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I can’t save my siblings

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on September 1, 2015.

Growing up homeschooled means you get a lot more time with your siblings than other kids. As an older sibling, it also means you have much more responsibility for them.

My parents told me I didn’t need friends, I had my siblings. They also told me I was the example for them, the prototype.

This set the pattern for some unhealthy dynamics. My first counselor after moving out said my dad’s insisting our only friends being immediate family members was incredibly codependent. Libby Anne writes about being an older child instructed to spank her younger siblings.

Parents expecting more of older siblings is typical in secular culture, but not usually with the same connotations like in fundamentalist homeschooling. As the oldest in my family, I heard things like:

A good older sibling sets the example for their younger brothers and sisters. Even if you don’t think they look up to you, they do. They watch your every move, and often, they’ll try to walk in your footsteps. So it’s important that you behave in ways that set a good example for them. Just like we look to Jesus to be our example, that we look to live how he lived and behave like he behaved, our younger siblings often look to us that way, too. — Taken from Christian Teen About

Statements like this put an excessive amount of pressure on older children.

We’re not just expected to protect younger siblings from danger, we’re responsible for their eternal salvation. And fundamentalist parents often manipulate this idea to check rebellion. To squash any behavior they didn’t like.

I couldn’t get angry if Dad was controlling and demanding, because that wasn’t having a meek and quiet spirit. Suffering without complaint was more like Christ, I was told, and a better example.

If I wore a fitted sweater, I was not being an example of modesty to my sister.

When I asked to have a curfew of midnight instead of 7:30 p.m. in college, I was not demonstrating submission to authority for my siblings.

My mom often said: “What will your little brother and sister think? They are always watching you. You know what Jesus said about those who lead little children astray. It would be better for you to have a millstone tied around your neck.”

So when Dad said things that hurt, when the house felt like a cage, when I thought of running away in the middle of the night, I didn’t. Because of my siblings. I was responsible for them.

When I thought my parents punished my brother and sister unfairly, I’d try to anger them into spanking me instead.

Junior year of college, I moved out because my parents said the alternative would be transferring to Bob Jones University. I went back and forth, uncertain what my decision would mean for my brother and sister. I’d be the first to leave home.

I told my professors that I wanted to be a good example for my siblings, that I didn’t want to run away or rebel if it would hurt them, that I’d go to Bob Jones if I had to, even if it killed me.

They told me that I could be a good example by moving out, that I could show my siblings that freedom was possible.

But I worried. I knew I couldn’t live at home anymore, but I still wanted to be a good big sister. That fall, I struggled to set limits as my parents barraged me with visits and phone calls, begging me to reconsider.

A couple of classmates, both named Cynthia, asked me what was wrong after one of our Saturday writers’ group meetings.

I gave my fears a voice. I didn’t understand taking care of yourself before helping other people. Fundamentalism taught me the reverse: don’t be selfish, sacrifice everything for others. Shouldn’t I just put up with my parents’ behavior for the sake of my siblings?

One of the Cynthias looked at me and the other Cynthia. She said, “Are you familiar with New Life Church’s teaching about confronting lies that you’ve believed? You identify the lie, you replace it with truth, and you pray against the power of the lie. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself for your siblings. You’re free to make your own choices.”

They each laid hands on me, praying with me that I’d heal and live in freedom.

I can’t save my siblings. All I can do is be a good human.

My little sister is going to BJU, and my little brother is a serious, quiet teenage boy. I lost contact with them for two years after leaving, so I can’t just speak my truth to them openly.

All I can do is be there and listen.

Why “Not All Homeschoolers” and “No True Christians” responses are silencing dialogue

8985496669_0a53c5d99c_z — CC image courtesy of Flicker, Rebecca Barray.

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on November 1, 2015.

So I’m active in several online communities that discuss homeschooling and spiritual abuse. I also read a lot. Almost daily, I post articles and blog posts that I find interesting.

I’m also Facebook friends with people I met during each of the four times I moved cross-country between Texas and Colorado, people from every church I went to growing up, every place I’ve worked, people who are my fellow homeschool alumni and college classmates. This means that everything I share is being viewed by people all over the human spectrum.

I value this diversity, that my community is no echo chamber. I welcome the opportunity to be challenged and corrected and grow, and I hope my friends do, too.

Yes, there are periodic flame wars in the comments, but I’ve also seen successful dialogue. This is why I want to foster debates and discussion, because I believe that if I limit myself to only people who agree with me, change will never happen.

But a couple of arguments surface over and over.

“Not all homeschoolers were raised in cults.”

“What does abuse in these churches have to do with true Christianity?”

And these rebuttals are killing our discussions. Here’s why. This week, I read an article posted by Relevant magazine on why there’s a problem with saying All Lives Matter. The subtitle read: “There’s a difference between ‘true’ and ‘helpful.'”

Responses like this usually demonstrate a failure to listen. Conversations usually go:

Person 1: “This is what my experience with homeschooling / purity culture was like.”

Person 2: “Good point, but remember, not all homeschoolers were abused / raised in cults.”

Person 1: *awkward silence* (thinks) But I wasn’t talking about all homeschoolers. I was talking about me.

And they feel like you don’t think their story is important.

It’s hard to have these conversations, I think. If you say, “Hey, this happened and it was bad,” or express criticism, you get a lot of “not all homeschoolers” responses. Which is technically true.

But the one doesn’t invalidate the other. Sure, not all homeschoolers were raised in cults. But some were, and problematic and harmful things happened as a result. I’m not against homeschooling as a form of education, and I don’t think it should be banned, but I do think the problems within the movement must be addressed.

“No True Christian” is basically another version of the No True Scotsman fallacy.

Person 1: “This really awful thing happened in my church / to Amish girls / to Pentecostals.”

Angry Defensive Person 1: “Not all Apostolic Pentecostals are like this!”

Angry Defensive Person 2: “What does this have to do with true Christianity?”

These comments are missing the point. Orthodoxy isn’t the issue here, abuse is. And if you’re more concerned with heresy than hurting people, you are contributing to the problem.

And almost every group thinks they are the true believers, the genuine thing. So asking whether or not the Amish are truly Christians is irrelevant. They believe they are. That’s why they live in isolation, making sure they aren’t corrupted by deviating opinions. Other high control religious groups operate similarly.

Just because you might not believe cult members or other denominations are actually Christians doesn’t stop them from identifying as believers. But shouldn’t Christians be more concerned about people who claim to follow their savior perpetrating abuse than whether or not the abusers are heretics?

Let’s be honest here. We use these arguments to protect ourselves. We don’t want to be associated with sexual abuse and hypocrisy, we don’t want our image threatened. So we cry “not all homeschoolers” to defend our educations, and “not true Christians” to defend our core beliefs. We don’t want to think that our community might be wrong, we hide our faces from the wounds, cover our ears and refuse to listen.

And we need to stop.

We’re not just rebels

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on July 5, 2015.

In my last post, I talked about why I don’t trust authority.

Many people like me who were raised in controlling environments tend to not get along with authority outside that context, breeding difficulties in maintaining employment and interacting within society.

But the older generations often discount why we’d react this way.

“You’re just a rebel. Someday you’ll grow up.”

“I guess your parents didn’t beat you enough. Nobody ever taught you respect.”

They don’t recognize that 20 somethings like us have negative experiences with authority figures.

What about children who were beaten by their parents, teenagers molested by youth group leaders? What about those of us convinced early on that we must kill any strong desires as worldly and evil and focus obsessively on self-sacrifice in preparation for our eventual martyrdom?

We’re not deviant just because. Usually we were wounded by someone who misused their power.

I’m able to balance my rebellion through boycotting video cards and candy bars. I find harmless, unusual outlets in which to be deviant. But society views my friends who deviate in larger ways as dysfunctional.

I’m not that different from them. I just happen to have a job and they don’t. But we feel the same way about authority.

Here’s some ways I think authority figures can be fair and ethical in dealing with people like us:

1.) Don’t make excessive rules or rules with discrepancies.

This is just asking for rebellion.

Like the student handbooks at Bob Jones University or Pensacola Christian College. They’re so exacting.

If you’re going to have policies like this:

“BJU takes a conservative approach to music. While students are at the University, our goal is to teach them to appreciate music that is spiritually edifying and culturally valuable. For the BJU student this precludes most of the music of our popular culture including rock, rap, jazz and country, as well as religious music that borrows from these styles. It also precludes any music that uses a discernible rock beat regardless of the style. In order to develop their spiritual and aesthetic discernment, BJU encourages students to listen to classical and light classical music and traditional sacred music. There is also a spectrum of music that falls outside light classical and traditional sacred music that is acceptable to listen to.” (p. 29)

Of course you’re also going to have to enforce them like this:

“BJU students are to listen to and bring to campus only music that meets our community standards. In addition, each member of the BJU family should carefully monitor music in movies, computer games, television programs, commercials, Internet sites, cell phone ringers, etc. To ensure personal accountability, students are not to listen to music with headphones. Students may use headphones in the residence hall study lounge for academic purposes, and resident supervisors may approve individual requests to use headphones for independent learning courses.” (pp. 29-30, 2011-2012 version)

BJU also bans several other extremely specific offenses like wearing Abercrombie & Fitch or Hollister clothing, because of the brands’ “unusual degree of antagonism to Biblical morality,” (p. 33), and necklines lower than four finger widths below your collarbone, for modesty reasons (p. 32).

Similar themes surface in The Student Voice’s satirical Things You Won’t Do at PCC, which lists arbitrary items such as “own a fish” and “play a harmonica.”

Peter Gage, who published the Student Voice, the “underground” newsletter that sought to expose PCC’s flaws in the early 2000s, was sued by PCC for cybersquatting in 2013.

Because we grew up in home environments with their own specific rules, we used the rules to protect ourselves. That’s why discrepancies bother us, because then the authority becomes unpredictable. It’s survival instincts.

One company I worked for intentionally hid dress codes so the HR department could fire employees violating rules that were never properly explained.

When guidelines in the workplace are contradictory, I get panicky, waiting for unexpected punishment.

2.) Don’t invent punishments intended to harm. Consequences should seem natural.

Many fundamentalist parents will say, “I make my kid pull their jeans down, because if I spank them through their pants, it doesn’t hurt enough.” Or “The diaper is too much padding. They won’t remember what they did wrong unless it stings.” Or “My child talked back, so they lost their favorite doll / book. I had to find some way to get their attention.”

This strange idea circulates that the consequences have to be harsh, and it should hurt the child. I thought society frowned on cruel and unusual punishments. Also, the rest of the world doesn’t operate this way, as we found after childhood. But it still feels like it does.

After my last post, my friend Kathleen asked me how I thought parents should raise children.

I’d say they shouldn’t invent punishments that crush the child’s spirit, either physically or emotionally. Consequences should be preparation for adult responsibility, not calculated to inflict pain.

Children learn by doing.

You can tell them to pick up their toys so the dog doesn’t destroy them, but if they don’t listen and the dog shreds them, you don’t punish the child or the dog. And you can remind them not to walk in front of swings, but, unfortunately, they may have to get bonked in the head a couple of times.

I don’t think sheltering kids from these experiences is the answer. It’s just inhibiting their individual growth. The parents, seeking to protect the child from scraped knees, inflicts different wounds.

If I get to be a mom, I want to be their healer and guide, not their aggressor.

3) Allow for communication about the rules and how power is exercised.

My friend Shelby, who is a sociology grad student, developed a scale for my paranoia.

Source: fs.usda.gov

“1 = Everything’s cool; not liking the cameras at work, but otherwise cool; using video card freely; perhaps reading or beading between calls; browsing Internet sometimes; training the dictation program profile intermittently; still using instant messenger.

“2 = Not so cool; really avoiding cameras at work; may use video card, but does so reluctantly and wants to hide it from supervisors; more likely to read/bead between calls than browse Internet; training dictation profile more frequently (such as reading from book); still using instant messenger.

“3 = Much less cool; definitely suspicious of cameras at work; may use video card, but does so reluctantly and wants to hide it from supervisors (more likely to train dictation profile using the video as well); much more likely to read/bead between calls than to browse Internet; training profile exuberantly; still using instant messenger.

“4 = Definitely not cool; very suspicious of cameras at work; not using video card; may read/bead between calls, but only if also training dictation profile; not using Internet for anything unrelated to work; training profile vigorously; still using instant messenger.

“5 = Very anxious and jumpy; not using Internet for anything unrelated to work; not using instant messenger for anything unrelated to work; training dictation profile obsessively between calls.

It’s useful, because she can ask me how anxious I am on any given day, and I can give her a number, like 3.5.

I can report my paranoia like the local news reports the daily fire danger during the summer. This helps me communicate how I feel, how rational I am that day. It’s amusing, but I also become more self-aware.

Also, if authority figures are open to negotiation about the rules, I feel safer.

Homeschool alumni blogger Libby Anne wrote last month about how she’s more flexible with her children than her parents were. She explains:

“Growing up, my parents were very firm that “no” meant “no.” If we begged or tried to get them to change their minds, we would get in trouble. That was disobedience. More than that, they thought that if they were to “give in” to begging after already saying no, they would be allowing us children to rule them and would lose control of the family. So not only were we not allowed to beg, they also didn’t allow themselves to change their minds. That would have been showing weakness.“

And she points out that treating children this way isn’t a good model for adult relationships, with several examples, and concludes:

“My children and I exist in relationship with each other…. Yes, my children are young and in need of guidance and teaching. But part of that guidance and teaching is helping them learn to master things like compromise and negotiation.”

I relax and begin to trust authority again when they consider what I want and need, and are open to compromise.

We won’t remain rebels if we feel we are treated fairly.

I have trust issues with authority

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on July 2, 2015.

After leaving fundamentalism, some of my friends left organized religion because of spiritual abuse, or identified as anarchists because they’d seen systems of power oppress people.

I can’t blame them really, even if their choices appear extreme, because I don’t trust authority, either.

Authority more often uses power to control rather than to protect in my experience, not as an American citizen, but as a child growing up in an authoritarian household and evangelical churches, which I plan to write more about.

Sometimes this distrust surfaces in the workplace. I get jumpy when a supervisor comes over when I’ve done nothing against the rules, and my mind often assumes the worst if a manager asks to talk to me. I’m used to Draconian practices, harsh punishments for minor infractions.

A couple of my friends at work say I’m being paranoid, and asked me to explain how I feel.

Here are some of my ingrained responses to authoritarian systems:

1) Don’t let the authority know what your true desires are.

If the authority knows what you actually want, they gain insight into your thought processes.

Favorite books, TV shows, music, and hobbies reveal much about your personality and beliefs. For instance, I’ve started watching Supernatural this summer, because it resonates with how I think about spirituality, and how light and darkness work.

When I lived at home, if my parents knew what I liked, they could use it to punish me. They took away books I was reading, and my laptop and internet access, even during college.

And this could be for reasons like, one afternoon, Dad suddenly decides I am reading too much fiction, which isn’t productive. He says I should be studying or doing housework, so I lose my book for two weeks. Or longer. And I have to beg to get it back, which I’d do if I was caught at a cliffhanger.

This started with favorite toys.

My dad pitched my pony out the window onto the freeway because I was a crying, upset three year old, and he left my Pound Puppies on top of a supermarket trashcan when he thought I was disrespectful when I was 8.

I wasn’t a perfect child, but instead of trying to understand how I felt or why I was acting out, my parents often responded with punitive measures and emotion shaming.

I’m not sure what he was trying to teach me, but all I learned was “don’t let the authority know what you care about.”

2) Don’t accept rewards from the authority.

If the authority gives incentives, they can also take them away. It feels like another form of manipulation. I take back control when I meet the requirement and decline the offered reward.

I’m also suspicious that there’s a catch, that the authority has an ulterior motive.

I work in a call center that offers video card privileges for employees who score well on the weekly test calls. Usually, I boycott the video card.

I explained it to my friend Shelby like this when I had been boycotting for about six weeks:

It is one of my forms of rebellion against the system. Sometimes I do things like this because it satisfies my need to be in control of my life, even in small things. Taking the video card feels like submission to the authority. Whenever authority is like “here’s a reward” for excellence and a punishment is associated with doing poorly, I dislike being rewarded. I feel patronized. I don’t want to be rewarded by the authority. I want to excel and have the option to refuse the reward. It’s probably from growing up in my house. Slight offenses could result in beatings, huge amounts of schoolwork had to be done. The only way I felt I could fight back was by refusing rewards. If you take away their power to reward you, they can’t emotionally control you, because then you won’t be sad if they take the reward away. It’s something that baffles the authority and something they can’t punish. This is the way I balance my desires and my paranoia, without informing the authority of my desires.

I’ve also never accepted candy bars for making honor roll at work. It feels like bribery, too similar to my dad giving me a $10 bill for completing extra sheets of math homework.

I don’t want to be tricked into compliance. I just want to do my job, a self-sufficient human who meets my own needs.

3) Act as if the authority wants to own you unless determined otherwise.

I’m used to living like Big Brother is watching.

Early advocates of homeschooling argued that the public school system groomed children to be compliant employees. It’s unfortunate that so many fundamentalist families used homeschooling to control information to fit a supposedly Biblical narrative, to create an entire generation raised according to a “Christian” formula of perfection.

Our parents believed we’d be corrupted and deceived by evil if we weren’t isolated from the rest of society. They had an agenda, and they justified their behavior by telling us they were saving our souls from eternal damnation.

Their plan? Incubate a culture-changing generation. They needed us.

And I’m wary of how other systems could also be using me.

Many friends have told me they have similar fears and even difficulties maintaining employment, because now all authority carries the threat of repressing desires and emotions, crushing their souls.

Logically, I know that not all authority is evil and abusive, not everyone is out to get me. I recognize that authority can protect me, that revolution can be deadly. I know police officers who wouldn’t shoot someone because of their race, and I get along well with college professors, because they seem like guides or mentors, not tyrants.

But, meantime, I’ll still be boycotting my video cards.

What happened at the Jim Berg protest

Editorial Note: The following is reprinted with permission from Eleanor Skelton’s blog. It was originally published on February 10, 2015.

A couple of weeks ago, I organized a protest group picketing Jim Berg’s “Christian Growth Bible Conference” at Grace Bible Church in Colorado Springs.

I’m a recently unsheltered homeschool kid.

Social justice was frowned upon.

When Martin Luther King Day rolled around or the civil rights movement came up, my parents said racism was wrong but the oppressed group should still respect the authority God placed over them, citing verses like 1 Tim. 2:1-3 and 1 Peter 2:13-15.

Funny how we ignored that little bit about Jesus cleansing the temple, telling off the Pharisees. Oh right, Jesus was an exception because he was God and his anger was righteous. We are but flawed humans, don’t you know.

Kind of like this tweet:

So my friends and I turned to social media and alerted the local TV and radio stations. 98.9 Magic FM interviewed me.

We gathered at the church with handmade cardboard signs around 6:30 pm, as the cars began to pile in.

One suburban pulled up and rolled down a window. “What does your sign say?” the driver asked.

I replied, “Berg blames victims.”

He looked confused. He answered, “For what?”

“For their rape,” I said. “Berg’s unethical counseling affected nearly 200-300 people over 30 years…”

He drove away.

But one couple approached us, said they wanted to hear the other side. They had never heard of Berg before the church announced the conference.

One of my friends handed them one of the flyers she made, with a QR code linking back to my blog.

They offered us water and asked honest questions before going in, and later read my blog post, sparking a discussion that left 17 comments.

Deacons from the church brought coffee and cookies. The others and I decided not to accept them, leaving a pointed note.

We left flyers on the parked cars, then decided to walk down the street to warm up before the conference let out.

Then a car pulled up.

A lady pulled up, asking for me. She said she’d driven several hours to come after a friend shared our social media posts with her. She said she was going to ask some questions.

And she hugged me. Really hugged me.

I told her this was the church that had shunned me two years ago.

She said she was once a fundamentalist, and was so sorry for what I had experienced. She held me and said, “This is not your Jesus,” and blessed me in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

I wanted to cry.

I never thought I’d see anyone cross over from the other side, blessing me with healing.

Follow up comments on my blog and other social media were encouraging. We told people at the church who hadn’t been following Bob Jones in the news, who had no idea about the GRACE report and Berg’s involvement.

We broke through the silence.

Libby Anne recently reminded us that Bill Gothard was brought down by a blog, that blogging is a valid form of righting wrongs.

I want to continue these kinds of efforts, to see real change in churches and homeschool communities. Which is what my next series is about.

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