Post by mommybunny1 on Feb 20, 2010 17:31:58 GMT -5
I became aware of this group after reading Vyckie's story on Salon.com. After reading the website, I became fascinated. I have posted a few times and mentioned some things about my background, but this is my first attempt at introducing myself.
On the surface, it would seem that I have little in common with the experiences of former QF/ Christian Fundamentalist women. As I read more deeply, my affinity for this topic began to clear. As I have stated in previous posts, I am a mostly secular Jewish women who is questioning everything at this time in my life. I am 50 years old. Despite the fact that we were not religious, my family did their best to keep my contact with people outside my faith to a minimum. I went to public school. My public school was 80% Jewish. (As unlikely as that sounds, it is true.) I had very little frame of reference except children who were pretty much just like me. I thought that I was brought up in a loving and nurturing family, although I was very awkward and always a disappointment to my parents. The thing is that I was a good student and well behaved. My parents did not use physical punishment to excess, but the emotional abuse was constant. Nothing, and I mean nothing that I ever did was up to my parent's standards. This holds true even today.
I was permitted to go to college, but I was required to live in my parent's home during this time. "Nice girls do not live on their own." In my third year at the University, I became close to a young man who was Catholic. My parents did not react badly at first. He was a lovely, hardworking and earnest young man. My parents, who treated me as a child even at 20, did not think it was a serious thing. When my beau moved to another state for graduate school, I still had another year of college. After graduation, I accepted a position in graduate school to be with this young man. My parents completely disowned me. They told me that if I go off with this boy, I was dead to them and they would mourn me. My father tore a rip in his tie. Wearing a torn item of clothing is a sign in the Jewish religion that a person is mourning.
Although I had no experience living on my own, I left to go to graduate school. I had never really been able to please my parents. No achievement was good enough. My parents were mourning a daughter who had actually achieved really great things. This, all because I loved a Catholic boy.
After a year or so, my parents began to contact me again. I missed my family and wanted only to be a part of them and pleasing to them. Eventually, I broke off my relationship with my beau while I was in Grad school. Some time later, I got closer to a classmate...he was from my home town and was Jewish. Something about him felt like "home" to me. We were soon engaged and then married. Over time, it became more and more difficult to make him happy. Nothing would please him. He was prone to rages. Sometimes he would throw or break things. He often was irrational and was very controlling. I had to account for literally every minute of my time. I totally understand the insidious nature of abuse. I understand how hard it is to see clearly from the inside, how you feel that you can "love" the abuse away by just being good enough. So I kept trying to be good enough, loving enough, caring enough...just a little bit more perfect. And so, my husband continued to raise the bar of what he expected.
Over the next several years, we had three children. They were (and still are) the shining stars of my life. I adore them with every fiber of my being, even thought they are all grown up and living on their own. I was determined to help them have good self esteem and not to feel inadequate as I had always felt.
As the children grew, my husband grew more abusive. I finally resolved to leave. And I did. Looking back, I realize that I did the right thing and that I should have trusted myself then. I was in my thirties and missed family life terribly. I hated sharing custody, but their father loved them and had a right to his children. (He still sees them as his property.) I dated and eventually became involved with a man who was to become my second husband. The short story there is that he was even more abusive than the first. After my youngest went off to college, that marriage ended too. (A sordid tale that I will not review in this post. Hint: H2 takes lots of money and runs off with the maid.)
So I found myself alone, children grown and I still could not figure out what happened to me. It took me until I was 47 years old to figure out that I accepted abuse and that it felt like "home" because my family was abusive. Go figure...fancy graduate degree. (OK, I am a physician. There. I said it. Yup. It happened to a doctor. And I am not the only one.)
What does this have to do with Christian extremism? Well, to begin with, the whole Patriarchy thing started with the Old Testament. The Old Testament is the sacred text of my people. I was raised in a self defined Jewish cloister right here in America. I had no other frame of reference. But that does not make it abusive. As a matter of fact, many of my friends' parents supported and encouraged them to explore the world. Many of my classmates kept a distance from me not because of my own failings but because my parents creeped them out. I just learned this in the last 2 years...via Facebook of all things.
I am not now and have never been a Christian. But the rigid Biblical hierarchy that chained many of you, chained me as well. My parents are afraid of anything that is different than they are. I think that they were well intentioned in what they did to me. They were critical of my efforts on life because they feared for me. They fear that I would convert to a different religion. They feared that I would be exposed to worldly things. They feared that anything I do will make me strange from them.
My parents and I still have the same relationship as we had when I was a child. It took me until I was 47 years old to see the truth. I have finally harnessed the guilt I have for letting them down. It still makes me sad, but it no longer defines me.
As for my own children, we have a great relationship. My daughters are my best friends. We visit each other as often as possible. They love me and I love them without reserve. My son loves me as I do him. We get together and enjoy our times together. They have good self esteem. We laugh and sing and share our deepest thoughts. All of my children are responsible and smart and educated. And I did it without plumbers pipe or horrible guilt. Go figure.
Thank you for letting me share.
On the surface, it would seem that I have little in common with the experiences of former QF/ Christian Fundamentalist women. As I read more deeply, my affinity for this topic began to clear. As I have stated in previous posts, I am a mostly secular Jewish women who is questioning everything at this time in my life. I am 50 years old. Despite the fact that we were not religious, my family did their best to keep my contact with people outside my faith to a minimum. I went to public school. My public school was 80% Jewish. (As unlikely as that sounds, it is true.) I had very little frame of reference except children who were pretty much just like me. I thought that I was brought up in a loving and nurturing family, although I was very awkward and always a disappointment to my parents. The thing is that I was a good student and well behaved. My parents did not use physical punishment to excess, but the emotional abuse was constant. Nothing, and I mean nothing that I ever did was up to my parent's standards. This holds true even today.
I was permitted to go to college, but I was required to live in my parent's home during this time. "Nice girls do not live on their own." In my third year at the University, I became close to a young man who was Catholic. My parents did not react badly at first. He was a lovely, hardworking and earnest young man. My parents, who treated me as a child even at 20, did not think it was a serious thing. When my beau moved to another state for graduate school, I still had another year of college. After graduation, I accepted a position in graduate school to be with this young man. My parents completely disowned me. They told me that if I go off with this boy, I was dead to them and they would mourn me. My father tore a rip in his tie. Wearing a torn item of clothing is a sign in the Jewish religion that a person is mourning.
Although I had no experience living on my own, I left to go to graduate school. I had never really been able to please my parents. No achievement was good enough. My parents were mourning a daughter who had actually achieved really great things. This, all because I loved a Catholic boy.
After a year or so, my parents began to contact me again. I missed my family and wanted only to be a part of them and pleasing to them. Eventually, I broke off my relationship with my beau while I was in Grad school. Some time later, I got closer to a classmate...he was from my home town and was Jewish. Something about him felt like "home" to me. We were soon engaged and then married. Over time, it became more and more difficult to make him happy. Nothing would please him. He was prone to rages. Sometimes he would throw or break things. He often was irrational and was very controlling. I had to account for literally every minute of my time. I totally understand the insidious nature of abuse. I understand how hard it is to see clearly from the inside, how you feel that you can "love" the abuse away by just being good enough. So I kept trying to be good enough, loving enough, caring enough...just a little bit more perfect. And so, my husband continued to raise the bar of what he expected.
Over the next several years, we had three children. They were (and still are) the shining stars of my life. I adore them with every fiber of my being, even thought they are all grown up and living on their own. I was determined to help them have good self esteem and not to feel inadequate as I had always felt.
As the children grew, my husband grew more abusive. I finally resolved to leave. And I did. Looking back, I realize that I did the right thing and that I should have trusted myself then. I was in my thirties and missed family life terribly. I hated sharing custody, but their father loved them and had a right to his children. (He still sees them as his property.) I dated and eventually became involved with a man who was to become my second husband. The short story there is that he was even more abusive than the first. After my youngest went off to college, that marriage ended too. (A sordid tale that I will not review in this post. Hint: H2 takes lots of money and runs off with the maid.)
So I found myself alone, children grown and I still could not figure out what happened to me. It took me until I was 47 years old to figure out that I accepted abuse and that it felt like "home" because my family was abusive. Go figure...fancy graduate degree. (OK, I am a physician. There. I said it. Yup. It happened to a doctor. And I am not the only one.)
What does this have to do with Christian extremism? Well, to begin with, the whole Patriarchy thing started with the Old Testament. The Old Testament is the sacred text of my people. I was raised in a self defined Jewish cloister right here in America. I had no other frame of reference. But that does not make it abusive. As a matter of fact, many of my friends' parents supported and encouraged them to explore the world. Many of my classmates kept a distance from me not because of my own failings but because my parents creeped them out. I just learned this in the last 2 years...via Facebook of all things.
I am not now and have never been a Christian. But the rigid Biblical hierarchy that chained many of you, chained me as well. My parents are afraid of anything that is different than they are. I think that they were well intentioned in what they did to me. They were critical of my efforts on life because they feared for me. They fear that I would convert to a different religion. They feared that I would be exposed to worldly things. They feared that anything I do will make me strange from them.
My parents and I still have the same relationship as we had when I was a child. It took me until I was 47 years old to see the truth. I have finally harnessed the guilt I have for letting them down. It still makes me sad, but it no longer defines me.
As for my own children, we have a great relationship. My daughters are my best friends. We visit each other as often as possible. They love me and I love them without reserve. My son loves me as I do him. We get together and enjoy our times together. They have good self esteem. We laugh and sing and share our deepest thoughts. All of my children are responsible and smart and educated. And I did it without plumbers pipe or horrible guilt. Go figure.
Thank you for letting me share.
