Tag: escape | Spiritual Abuse Blogs

Alecia Pennington, you are not alone

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on February 15, 2015.

Homeschool alumni Alecia Faith Pennington’s Help Me Prove It campaign went viral on social media this last week.

She explained that she can’t vote, can’t get a job and can’t get a driver’s license, all because she can’t prove that she was born in the United States.

Because she was born at home and her parents allegedly never filed for a birth certificate, she said she cannot prove her US citizenship. Her parents also never filed for a Social Security number and never took her to a hospital, and she has no school records because she was homeschooled, according to her now-viral YouTube video.

“This leaves me with nothing to prove my identity or citizenship,” Alecia said in the video. “I am now 19 years old and I’m unable to get a driver’s license, get a job, go to college, get on a plane, get a bank account, or vote.”

Her YouTube video was viewed over 500,000 times and reached Reddit’s front page within a week, according to Homeschoolers Anonymous.

But as the survey conducted by Homeschool Alumni Reaching Out (HARO) a few days ago demonstrates, she is not alone.

And the majority of survey respondents whose parents denied them their identifying documentation were also members of the Homeschool Legal Defense Association (HSLDA), which is an interesting correlation.

My parents were members of HSLDA.

They kept a card with HSLDA’s hotline number taped beside our front door when we first started homeschooling in the early 90s. (I’m the oldest child in my family.)

My parents told me if anyone from Child Protective Services showed up at the door, we needed to call that number right away and not answer any questions until we talked to their legal representatives. They taught me that our ungodly government was looking for reasons to persecute good Christian families who just wanted to raise their children according to Biblical teachings.

They said spanking wasn’t abuse, even if it left marks, because it was all part of the plan to raise children to fear God and obey authority. If anyone asked if my parents spanked, we were to lie and say they didn’t.

When my parents gave me an ultimatum between moving out and transferring colleges to Bob Jones University summer 2012, I left with only my driver’s license.

Earlier that year, my mom gave me a folder marked “Eleanor.” She kept one for me and each of my siblings that she planned to give to us when we turned 18.

This folder had everything from baby footprints and my birth certificate to my social security card and passport to x-rays and health records for my growth hormone treatment as a teenager.

But the one of the most destructive wildfires in Colorado’s history, the Waldo Canyon Fire, started one sleepy Saturday in June 2012. By the next Tuesday, the winds rolled it down the mountain into the city, destroying around 300 homes, and my family and neighbors were planning to evacuate.

My dad took the folder with all my identifying documents for safekeeping in a safe deposit box. I reminded him I would need it later.

I moved out on August 1, 2012. Before and after moving out, I asked for that folder and my documentation over and over.

I applied for jobs off-campus for additional income, but could only provide my drivers’ license for the I-9 documentation for employment to prove my US citizenship and ability to work legally, which wasn’t enough since the document requires two forms of identification.

My mom finally gave me a few copies of my social security card and passport. But not before I’d already been denied one tutoring job after an interview because I couldn’t produce proper identification.

They kept telling me they were holding my documentation in safekeeping for when I changed my mind and decided to go to Bob Jones University instead of “rebelling” and moving out on my own,

About six months after I left home, they finally gave me my social security card.

I continued asking them for my passport.

Text messages from 11/17/2013:
Me: May I please pretty please have my passport?
Mom: Passport applications are available at the post office. […] I will continue to pray for you. Goodbye.

Later, my dad said I had to repay large amounts of money that he claimed I owed him before he would give me my passport. As a college student with part-time employment, I didn’t have extra money to replace my passport or my other identifying documents.

I didn’t get my passport back until October 2014.

So this week, the Help Me Prove It campaign reminded me that I still don’t have my birth certificate or health records.

I emailed my parents again two days ago.

My dad replied the same day:

Have not seen your BC (birth certificate) for quite some time. Your best bet there is to contact Jefferson County in Texas. They can likely give you a copy. Very busy these days. Best regards, TS

Mom answered the next day:

Dad and I had to request birth certificates when we first applied for passports. It was not something that [your grandparents] had. We wrote Harris County and Duchess County for our birth certificates. You won’t need one to renew your driver’s license. Just proof of address and take the eye test. Mom.

No answer about my health records.

At least I’m registered in the county system, so I can get another birth certificate if I need to get a driver’s license in another state, and I can request copies of my health records from my doctors.

Alecia Pennington can’t.

So yes, some of us (story 1) (story 2) who moved out years ago are still fighting to get our documentation.

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The UnBoxing Project: Surviving and thriving on the outside

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on April 7, 2015 as part of a series.

Continued from How You Can Help (Eleanor’s thoughts)

Although I had very little when I was kicked out of the cult and moved out of my family’s house, I came from an upper middle class, well-educated family. I grew up privileged.

I moved out as a college student with a couple of on-campus jobs after my parents emptied my savings account. Many of the people that we helped were in similar circumstances.

A week after I was kicked out, someone at the LGBT resource center at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs, known as the MOSAIC office, told me about resources for people with low income.

My upbringing in a fundamentalist Christian cult had taught me that accepting assistance from the government or non-profits like food pantries was morally wrong. If you didn’t earn your own food through your own hard work, you shouldn’t get to eat, they said.

Slowly, I learned to accept help when it’s offered and allow the help to stabilize me.

Resources like these helped me and my friends to stay independent from our parents and the cults we left while living on a tight budget.

Food pantries and food stamps
When my paycheck barely covered rent and gas or three other girls were living out of our tiny apartment, we couldn’t afford food. Mercy’s Gate and other Care and Share pantries felt like small miracles. There’s even Colorado Pet Pantry for cats and dogs. And El Paso county provides SNAP benefits (food stamps).
Cellphone plans like Straight Talk, Wal-Mart Family Mobile, and Tracfone
Our monthly bills were between $30-40, or we used pay-as-you-go plans, which helped us avoid higher costs from major cellphone network companies.
Dollar stores
During the first year after I left, my roommate’s boyfriend issued me a challenge: go to a dollar store and notice everything they sold. It was so helpful that now I take other ex-fundies to show them what you can get with a few dollars in a pinch. Although some products are cheap or not good quality, it’s a good survival skill to see what supplies you can get at a discounted price.
Thrift stores
In Colorado Springs, we have the Arc and Goodwill, and local thrift stores whose profits benefit human trafficking survivors or disadvantaged teens that sometimes resell the leftovers from bigger thrift stores at even cheaper prices.
Temporary agencies
Our little band of cult survivors all needed jobs and often didn’t have much work experience to put on a job application. I didn’t know what temporary agencies did until one hard winter when I was down to only one of the three jobs I’d had the previous summer. Then I got a call from a temporary staffing agency that found my resume on Monster and wanted to hire me for a receptionist position at a pharmaceutical company, something related to my chemistry degree. They also gave me odd jobs like hotel housekeeping on the weekends for extra money. It wasn’t glamorous and sometimes the jobs I got were difficult, but it helped me survive short-term until I found something better.
Housing / utilities assistance
Most cities have section 8 housing, although people often are on wait lists for several years and it’s difficult to qualify for. Colorado also has a Low-income Energy Assistance Program (LEAP), which provides heating assistance in the winter.
Internet
Several major companies like Comcast and CenturyLink also offer low-income internet service. In Texas, Spectrum offers affordability connectivity programs.
Mental health
We wrestled with anxiety, self-harm, PTSD, and survivor’s guilt. But we found counselors both on campus at University of Colorado at Colorado Springs and within the Colorado Springs community who wanted to help us heal and worked on a sliding fee scale.

We also found several non-profit and government organizations in Colorado Springs with resources for survivors.

TESSA
The 24/7 crisis line (719-633-3819) offers advice to abuse survivors, although they mainly deal with intimate partner violence.
DHS / CPS / Adult Protective Services
In El Paso County, call (719) 444-5700 or 1-844-CO4KIDS or email childabusereport@elpasoco.com to report child abuse.
Inside Out Youth Services
Housing for homeless LGBT youth under 25 and other resources.
The Independence Center
Services to empower people with disabilities.

On the outside, we formed our own little family, a chosen family rather than by blood.

Dale Fincher, who talks about recovery from spiritual abuse at Soulation, writes in The Exodus From Family:

“When our biological family puts a brake on friendship, we must look for friendship elsewhere. This year, I am no longer defaulting to blood and legal relatives as my ‘ohana.’ They will not lock me into a family orphanage until I conform to their demands. No. My family has become my Chosen Family, for we cannot live as orphans (John 14:18).”

A theme that resurfaces in the dialogue about spiritual abuse is that of Christian fundamentalism’s idolization of family values over the well-being of the individuals within the family. The family unit’s survival at all cost becomes idolized, enabling denial of abuse.

We learned we could all find freedom together.

No, we couldn’t save each other or support each other—we all had to ultimately find our own way because all of us are broken and hurting.

But we knew we weren’t alone.

Sometimes a hug, a shoulder to cry on, enabled us to just keep walking, to not give up.

Even if we were outcast, we believed our experiences were valid, we grasped for something better.

And we wanted to share this new life, this freedom with others.

R. L. Stollar, one of the founders of Homeschoolers Anonymous, wrote:

“I learned that Jesus of Nazareth was not content with 99 sheep when 99 sheep means that one gets left behind to suffer in silence and solitude. [….] But Jesus dealt with human beings, not statistics. Human beings are what I want to deal with, too. […] Us “bitter apostates” will be out in the wilderness, searching for the one you abandoned.”

And that is what we did, too.

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The UnBoxing Project: How you can help (Eleanor’s thoughts)

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on April 5, 2015 as part of a series.

Continued from How You Can Help (Cynthia’s Thoughts)

When we started helping people move out, we learned that getting out and finding freedom is messy, and everyone’s situation is different.

When someone contacted us for help, we said that they went “active.” It’s like being on call for an emergency move 24/7.

They’ll tell us the situation is deteriorating, but we don’t know it’s going to happen until they call us, because we leave the choice up to them.

In summer 2013, when Homeschoolers Anonymous posted Eve Ettinger’s Call For Help: A Quiverfull / Patriarchy Rescue, I wrote in an email to our network: “I think she is the first of many.”

The backlash is one of the most difficult things we all faced in leaving our cult-like churches and controlling families.

One morning in my apartment, right after Racquel and Ashley left their church, the First United Pentecostal Church of Colorado Springs, Racquel’s phone rang. She stepped into the next room for a private discussion.

She came back out looking troubled.

Ashley asked what was wrong, and Racquel said Sister H. from Louisiana just called.

Racquel started crying.

“Sister H. told me that the pastor may be wrong, our parents may be wrong, but not to give up on the Pentecostal church. But I just can’t do it. I can’t.”

“Did anything like this happen to you when you left, Eleanor?” she asked.

Yes. Yes, it did.

One of the pastors and his wife at our old church in the Dallas Metroplex, Rockwall Bible Church, called me and tried to convince me to attend Bob Jones University.

They agreed with my pastor at Grace Bible Church in Colorado Springs and they said the only way to honor my parents was to do this one thing, to obey them.

My friend Anna G. called me a few weeks after I moved out. She said she’d gone back to the church. The assistant pastor and his wife asked her to step into their office after an evening church service and asked her about two of my Facebook posts that she’d liked and commented on.

One of my Facebook posts that she had liked was lyrics from a song called “Keep Your Eyes Open” by the contemporary Christian band NeedtoBreathe (and the assistant pastor and his wife believed all syncopated music was of Satan).

The other Facebook post was a link to a Tumblr blog called Hey Christian Girl, a collection of memes with cheesy, silly pick-up lines with Biblical allusions. They said didn’t see the humor, and they thought it was sacrilegious.

Anna also said the pastor and his wife asked her if she agreed with me moving out, if she’d aided me in leaving the cult. They told her that they didn’t want her to influence their children to move out without their approval.

I caught my breath. I could see it now.

They can’t stand to lose one of their own, because that’s losing a soldier to the culture wars. You take one step back from fundamentalist Christianity and now you’re one of the outsiders, one of the “lost” that they evangelize. And they need your soul.

So when I hugged Racquel while she sobbed, I could say, “Yes, this happened to me, too.”

This is why leaving these churches and these homes is leaving a cult. And this is what it’s like to walk beside abuse survivors in seeking freedom.

I’ve waited through months of watching and making preparations before helping someone leave. I keep an emergency cellphone with an unlisted number in case a controlling parent blocks someone from calling my regular cellphone. I’ve carried pepper spray, a stun gun and a small knife, all legal to carry on my college campus, so I can protect myself and those who ask for our help if a situation turns confrontational and violent.

Our network of friends discusses alternate scenarios, backup plans with people who are wanting to leave. We plan for the worst while hoping that one day this won’t be necessary.

Here’s we learned about helping people move out:

Take the essentials, but stay safe.

TESSA, a non-profit in Colorado Springs that offers advice and support to spousal domestic abuse survivors, has a checklist of what to take with you when you leave that we found helpful.

Identifying documents
Clothes to last a week
Cash and bank information
Keys to car and work
Medications
Important paperwork and records
Personal items like photographs and jewelry

When Ashley moved out, five of us showed up because we knew her father was armed, he’d destroyed the inside of the car and the apartment, and we didn’t know when he’d return.

Later, I learned anyone who feels threatened can request police protection while moving their possessions.

Sometimes we left something behind we valued.

I couldn’t take my heirloom violin from the 1890s or one of our family dogs I’d bonded with. Ashley left her dog Sasha and her bed because we couldn’t fit it in the van, and Racquel sold her horse when later she couldn’t pay board and her own living expenses.

We lost diaries, mementos, and valuables.

We decided our freedom was worth losing those things or that lifestyle.

We realized the important thing was keeping ourselves safe and learning how to heal.

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The UnBoxing Project: How you can help (Cynthia’s thoughts)

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on March 16, 2015 as part of a series.

Continued from Self-care during activism

Here are Cynthia’s concluding thoughts.

Rescuing people from cults is not an item to check off of a to-do list. It’s a process.

While we worked together on the UnBoxing Project, we learned this through our own exhausted time and money.

We didn’t just need to free people from church attendance and their abusive, controlling homes. In little funny moments and frustrating conflicts, we watched them free their own minds and personalities.

Moments like when Racquel wore jeans for the first time. We’d told her that she had a lovely figure that didn’t need to be concealed under long, wide skirts, and she didn’t believe us until then.

Moments like when Eleanor first moved out, I recommended dry beans for cost-effective meals, and she didn’t know how to cook them.

Moments like the Socratic dialogue with Ash in a reclusive university meeting room, establishing that safety was possible.

After my friends and I got out, we struggled with various levels of c-PTSD, depression, and anxiety from the emotional, physical, and spiritual abuse we’d endured. It would be difficult enough to hold a job while dealing with shock and recovery, but many of the people we helped didn’t have any experience in the workforce.

I believed in self-sacrifice, and I didn’t care if I wasn’t well enough to help other people. Nobody else was going to do it if we didn’t. I told Cynthia Barram this, and she gave me a graphic image: She said to picture a woman in a place where food was scarce. The baby still sucked at his mother’s breast, but she had no nutrition left to give. At this point, the child was just eating blood.

We needed stability and resources ourselves, but with our parents gone, we only had each other. Like the undernourished mother nursing, we gave more than we had to give.

Many of us had to drop classes because taking care of extra people was so stressful. Eleanor ended up paying more than her portion of rent for the house she got with some of the people we’d rescued.

We realized that we weren’t heroes, and we didn’t have the strength to be heroes.

The question was, at what point do you let people learn for themselves?

Our own limitations answered for us: we didn’t have the means to support other adults who had so little experience with the outside world.

We all decided that if we needed to rescue people, we wouldn’t be able to share finances with them, like co-signing on a lease. Getting out of a cult left these adults without survival skills, and we were young and broke, too. For the first year after my parents kicked us out, my sister and I rented from a family whose children were grown.

If only we knew some people who were older than us, who had the financial stability to own a house and rent out a room. If only we knew people who could teach a young adult, between the ages of 18 and 25 or so, how to keep a job and pay the rent.

Unfortunately, most of the people in the networks we had were similar to our own parents. That’s what isolation does — it limits the people you know.

We’re still looking for people who can serve as safe houses in our UnBoxing Project, perhaps who have more stable living conditions than those of us who needed to escape, too.

We need them. People who are willing to take a young adult into a guest bedroom, and help them prepare for life outside. Help them find and keep a job.

Those of us who were abused aren’t very demanding. We generally don’t take up much space, and we shrink at the thought of imposing on anyone. Just let us know we’re welcome, and let us know that it’s okay to talk about what’s going on. We need therapy to deal with what we’ve lived through.

Can we ask you to do that? Because we can’t do it ourselves.

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The UnBoxing Project: Gissel’s story

Gissel dyed her hair red for the first time during the first week after she left home.

Continued from Options, not ultimatums

In July 2014, Ashley came over to my apartment to visit one Saturday morning.

While we were talking, Ashley got a text message from Gissel, one of her friends from the First United Pentecostal Church of Colorado Springs (now known as Heritage Pentecostal Church), that she’d left six months before.

“Hey, can you come pick me up? My dad kinda went crazy and kicked me out. I don’t have anywhere to go… can I stay with you?”

Gissel was on her lunch break at work, so Ashley and I drove over to meet her and help her get her belongings out of her father’s house.

On the way to her dad’s house, Gissel explained she already planned on going to live with her grandmother in Texas.

The night before, she’d stayed out with her boyfriend and a group of other friends until past midnight. She discovered her dad had locked her out when she tried to come home, even though he’d never enforced the curfew he set for her older brother and his girlfriend.

Gissel kept asking why it was different for her as a girl, why she was being punished.

One of Gissel’s younger sisters let her in the house so she could get her suitcases already packed for her move. We put them in the trunk and drove to where Racquel and Ashley were living so Gissel could stay with them temporarily.

The rest of her siblings watched us from the window, huddled together.

Ashley told Racquel what had happened and that Gissel would be staying over for the rest of the week until she flew out of town. Gissel went back to work for the day, and we picked her up that evening.

She was quiet. Reality set in.

Silent tears slipped down her cheeks. There was no home to go back to now.

We hugged her, asked her if she was ok or needed to talk. Told her it was ok to be sad, ok to cry.

Later that night, she sat next to Ashley on the couch while we watched anime and the first Pirates of the Carribean movie. Watching television isn’t allowed in most United Pentecostal churches like the one she grew up in.

Ashley helped her dye her hair that week, another thing that the church deemed sinful.

Gissel started wearing a crucifix that her dad gave her. Her dad told her if she was going to leave the church and wear jewelry now, she might as well wear that. It was a religious guilt trip, since their church doctrine forbade wearing jewelry, and typically Pentecostal churches do not agree with Catholic doctrine.

After Gissel left for Texas, we kept in touch.

I asked her last fall how she was doing and if she would like to share her story.

Now she is free to live outside the cage of Christian fundamentalism and legalism.

I thought once Racquel and Ashley and the others that we’d moved out were free, that everything would start to go back to normal. That our little network wouldn’t need to keep helping people.

But Gissell reminded me that so many more are out there, waiting.

Gissel studied social work at community college and works in a healthcare center in Texas. She also cohosts a YouTube channel called Gen and Gigi.

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