree with her.

In an attempt to dialogue with her I am immediately silenced as she goes into the part where she starts to raise her voice.  This is a life-long issue.  I’m thinking to myself, she’s blown through my boundaries.  What do I do?  I finally say, “Mom I don’t agree.  I’m not going to talk to you about this.  I’ve asked you to leave this out of our conversations.  It upsets me and I can’t go there.”  She starts to argue her points and I say, “Mom, I’m not going to argue with you.”  Too which she responds:  “I’m not arguing.”

She continued into the vortex and I realized I was being emotionally sucked into it.  I’m aware now that I am trembling.  I use my breathing tactic to stay grounded.  I calmly said, “Mom, I’m trembling.  I can’t do this.”  And she raised her voice and said:  “I’m trembling too!”  And now we’ve entered the second phase of our interaction.  It’s a life-long issue.  She is now the victim.

She starts to cry.  “I’m sorry.  I won’t talk.  I won’t say anything,” she pouts.  “Mom, we can talk.  I just can’t handle all this stuff from your sites.”  “They are not sites!”  she yells.  She cries, “I have no one to talk too.”  This is said in the most pitiful voice.  I make a split-second decision to confront her on this comment.  She uses it with all of us.  I speak up and let her know that isn’t correct and that she talks to her other three children about it and they probably aren’t too happy about it either.  She then realizes she’s not going to manipulate me in this regard because it’s true and I have her on it.  By confronting her I’ve pretty much this time kept her from the next phase.  Another life-long issue.  The bullying phase.  Oh she tried, don’t get me wrong but by then she’s bawling her eyes out, heaving as she tries to breathe, moaning and saying, “I’m sos sos sorry, gasp, gasp gasp, I won’t talk.”  I remind her we can talk but now she’s hysterical.  I keep my voice calm which always makes her panic and I ask her to join in with me on a strategy of how we can go forward in our visits without going into this stuff.  She’s ramping up with her victimhood and just like that I’ve become the abuser and I can feel every single cell in my body that’s dealt with this my whole life.

Finally, I say something that will almost immediately end the conversation.  “Mom, there’s no benefit to talking about this stuff.  We disagree on all of it, so why talk about it?  Can’t we talk about something else? (. . . And she starts to talk right over me while I’m saying it and I’m thinking she’s ignoring my attempt here) and that’s when I jump all in and say:  “Mom, you think Trump is great.  I think he’s terrible.”  Well with that I sucked the air out of her lungs.  It was like I had slapped her across the face.  She starts sobbing.

The little girl inside of me is just so tired of being the abuser and the one that hurts her mommy and it’s all my fault.  The 64 year old inside of me is tired of the manipulation.  I tell myself I can climb back out of the triggers with the strategies I’ve learned.  I’ll be alright.  There’s nothing new here.  No new patterns.  At some point down the line I may try to revisit the moment but she will deny it ever happened.  Gas-lighting.  Another life-long issue.

Reminding myself I’m not the little kid anymore and I’m an adult calms all the trembling.  I remind myself all things considering, I’m not doing so bad emotionally.  Breathe.  Don’t hold my breath.  Stay with it, feel it, don’t ignore it, you don’t have to dissociate anymore.  I let her sob.  It’s not funny.  I know she’s alone.  This can’t be easy.  She’s always been alone.  Even in a crowd.  It’s never been easy.  I know it isn’t an excuse for her behaviour but it is true.  It’s never been easy.

“Mom, let’s see if we can talk.”  She’s past talking.  Once again I’m going to end a conversation with my mom being hysterical.  Now I’m the balloon with no air inside of it.  Mom then tells me she’s going.  I remind her she doesn’t have to go.  She repeats it.  I say:  “Okay mom.  Bye.”  I hang up.

It’s such a sad state of affairs.  I’m able to admit now all these years later my sadness about it all.  I use to blame myself.  When you’re always told it’s your fault, you do grow up and believe it at the centre of your being.  Intellectually I knew better.  Emotionally I was a wreck.  My head reasoned.  My heart quivered.  My fault.

Later, while Biker Dude and I sit through another debriefing,  post-phone call with mom, I wonder aloud how a woman can recite verbatim all kinds of conspiracy site rhetoric, facts, names and numbers with very specific details every. single. time. but can’t figure out that the time, and the date of the month are right there on her computer screen.  Her one constant every single day and hour of her waking life.