I was raised in a happy Catholic home until age 6. I had a happy life until then.
My mother began studying with some people she met through the door-to-door ministry. This new religion was called “The Truth”. My father was familiar with this cult and instantly opposed her involvement. At age 7, my mother asked me if I wanted to go to church with mommy or with daddy. She explained that, if I go with daddy, I could go to the church with the pretty windows, celebrate the holidays, and be killed by God soon. If I went with mommy, I couldn’t celebrate the holidays, but God would be happy and he would let me live in a paradise forever with tame animals from the zoo as pets. I chose mommy over daddy that day, and will forever regret it.
Extended family on both sides stopped speaking to us for years. My dad vehemently opposed her involvement for years, and eventually gave up wasting his energy on futile attempts to make my mother come to her senses. Their marriage went on the rocks. Things were extremely tense, and I began having stress headaches. At that time, my mother tricked my dad into getting pregnant without
his permission. Dad was livid.
I was not allowed to have friends outside the church, but the kids inside the church wouldn’t have anything to do with me either. Their parents said I wasn’t a “good association” because I had an “unbelieving” Dad. Most attempts I made to make friends within the church were unsuccessful. The other kids in the church—mainly children of church elders—used drugs, had sex, listened to music—basically disregarded the rules of the church, with no consequences.
I was not allowed to celebrate any holidays or birthdays, say the Pledge of Allegiance, stand during the national anthem, listen to any music (except church hymns), watch TV for more than an hour a week (and even then, it was
supervised), wear normal clothing, read non-religious books or magazines, join groups at school—basically have any contact with the real world. At school, I was expected to eat lunch alone or with the church kids who didn’t talk to me.
I was supposed to read church literature during lunch at school and preach to other kids. I secretly ate with normal kids, and didn’t read or preach. The
church taught us we should pray so many times during the day that we lost count. We were supposed to keep our minds on church matters all the time.
We spent 5 hours a week at 3 church meetings, plus a few hours after the meetings while my mom chatted with other members. I was often deprived of sufficient sleep due to early morning classes at school. In addition, we went
out preaching in neighborhoods once a month or so. We were considered of lower status in the church because we didn’t go preaching more often than that.
The church members were bizarre. They had a strange lack of boundaries. Whatever happened in a person’s life was supposed to be shared with everyone else. This included the most personal, private details of one’s life, including sex, medical conditions, etc. No one was allowed to have privacy or keep anything secret.
The church had the strangest people in it. Once a member went bonkers and killed his 2 kids and wife, then killed himself. There was another who had several husbands that all died under mysterious circumstances. She pretended to
have anorexia, but she was 100+ pounds overweight. Many home-schooled their kids and wore clothes that could only be described as odd.
For years, I argued constantly with my mother. She would tell me and my sisters something ridiculous, then make us tell her we agreed. The arguments would go on for days and, more often than not, keep me up until late at night. One thing that I recall arguing was my right to physically defend myself when attacked by bullies at school. She said Jesus required us to “turn the other cheek” and remain there while the beating continued. All of this suffering was for the glory of God. I told her I didn’t believe he meant that literally I was not
allowed to walk away or hold the bullies’ hands back from striking me, and I refused to do so. My sisters told my mother whatever she wanted to hear and then laughed about it behind her back. I would argue back.
My mother was physically abusive. She said the Bible taught, “If you beat your son with a rod, he will not die.” Sick. She would “spank” me daily. Her
definition of “spank” was more like beatings that left bruises and other marks on me. I was and am convinced she was a raving lunatic.
My mother didn’t ever have a job, but she was generous with my dad’s money. She gave my dad’s money to the church and to people who went to the church who she
decided deserved monetary assistance. He forbade her to do this with his money. Church doctrine taught that males have “headship” over females. A husband is the “head of the house”, and everyone must obey him. My mother always picked and chose what she’d obey and what she’d disregard. My dad just started to work a lot and pretty much zoned out of family life. He had tried to keep a normal family life and he had failed, so he just gave up.
I was an A student in high school and desperately wanted to go to college. My mother insisted the end of the world would come within the next few years, so there was no point in going to college. I tried to save my babysitting money to pay for the college entrance exam, but it was confiscated. My mother made me stay in her constant view on the day of the exam so I couldn’t sneak off.
In high school, I began a relationship with a fellow JW. We were in love. Marriage at a young age was encouraged by the JWs, and we were planning to marry. He meant the world to me; he was the only “normal” person in my life.
After a few years of “dating” (I put that word in quotes because we weren’t allowed to see or talk to each other outside church or school), he began talking about wedding plans. I told him I felt I was too young to get married. My younger sister (who was extremely jealous and hateful to me my entire life) began to tell my boyfriend that he had nothing in common with me, that he should date her instead. He was 19 at the time and she was 15.
My sister began telling the church people how great of a couple they would make because they both enjoyed skiing. The church people encouraged him to date my sister and told me he didn’t love me. They and my sister reminded me of the story of Rachel and Leah in the Bible—a man wanted to marry Rachel but was forced to marry the older sister first, as was the custom. He worked 7 years on a farm to win the right to marry Rachel next. The moral of the story is that he always loved the younger sister more than the older one. The church people and my sister even began calling me Leah, the Less-Loved Sister! My sister taunted me day and night with her victory. She struck out at me physically in unprovoked attacks and even pushed me down the stairs once. She did all this when no one was looking, so my mother said I was lying. My sister’s social status in the church was raised due to her victory. People who claimed to be my friends stopped speaking to me and sought out a friendship with the “new
couple”. A few young married couples even invited he “new couple” over to their homes for dinner. My anger at my so-called friends was touted as a sign of jealousy, creating more loyalty to my sister.
I talked to my mother and the church people about the strangeness of encouraging a 15-year-old to have a relationship with a 19-year-old. Everyone said I was
wrong. According to church doctrine, the only way dating was approved is if the couple was contemplating marriage in the near future. It would be years before his “couple” would even be legally old enough to marry. The rules of the church were constantly bended for the “popular people”. Shortly before dating my sister, my friends had begun to pressure me to get married and ranted about
what a great couple we were. I reminded them of those statements when they began to support my sister, and they lied. They all claimed they had never said those things. I asked them what God would think of them lying, and they said I was the one who was lying. I began to realize even more clearly how crazy these people were.
I stopped speaking to my ex-boyfriend. The elders of the church told me God was going to kill me if I didn’t start speaking to my ex, as God commanded woman to respect the superiority of males. The church said they would excommunicate me if I didn’t have a talk with my ex. So I did. I told him what he was doing was wrong and hurtful and I would speak if I had to, but I had no respect for him. He cried. The happy couple broke up soon thereafter.
It was ingrained in my mind over the years that God Himself would kill me if I did not follow my mother’s directions on everything in life, including her
requirement that I devote myself full time to preaching after I graduated high school. I was required to attend “pioneer school”, a seminar to teach me how to
preach to others by visiting their homes, uninvited. I hated every minute of it. At the school, I was required to stand in front of the group and tell them my story of how I “came into The Truth”. I made up a compelling story, and the audience was tearful. I laughed to myself how stupid they were.
After graduating from the “school”, I was allowed to work only part time. I was encouraged to do housecleaning or other work that would have limited my contact with the outside world. I chose waitressing instead, all the time trying to save up enough money to move out of my mom’s house and join the real world. I was required to spend the rest of my time going door to door preaching. I hated
it with a passion, and so did the other girls with me. We pretended to spend 20+ hours a week doing it, when we really only did it for an hour. The rest of the time we spent sitting in the car chatting, taking drives, shopping, and talking about how much we hated preaching.
Finally, I asked the restaurant to give me full time hours. I made excuses to not attend church meetings. I stopped pretending I was preaching. I began a platonic friendship with a “worldly” man, with whom I discussed leaving the church. He played softball and I often attended the games for something to do. (Amateur softball, on a team sponsored by the corner restaurant.) The church elders ordered my mom to bring me in for a counseling session. I insisted I would not return to the church no matter what they said. My mom said I had to
go to the session if I planned to continue living in her house. I didn’t have enough money to move out, so I attended.
The elders told me by “new boyfriend” would be cheating soon with one of the groupies. They insisted anyone who plays sports has groupies, even if it was in the local park with a few of his buddies. I said I did not want to be a part of their church anymore. They asked me if I would like to formally disassociate myself, which would mean it would be recorded in the church records and it would be announced on Sunday that I had formally revoked my membership. I decided not to do that, because I didn’t want to give them an opportunity to feel morally
superior to me. They asked me to turn in my “pioneer card”—an identification card given to me when I enrolled as a full time preacher—as if I’d actually use it after leaving the church! The whole thing was so silly; I had a hard time not laughing in front of them. It really validated my choice to leave.
I got a few letters from church people, but I didn’t even open them. I just threw them away. A few visited, and I politely told them I didn’t want to speak to them.
One day, my ex-boyfriend showed up at the restaurant. He asked if I would take a walk with him. He profusely apologized for what he had done to me and explained how the church and my sister had manipulated him. I forgave him. We became platonic friends and I helped him through his choice to leave the church.
I moved into my own apartment and worked my tail off for years to save money for college. A few years later, my evil sister got married. I was supposed to be in the wedding party. Right before the wedding, my mother called to say I had to meet with the church elders. I said, “No, I don’t.” They said one of the church members had seen me alone in a car with a man (offense #1, being alone with a member of the opposite sex), the man had a beard (facial hair was shameful), and I was smoking (also against the religion). I told my mother I had never smoked, which was true. I believed it was a ploy to try to convince me to come back to the religion. They refused to perform the ceremony in the church if I was in the wedding party, so I wasn’t in it.
Evil sister did not allow “unbelieving” dad to give her hand in marriage. She was a teenager with the emotional maturity level of a pre-adolescent, and so was her husband. I cried during the ceremony out of pity for her, and so did my dad. It was like going to a funeral. Soon after their wedding, they were using drugs and her husband was cheating on her. They divorced soon thereafter, never to return to the church.
I had a hard time adjusting to the real world, because I was so unlike other people. I didn’t know how to act. I was too embarrassed to tell people I had been a JW. (I still am.) I didn’t know what to do with all the free time I had—time I used to spend going to church. I had a brief affection for going to clubs and drinking, as do most people in their early 20s. After that, I devoted
myself to working several jobs to save money. I put myself through college and now have a Master’s Degree. I had a hard time dating for a few years, because I
had little in common with “normal” people. After a few years, I adjusted. I am now happily married.
Over the years, my mom has sent me lots of literature in an effort to bring me back to the church. I never did. I never once considered returning, and never will. Free at last!
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