Post by jezebel on May 17, 2009 2:58:44 GMT -5
Hi!
So, I finally got off* my butt to create an account upon reading the latest "Sandy Factor" installment, though I've been following this blog since the first part of Laura's story went up.
*remained on
Let's see... I'm 24, Canadian, and I work in community outreach for advocacy against sexual abuse and support for survivors.
Like many of you, I come from a religious background rife with abuse, but we weren't fundamentalists. Actually, we were rather liberal - just like Jesus, according to my mom. She's a self-identified "Red Letter" christian, which means she's based most of her faith on the spoken words of Christ in the gospels. We were raised to love, love, love everybody, to give to the poor (even though we were broke ourselves), to feed the hungry, to look after the sick and destitute (we had a neverending parade of people who had nowhere else to go stay with us over the years), to never judge and preach but to "win-through-prayer." (To this day, my mom does not understand the "Religious Right" - it all seems so anti-christian and anathema to the gospel to her.)
I didn't learn to hate Christianity from my mother - I (appropriately, I'd say) learned that by attending a christian school run by judgmental, hypocritical assholes who espoused the "Health and Wealth" doctrine, and never missed an opportunity to make my brothers and me feel like shit for being poor kids with a single (and divorced! *gasp*) mother. So much for all the love.
Then the abuse came from my stepfather who was a raging narcissist. He claimed to have egalitarian views but his ridiculous, overwhelming sense of entitlement kept him in charge of the family, and my mom's traumatic background and giving, compassionate spirit made her the perfect partner for a domineering spouse. His abuse was mostly emotional and spiritual which made it difficult to recognize and articulate when I was younger, beyond the general understanding that he wasn't somebody to be trusted. One of my earlier memories of this is from when I was about 6 and I was with my mom while she was trying to ask her professor for an extension on a paper. Apparently, it was supposed to be turned in that day but my stepdad had hidden it from her to "teach her a lesson." Her offense? Pulling off straight A's while raising three kids, when he was struggling through his seventh year with his learning disability. When we got home, I collected a bunch of my "important things" and hid them around my room where I thought my stepdad wouldn't find them.
When I was 13, he was becoming very involved in that ridiculous Men's Rights movement, and my mom was in the middle of a depression very similar to what Laura went through during Dale's "affair with Brazil/God/himself." It was at that time that we switched to a more conservative (and weird, if I may) church at his insistence. It was one of those freaky "local churches" who refer to themselves as "non-denominational" even though they have their very own translation of the Bible everybody has to use - the Recovery version - and a prominent figure head - "Witness Lee." There was no pastor, and we sat in a circle of chairs instead of the standard pews-and-pulpit setting. Each week, we'd sing hymns about eating Jesus ("Come taste and see that the Lord is good") and then various members of the congregation would stand up and "share" before one of the male elders would deliver the main message. The role of women was never outright stated or preached, but they never gave sermons. They did, however, "man" the kitchen and nursery and were sure to be soft-spoken and modest. (Truthfully, women were a big part of fellowship and allowed to speak in the meetings, and pray, and did have a voice. But we weren't allowed to lead, or teach with authority.)
We also had youth conferences a few times a year where (again, male) speakers would come up and spend the weekend indoctrinating us. I remember getting very indignant at the gender segregated downtime where the "sisters" stayed inside and cooked for and served the older (male) guest speakers, while the "brothers" got to play a bible verse version of Capture the Flag outside. Another time, the guys all went rock climbing while the girls went to chill with the wife of one of our elders (who was practically a mail-order with the way their union was handled - a story for another day) and make flowers out of clay. (Boys had all the fun).
The Local church - or, "the loco" as my best friend and I called it - was never a great fit for my mom who missed her tongue-speaking, rejoicing charismatic roots, so I think a part of her was relieved when my stepdad skipped town after conning a lot of kindhearted people within the congregation out of their money. The weird thing was what he said to my mom the last time he saw her: "I know you can't see this right now, but I'm actually doing you a favour by leaving. One day, you'll look back and thank me for the gift I've given you."
... 7 years later, it's never been more clear just how right he was. Of course, we'll save our thanks for better people.
These days I run around telling christian men that they can damn well have their rib back, and Eve? She just wanted to know shit.
So, I finally got off* my butt to create an account upon reading the latest "Sandy Factor" installment, though I've been following this blog since the first part of Laura's story went up.
*remained on
Let's see... I'm 24, Canadian, and I work in community outreach for advocacy against sexual abuse and support for survivors.
Like many of you, I come from a religious background rife with abuse, but we weren't fundamentalists. Actually, we were rather liberal - just like Jesus, according to my mom. She's a self-identified "Red Letter" christian, which means she's based most of her faith on the spoken words of Christ in the gospels. We were raised to love, love, love everybody, to give to the poor (even though we were broke ourselves), to feed the hungry, to look after the sick and destitute (we had a neverending parade of people who had nowhere else to go stay with us over the years), to never judge and preach but to "win-through-prayer." (To this day, my mom does not understand the "Religious Right" - it all seems so anti-christian and anathema to the gospel to her.)
I didn't learn to hate Christianity from my mother - I (appropriately, I'd say) learned that by attending a christian school run by judgmental, hypocritical assholes who espoused the "Health and Wealth" doctrine, and never missed an opportunity to make my brothers and me feel like shit for being poor kids with a single (and divorced! *gasp*) mother. So much for all the love.
Then the abuse came from my stepfather who was a raging narcissist. He claimed to have egalitarian views but his ridiculous, overwhelming sense of entitlement kept him in charge of the family, and my mom's traumatic background and giving, compassionate spirit made her the perfect partner for a domineering spouse. His abuse was mostly emotional and spiritual which made it difficult to recognize and articulate when I was younger, beyond the general understanding that he wasn't somebody to be trusted. One of my earlier memories of this is from when I was about 6 and I was with my mom while she was trying to ask her professor for an extension on a paper. Apparently, it was supposed to be turned in that day but my stepdad had hidden it from her to "teach her a lesson." Her offense? Pulling off straight A's while raising three kids, when he was struggling through his seventh year with his learning disability. When we got home, I collected a bunch of my "important things" and hid them around my room where I thought my stepdad wouldn't find them.
When I was 13, he was becoming very involved in that ridiculous Men's Rights movement, and my mom was in the middle of a depression very similar to what Laura went through during Dale's "affair with Brazil/God/himself." It was at that time that we switched to a more conservative (and weird, if I may) church at his insistence. It was one of those freaky "local churches" who refer to themselves as "non-denominational" even though they have their very own translation of the Bible everybody has to use - the Recovery version - and a prominent figure head - "Witness Lee." There was no pastor, and we sat in a circle of chairs instead of the standard pews-and-pulpit setting. Each week, we'd sing hymns about eating Jesus ("Come taste and see that the Lord is good") and then various members of the congregation would stand up and "share" before one of the male elders would deliver the main message. The role of women was never outright stated or preached, but they never gave sermons. They did, however, "man" the kitchen and nursery and were sure to be soft-spoken and modest. (Truthfully, women were a big part of fellowship and allowed to speak in the meetings, and pray, and did have a voice. But we weren't allowed to lead, or teach with authority.)
We also had youth conferences a few times a year where (again, male) speakers would come up and spend the weekend indoctrinating us. I remember getting very indignant at the gender segregated downtime where the "sisters" stayed inside and cooked for and served the older (male) guest speakers, while the "brothers" got to play a bible verse version of Capture the Flag outside. Another time, the guys all went rock climbing while the girls went to chill with the wife of one of our elders (who was practically a mail-order with the way their union was handled - a story for another day) and make flowers out of clay. (Boys had all the fun).
The Local church - or, "the loco" as my best friend and I called it - was never a great fit for my mom who missed her tongue-speaking, rejoicing charismatic roots, so I think a part of her was relieved when my stepdad skipped town after conning a lot of kindhearted people within the congregation out of their money. The weird thing was what he said to my mom the last time he saw her: "I know you can't see this right now, but I'm actually doing you a favour by leaving. One day, you'll look back and thank me for the gift I've given you."
... 7 years later, it's never been more clear just how right he was. Of course, we'll save our thanks for better people.
These days I run around telling christian men that they can damn well have their rib back, and Eve? She just wanted to know shit.