Holiday Celebration

As I have been working the last two weeks, I have run across different ideas from different churches that affect children who are my clients. These differences have to do with how holidays are celebrated. Needless to say, I have definitely had a few flashbacks to how holidays were celebrated when I was growing up in a United Pentecostal Church pastor’s home.

Christmas

While I have run across several different churches in my area that do not believe in celebrating Christmas at all, that was not the case while I was growing up. We celebrated the Christmas holiday as the birth of Christ, even though my father was aware that was not actually the birth of Christ. He did however preach against having a Christmas tree, because he taught that the history of the Christmas tree was rooted in paganism. I remember once when my ex-husband, who also was against Christmas trees, gave a very vivid explanation of how these pagans apparently burned their babies in worship to their gods and it somehow had something to do with the decorated tree.

I always found Christmas trees to be gorgeous. Of course, I love pretty things and I always have, so it wasn’t just Christmas trees but also jewelry and make up, fingernail polish and many other beautiful things from which I would learn to avert my eyes because they were “evil,” and could not be admired.

My mother, like me, always loved decorating and had a fancy for pretty things. She made wreaths and flower arrangements as well as garlands with which she decorated our home for Christmas. Our Christmas decorations usually included every element that one would find on a Christmas tree: greenery, lights, ornaments, and often words of scripture such as a Isaiah 9:10.

I loved Christmas and could not wait to help her decorate the whole house. She would usually give us a string of lights and some tinsel to put in our bedrooms once everything else was decorated. This is a tradition that I carry on with my sons to this day. Putting out the nativity was always a very special part of the decorations, because it was the “reason for the season.”

We never believed in Santa Claus, but neither was he made into an evil being. We grew up with adults joking about Santa, so we took it as a joke as well. There was often wrapping paper with Santa Claus on it and we would look at children getting their picture taken with Santa in the mall. I don’t remember ever even wanting to get my picture taken with Santa. My earliest recollection is remembering that I knew it was just some man dressed up in a suit, pretending.

Still, the magic of Christmas was part of my childhood. Not knowing what was in the presents, and the excitement of getting to open them on Christmas Eve after supper, are special childhood memories.

Some of my most embarrassing moments also had to do with Christmas. In a church where the pastor is lifted up to a position of respect just under that of God himself, Christmas was a time when the church people pooled their money together to honor my father as their pastor.  I remember the embarrassment I felt in having to go to the front of the church and open presents with my family when none of the other kids had presents. I always felt very uncomfortable, because some of the presents weren’t anything that I would want, but even as a child I knew that these people meant well and I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. It was so hard to try to make sure that my face did not reveal any true feelings and to make sure that I spoke up loud enough for them to hear my thanks. I always did have the softest voice!

I remember when they started giving family gifts instead of individual gifts to unwrap. This was a lot more comfortable for me, but it also felt a bit odd. The family gift might be a new sofa, or one year it was two lazy boy recliners, covered in dollar bills.  I remember wondering if my mother would not have preferred to go pick out her own sofa. Mostly I was just embarrassed to be singled out in this manner and didn’t feel comfortable with the way things played out. As an adult, looking back, I now wonder if the instinct of a child is not wiser than the adulation of the adults at that point.

Once I grew up and married a preacher in the same cult, Christmas became a bone of contention. He had been raised in a country that was predominately Catholic, as a missionary’s son. His parents were under the impression that Catholics worshiped the nativity figures and that they were not simply representations.  As a result, he would not allow me to have a nativity scene as a decoration at Christmas time, no matter where we were living. To me it felt like taking Christ out of Christmas to eliminate this important reminder from my decorations.

In addition, I was not allowed to mix lights with greenery. I could have greenery and I could have lights, but not together. I could even have ornaments, but not in the greenery. The rules got so complicated that it ruined the joy of decorating for Christmas. My feelings about the holiday begin to be very mixed every year, and honestly I grew bitter at not being able to celebrate freely from the heart.

We were not allowed to use wrapping paper that had Santa on it, and he taught our children that Santa was evil. There were so many rules about every little thing in regards to Christmas, that the focus became more on the rules and less on celebrating the birth of Christ.  I lost the joy of celebration. It became a very materialistic time as he worked hard to make sure we spent the exact same dollar amount on people with the same relationship status.

After we divorced, and once I left the cult environment, I was so excited to buy my first Christmas tree! The kids loved it, and we decorated it together while listening to Christmas carols.  I bought the happiest Santa Claus paper I could find in which to wrap my presents, and since my littlest one was the only son who didn’t already know that Santa didn’t exist, he got to be the one to believe in Santa…briefly ( big brothers had to blab of course).

Approximately seven years later, this Christmas we had two Christmas trees! The house we are renting happens to have two living rooms, and we found a large Christmas tree on sale at a liquidation outlet. In the living room I had our beautiful big tree decorated all in blue and silver, and in the other living room, the smaller tree was decorated like the kids wanted it to be. It had Santa and penguins, reindeer and all sorts of other fun things on it.  Our stockings were hung on the mantle, and we joked about Santa coming down the chimney to fill them. The nativity scene was on the mantle, along with Christmas cards from friends and family. The joy was back in Christmas! We celebrated freely any way we wished!

New Year’s Eve

When I was a kid, New Year’s was always a spiritual celebration. It usually included a “watch night service,” which meant that we had a very long service, lasting from about 7:30 on New Year’s Eve to at least midnight. It was a very serious service, and didn’t feel much like a celebration, at least not to a kid.

The service would start out pretty normal, but often the preaching would be very “convicting.” something to do with the rapture, or how time was running out if we wanted to be saved. Sometime before or after the preaching there would be a time of “soul-searching” to repent and get our hearts right so that we could take communion without “taking it unworthily.”  Looking back, I’m not very sure exactly what curse would befall us if we weren’t right with God when we took the bread and grape juice, but whatever it was, it was a fearful moment.

I remember a couple of times when I had trouble squeezing out any tears, and I felt so guilty, because it seemed like it was almost expected that everybody would cry and weep and wail in order to get their hearts right.

Sometime, usually towards the end of the service, there would be a “foot washing service.” This would have been announced previously, along with the admonition that everybody should wash their feet before coming. The women and girls would be separated into one room, while the men and boys went into another room. The purpose of this ceremony was to humble ourselves before one another, like Jesus did when he washed his disciples feet. Since leaving the cult I have found it very odd to realize that most other churches have never even heard of such a ceremony.

The footwashing ceremony was kind of uncomfortable for me as well, because I’ve always had very large personal boundaries and I am not much of a touchy person. However, the worst moment was always when the lady who had ended up across from me got down to wash my feet.

First of all, for whatever reason, the ceremony usually involved a lot of weeping and crying and praying for one another while you slowly run your hands over this person’s feet top and bottom while the person’s feet are immersed in warm water. Then, you would take a towel that had just dried everybody else’s feet and you would dab this person’s feet, continuing to cry and pray for them. After that, you would give them the towel and put your own feet in the bucket of water, letting them repeat this ceremony to you.

The problem was that my feet are extremely ticklish. No matter how I would try to steel myself to be serious and weep and cry, the moment that person’s hand ran over the bottom of my foot, instinctive action would take place.

My feet would jerk and kick, surprising the foot washer, and causing everyone around to instantly chuckle. It was very embarrassing to be the person who made everybody lose their spiritual vibe and turn such a serious occasion into giggles. After that, it was always a little hard to weep and cry over my feet. I can’t say I miss that ceremony at all.

After leaving the cult, I’ve never quite know what to do with myself on New Year’s Eve. Those “watch night services” usually were the introduction to January’s church wide fasts.  The entire month of January all of the congregants were encouraged to be involved in different types of fasting. Some of them would fast the entire month and have nothing but water, while others would do a “Daniel fast.” Still others would fast one day a week during the month.  The purpose of this was to get everyone’s heart prepared for starting the year out with a “revival.”

For the last few years we haven’t really celebrated on New Year’s Eve at all. We will stay up late watching movies and reading books, and then go to bed once midnight has arrived. This year I wanted to figure out the joy of celebration for New Years as well.  We shall see how that goes, as I really have no idea how to celebrate it. It’s a far cry to go from a sad, serious, and fear filled “watch night service” to a fun celebration. Only time will tell how we manage to put the past behind us and create new traditions that are fun and celebratory.

Cultic Pseudo Personality

When you’re born into a high-control-high-demand group that enforces separation from “worldlies” you unfortunately have a pseudo personality from a very young age. You’re subjected to many expectations and demands used to create submission and conformity. You live in two different worlds – the real, outside world, and the insular cultic world (especially if you attended public school like I did).

These separate worlds carry different value and belief systems. How can you know which system is valid? You’re left confused and conflicted. So you decide that neither world is safe and become even more isolated within yourself. Resulting depression and anxiety starts at a young age. The intense pressure to think and act in two different ways causes a cult identity (“pseudo personality”) to form.

This “pseudo personality” represses your original self and is a dissociative defense which allows the mind to cope with – and adapt to – the contradictory and intense demands of the home and group environments. Critical thinking, feelings, opinions, and questions are squashed. They are evil, worldly, selfish and disloyal. So you enter into a constant state of feeling “different” and “not normal.”

Toxic shame takes root. Dependency and insecurity is created within your young personality. “The world” is your enemy. The true self has to be stifled in order to receive acceptance from your family and community. Your self-perception is greatly distorted. Guilt and shame are fully established before puberty. Fear is the mode of operating. And there is no escape without the loss of all friends, acquaintances, and immediate and extended family. There is no escape. Until there is….

“And the day came, when the risk to remain closed in a bud became more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” ~Anonymous

.…when I eventually left in my thirties I self-destructed. They make sure that you do. Here is what I scribbled one night while suicidal and trying to convince myself to keep on living. I had lost everyone and everything I’d known – all in the name of God (who actually happens to be LOVE!!!!).

RAW

Who is she?
Staring blank
Fully numb
Broken down

Is she the sum of her pain?
No escape
No reprieve
It’s a cage

Does anyone see her?
Heart cries
Deep desire
To be known

Do they know?
Pain consumes
She’s pretending
Dissociation does

Does someone care to know her deeply?
Shredded soul
Seismic pain
It takes just one

Do they put her in a box?
Inmost shame
Never enough
Peace sabotaged

Is there light?
Darkest pit
Despair’s dungeon
Torment’s tentacles

Who is she?
Heart decides
No more lies
Knit in womb

Can she find her way back?
Depression’s grip
Shame’s deceit
Grief’s fog

Why struggle on?
Pain paralyzed
Can’t breathe
Death’s entice

Is there hope?
Cathartic talks
Unconditional love
God’s promises

Why?
Not here for me
Speck of time
Refining fire

God’s strength‎!

People go to prison for breaking and entering a house. But these groups can break into your soul, spirit, mind, heart, body, emotions and cause absolute devastation and destruction and there are no consequences. Nobody holds them accountable. (Well, I guess God does in the end.) It takes a long time to process the anger and to forgive from the heart. To heal from the complex-PTSD.  If they’d only experience the living God of LOVE they’d stop this nonsense. I’m convinced that the controlling and cruel spirit behind these groups is the same spirit that is behind ISIS. Consider that..!

There is healing. There is light at the end of the darkness. The deeper the pain, the higher the joy at the end of it. It’s called “Post Traumatic Growth.” And in a very strange way it can end up being a gift. A spiritual awakening.

Peace. Love. Joy. Hope.

“What, you too? I thought I was the only one.”

I have random thoughts as I read a quote from a famous person, or a passage in a book, or hear something while watching a movie and it triggers a thought about my former church or perhaps about spiritual abuse in general. Or it may just be a thought that pops unexpectedly into my brain or things that are talked about by others talking about spiritual abuse.

For example, I recently saw this quote: “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another ‘What, you too? I though I was the only one.'” ~ C. S. Lewis.

It wasn’t the friendship part, but the “What, you too?” part that got me. When I first joined the spiritual abuse support group, I read a number of posts by many different people and could not believe the similarities between parts of my story and theirs. Many people had been through different situations than me, but still it was all the same in a way. People also told me that my story could be theirs.

I am not alone, I found out. It was not just me. So many of us knew something was wrong at church. But no one else wanted to talk about it. For me I knew to not speak it out loud. It seemed to be forbidden. Whatever it was, I thought I was the only one. So I kept it all pushed down out of mind. And so some of us stayed for years (18 for me) and accepted the abnormal for normal.

Now that I have been out for three years, I realize that some of the early ‘red flags’ I was getting, I should have paid more attention to. Hindsight is always better. Even when you consider yourself to be a rational person who would never get caught up in a cult-like organization.

So if you are here because you want to find out what in the world is going on and “is that really in the Bible?” remember, You are not alone.

Curse of the Cult

Being raised my entire life in the controlling atmosphere of this type of religion left permanent scars on me. Sometimes, when I think about it, I feel so angry and betrayed! The cult dynamic leaves you feeling helpless and unable to make it through life on your own.

It’s so powerful because it robs you of your individuality, your independence, and your trust in your own thoughts. It takes away who you are and changes you into a clone. You lose your identity and accept the ideology that you’re going to be some great soldier for Christ, all for the greater good, etc.

In reality what you’re doing is checking your brain at the door, and becoming just another robot marching to the tune of the leader. This pastor is just a man, who has developed his own interpretation of what the Bible says, often to fit his own needs and his own desires. And yet, he himself is deceived into thinking that he’s doing the “will of God.” They have all the power, but they have been trained to think and to truly believe that this is what God wants them to do.

My personal brainwashing began when I was just a baby. I’ve written about how I was trained from a child with spankings that began before I learned to walk or talk. I was under the power of the preacher/father before I had any memory of my existence.

Growing up in this atmosphere, whether by nature or by early early training, I was extremely sensitive, eager to please, and tenderhearted. That left me wide-open to become the biggest clone of all. The model robot I became, and I was very skilled at doing everything I was asked to do. I never went through the rebellion that teenagers go through, for the most part, because I had been trained to be so sensitive to the slightest misbehavior that might throw me out of favor, “with God.”

I did it because I really wanted to please God. I did it because I was scared of what God would do to me if I didn’t measure up. I also did it because I love God. How could I love something I feared so much? I guess because I loved and feared my dad in the same way.

I was taught from early on to be sensitive to my dad’s moods and get out of his way if he seemed like he was tired and grouchy. I was trained not to talk to him if he was busy, because I would be bothering him. I was trained in so many other ways.

I loved his hugs and his cuddles, when they were given, and the rare approval that I saw in his eyes. Yet I feared him so much that I was scared to ask for anything that I wanted. I knew that I could approach him any time to tell him that I loved him or to give him a hug, but I knew that if he looked at me sternly, I was in huge trouble.

That’s the same way I looked at God. For the better part of my life, even as a grown adult, I was scared to make a move without the approval of the pastor. I was scared to think a thought that would be contrary to what was taught by the pastor. I was scared to make a choice on my own without seeking his advice. Many people, grown men and women, we’re afraid to make purchases, or move, or get a new job without consulting the pastor first to get his approval on those choices. The pastor’s approval was equated with God’s approval.

When one lives in this environment, without using their own brain, getting out can be very difficult…even scary. For the first time in your life you have no one else to blame for your mistakes. If anything goes wrong, you have to take responsibility for your choices. You’ve not had much practice making choices, so it’s a pretty sure thing that you’re going to make some wrong choices along the way. That could be terrifying, especially when people from the cult point their fingers at you and say “well you should’ve stayed in the church.. you should’ve asked pastor for advice and followed his advice.”

The thing is, we don’t learn how to make choices without making them. Our brains are like muscles. If they haven’t been exercised, they will buckle under weight. When other people were making small choices like what kind of clothes to wear for school, or whether or not they wanted to try out for the football team, we were not allowed to make those choices.

We couldn’t choose our friends, we couldn’t choose what activities we wanted to do, we couldn’t choose what music that we wanted to listen to, or what entertainment we enjoyed. We never learned to choose what clothing we wanted to wear, what hairstyle we enjoyed the most, or whether not we wanted to wear make up. We were given instructions to follow about all these personal things. We didn’t learn how to make choices.

When we finally break free from the cult and we start trying to make decisions and choices, we don’t really have any background information to use to make the wise decisions. We are in terror trying to decide and often it is difficult to make any decision at all. However not making a decision is a decision, and that’s where we get into trouble. That’s where things get difficult for us, because life gets a little harried.

I’ve had my own list of ‘bad choices’ to try to live with, once I got out on my own and could actually make these decisions for myself. However, I’m learning to make decisions. I’m learning how to balance my budget. I’m learning to make career choices, life choices, and of course wardrobe choices, hairstyle choices and even ‘how to raise my kids’ choices. Do I always make the right decisions? No, absolutely not! However, I learn more and more.

Each failure is only a step in the right direction, because I can take that information and use it for future choices.

Yes, I grew up in a cult. You talk about a dysfunctional family! It was a dysfunctional world where we were not allowed to fellowship with anyone else. I was homeschooled, and my entire life revolved around the cult.

Getting out brought such freedom! But, getting out also brought a lot of terror and fear.

Every day I still deal with the brainwashing. Every day I am filled with self-doubt. Every day I battle those little voices from the past who tell me that I’m “nothing but a worm,” that I don’t have a right to make my own decisions, that I need to lean on the words of someone else to try to understand what God wants of me. It’s the perfect recipe for codependency.

We were taught that we could not make it on our own without leaning on the church and the pastor. We were trained to not make it on our own without the direction and control of the pastor. I sometimes feel completely helpless, trapped, and very dysfunctional. However, I have to cut myself some slack when I stop and think about the years and years and years where I was not allowed to make choices, to think for myself, and where I was taught that I had to have someone else to lean on.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever be confident and independent from the past. I know those scars have affected me for life in many ways. However, every step I take to be more independent, and every choice that I make gets me just a little bit closer to being the individual that I really want to be.

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