I want to preface with a couple of things: First, trigger warnings for emotional, domestic, and sexual abuse. Probably also other forms of abuse, but I’m still learning terms. Secondly, my journey to understanding the importance and value of inclusion has been so very uncomfortable and I’m honestly still working on upgrading my mental narrative. I apologize in advance if I accidentally use any offensive terms.
All of my writings are my own stories, written from my own, continually changing and widening perspective. Nothing I write is meant to offend, trigger, or place a derogatory filter over another person or person’s views or beliefs, and none of my own beliefs, perceptions, or actions are in any way meant to influence, mock, or discredit the experiences of any cult survivor.
I was raised in the Independent Fundamental Baptist cult. 100%. In 2023 when Shiny Happy People was released, my siblings and I all watched it and were floored and then emotionally frozen for a week after as we all processed. So much was relatable. However, I didn’t quite accept that the churches my siblings and I attended were “as bad”. I’d heard the IFB referred to as a cult but I dismissed that as something said by either “normal” people in shock after hearing a crazy story, or a bitter statement spit out by former members who harbored some kind of resentment over an isolated event. I know, I know. That sounds insane to me now – I was attempting to somehow still rationalize what I saw and experienced during my childhood as I never experienced abuse from anyone in any church we attended. We WERE an IFB family. Well, in name and in most beliefs. There were things that didn’t line up though. I have pondered over this for a few months and the only conclusion I can come up with is that we attended IFB churches, but our family dynamic was very much like a cult within a cult. We were raised in a sort of parallel universe. We fit just about every fucked up specification – a bunch of kids, abusive spanking, use of fear to keep kids obedient, homeschooled, kjv only bible, weird obsession with chick tracks, etc.
A little history first but I promise it’s relevant:
My parents weren’t raised ifb or even any form of Baptist. Dad grew up attending a Wesleyan church and some weeks his dad would, out of curiosity, switch it up and take the family to visit some random church. Mom didn’t attend church anywhere until she was an adult. I’m not exactly clear on how she got sucked into the ifb – something to do with being invited to a revival meeting in the Deep South. The two of them met while both were stationed on a military base in Europe . My dad had apparently been church-hunting, was introduced to my mom, and started attending an ifb church with her. That whole story is to help you understand when I tell you that my Dad never really was tied to a certain denomination. Meanwhile, Mom was newly converted, very much full of Jesus zeal, and also 100% an ocd control freak. I think that for my mom, the draw to Fundamentalism was simple: She loves over-organization and strict rules. Once I got her to fill in one of those political alignment survey charts and she straight-up landed right by Stalin. As to what pulled my dad in, he liked my mom and wanted a wife and…ya know…do stuff. He also liked a solid chain of command as long as he was at the top, so toxic patriarchy was perfect for his ego. To hopefully finally communicate my thoughts here, Mom was the parent who loved the cult rules, especially the ones made up (she called them personal convictions) and dad, though he didn’t really deem them all necessary, believed he should support my mom (except when he hit her for questioning his opinion on literally anything). My mom left the military immediately after she and my dad got married, because “God convicted her that her place was to work only in the home”.
I think that it might be important to point out that all of the churches my family attended before my dad retired were, of course, located near military bases and so were highly influenced by military ideals. Those particular congregations were largely made up of homeschool military families and I have a theory that the overall rigid leadership style woven together with fundamentalist ideas played a major part in morphing my family dynamic into a house of terrors. So for my early childhood years, these churches were totally the norm for me. Mom was the perfect submissive wife, Dad ruled his home, and Mom taught me to dress like Laura Ingles because we were better than everyone else or something. All very normal ifb life. Then one day, my dad got orders to a base in Mississippi and like ya do, moved us to the Deep South. We immediately began church-hunting because any real Christian doesn’t ever skip “an opportunity to serve”. My parents eventually deemed a specific house of worship good enough for their standards and joined. I think my mom cringed a little every time she stepped into that building – the congregation was 90% unhealthy looking country folk who all spoke with a very pronounced lack of education drawl. Even worse in her eyes though, the women dressed in “immodest” clothing (jeans and sometimes sleeves tops). To my own disappointment I was the only girl my age there. I attempted to instead make friends with girls in my new neighborhood. That was tricky. True to form, my mother was not amicable to the idea of my befriending “worldly girls”. Both parents were all about spreading the good news and roping in new cult members, er, “brothers and sisters in Christ”. I got smart. I used witnessing or inviting ground friends to church as an alibi when I wanted to hang out with my friends. I just remembered there was one homeschool family we were permitted to socialize with. We never got close but they were nice I guess.
I made a few friends but they all at some point made it clear that I was basically their charity friendship. I knew I was the weird kid from the weird religious family. I knew it and hated who I was. The day when I could legally leave couldn’t come soon enough.
A relative began sexually abusing me when I was 9. We eventually got caught – by my discipline-loving mother who of course told my father. Our relative admitted guilt but I was scared and so lied. For lying, I got beat until my backside from my tailbone to back of legs were black, blue and bleeding. I wasn’t free, though. The abuse continued. I let it. Maybe because I already was isolated and labeled the weird girl so any attention helped. I felt like I couldn’t tell anyone because I let it happen and therefore was a whore and responsible for causing a man to think sinful thoughts that he couldn’t control.
When I was about to turn 13, my Dad retired from the military and moved us to Louisiana so my mom could be near her family. This was when things got weirder and then terrifying. We began attending an IFB church parents had previously visited and knew the pastor. The thing about this particular church though, was they many of the female members wore pants…and alllll that that implies. My sisters and I suddenly were not permitted to become close friends with most of the girls our age because they were worldly and might influence us to *gasp* want to wear a sleeveless shirt. We WERE allowed to hang out with the preacher’s daughter at their home, but even that was rare. Even when I did get to go places with church youth, it felt like everyone hung out with me out of pity because I was so weird. I was miserable and so alone.
Of course abuse happened there, too. One of my brother’s friends got reeeally creepy. It wasn’t physical but that might’ve been less damaging. At least then I could walk away from it when it was over. This was basically a peeping tom situation but more aggressive. If he was going to be in the same building as me, I had to always make sure any bathroom windows were covered completely, that I covered any possible openings he could spy on my through, and ALWAYS lock the door. I even had to block off any space under doors so he couldn’t slide a mirror underneath.
So yes, I lived in a state of constant alert. This was not just at church. I mentioned my dad liked to be in charge and in control. He did. In my mother’s own words “Things will go better for you if you just stop fighting us and comply”. I never realized back then how akin to a prison guard she sounded.
Skip forward to around a few months before I turned 20. I’m still lonely and home life still sucks but at least my brother’s bff or whatever you want to call the creep had found porn and apparently that was a better obsession for him. I suppose he got bored. I mean, we were still often in the same places so I never wholly relaxed but at least I could pee without someone trying to watch. In an attempt to find somewhere I could feel safe, I got a job cashiering at a department store. My supervisor there sexually assaulted me. I got a different job hosting at a restaurant but abusers must have a special radar, because my boss groped me within a week. I walked out. At this point, I hated men with a passion. Every one I knew was either ready to beat me, touch me, or berate me for allowing my bra strap to tempt men to sin. I decided I’d never allow another man to touch me and I sure as shit wasn’t going to touch any of those scumbag monsters. Ever.
Around then I was introduced to a coworker’s friend. Lou was the most upbeat, cheerful person I’d ever met. I learned she was gay and was intrigued. I’d never had a gay friend so we started hanging out. I loved how she’d flirt with me and do little things to make me smile. It all felt awkward and sort of forced on my end but I felt SAFE. I decided that since men sucked, I would try out women. We couldn’t date publicly because my parents would probably lock me up. I was correct. Sort of. Some nosy bitch at church got wind I was dating a girl and told my mother. I’d just started working at the same restaurant as my girlfriend and was enjoying my secret forbidden love. My mother said she believed I wasn’t dating a lesbian, but that Lou was a bad influence and might try to turn me gay. That evening my parents told me to ask her over so they could talk to her. That’s when I realized our family would never change unless someone disrupted the system by pulling a grenade pin. I packed everything I owned and left with my girlfriend two nights later. We eventually broke up because she was into more than women than just me. I did have a couple more relationships over the years and they were ok, just never fit quite right.
Skip past a lot of antidepressants, workaholic hours, and attempted suicide. I realized that in my resolve to not be abused again, I’d spent years pretending to be someone I was not. I’m not going to delve into how I met my husband because that’s not the (eventual) point I’m making.
I was taught that homosexuality is a sin, that nobody is born that way, and that lgbtq folks all make a conscious choice to live outside of Biblical law. Even worse, I believed that. I believed it even more when I decided to be a lesbian. It’s taken years for me to accept that what I did is not the case for all and even longer to not put on my “customer service” face when I uncomfortably practice acceptance out loud.
I wonder how many other ifb/cult survivors embraced a sexuality not truly their own for any period after leaving? How many struggled more than they should’ve with treating anyone LGBTQ with the same love Christ showed us ALL on the cross?
“My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth.” – 1 John 3:18
Creating Peace From the Pieces 