Spring has arrived and with it; really, really awful nightmares. Things usually take a downward turn in December and don’t really bounce back until the beginning of August, so it will probably be another long ride. Therapists have suspected that there might be some sort of anniversary reaction there, but I was hoping to never have to find out what it was about. Until my subconscious took the liberty of informing me a few nights ago 🙄
So, it’s one of those things where I’ve remembered the events ever since they happened, but I’ve been willing them to be Not That Bad since they occurred, and never allowed myself to consider that this was the problem. What happened was I started effective therapy for the first time in the second half of 2013. A day or two after Christmas of that year, I moved back to my current region to complete my last semester of grad school. I enrolled in therapy with a local therapist. I had to look everywhere for a Christian counselor, because I was a Christian and I wanted to be with a “likeminded” counselor. I got signed up with a woman who confessed at the end of our brief period working together that she kind of knew from the start that I needed someone with more experience than she had, but she’d taken me on because I had been looking specifically for a Christian 🙄 Anyway, her first move was to tell me to write a letter to my family telling them not to contact me. This was ill-advised on a lot of levels, but I did it anyway. My mother’s reaction was malicious compliance. I told them in the letter that:
- It would be temporary
- I would let them know when I was ready to reconnect
- Please DO contact me if there’s a major life event
Shortly after sending it, I apologized to my family and told them what had happened. Christmas of 2014 I flew back to Ohio and tearfully begged for forgiveness and asked if they had stopped loving me. I really feel like I went out of my way to make amends. However, my mother would have none of it. Her policy was basically, “You want space? I’ll SHOW you space!”
So I just completely lost my family that year. Mom has been spreading rumors ever since that are usually based in absolutely nothing, but which all have the effect of alienating me more and more from the entire family. And no matter what I do or say, she always claims that she’s simply doing what I wanted her to do.
This had a profoundly bad effect on me. I almost didn’t finish the semester, but managed to pull things together enough to skate to graduation. The graduation ceremony itself was mostly negative because I was afraid of running into professors who “knew” that I was an imposter. My first actual suicide attempt was within months of mailing the letter and being shunned. Right when I was getting my master’s degree and I should have been entering the best years of my life, everything just tanked. Not surprisingly, it’s been extremely hard for me to work towards long-term goals ever since. I even remember Dr. X puzzling over why my life fell apart when I finished grad school, and at the time, I didn’t make the connection taht this was exactly when I got shunned. I feel like the two most influential decisions my mother ever made for me were 1) moving to another state with more “parental freedoms” regarding homeschooling (AKA lenient child endangerment laws) and 2) deciding to shun me in my last semester of graduate school.
And I wonder where my life would have been if I hadn’t been shunned. I’d never lost a job before that, but I lost my first job after graduate school. My turtle got lost in my apartment and I spent all weekend desperately searching for him, but I couldn’t find him. Nobody had ever in my life hinted that it was okay to take a mental health day, so I didn’t. However I was found (thankfully by staff) self-injuring in my office and had to leave the job in absolute humiliation. Nobody had ever been shunned, so nobody understood that it’s significant to lose your turtle when that turtle is your ONLY remaining family member. And you were in solitary confinement for most of your formative years except for limited interactions with the family that’s now gone and says it’s your fault. I certainly was not able to articulate this. All I knew was that I wanted my turtle back. (Ultimately I did find him. It would be far from the last near-disaster, but in this moment, he is here beside me and perfectly content.)
I could go on forever, but it was wave after wave after wave of just absolutely horrible things, being increasingly labeled as “mentally ill,” ending up in some incredibly dark places, and enduring excruciating stigma made worse by poverty and occasional homelessness. Before we moved to the Republican Theocracy State, I probably would have had some trauma, but my life could have been normal (and if you think that “there’s no such thing as normal” then congratulations: you’re normal). Before the shunning, my life wouldn’t have been normal and I would have needed a lot of therapy, but I probably would have been able to hold a job and I wouldn’t have attempted suicide or been homeless or ended up on the gut-wrenching journey of compounding trauma and life-threatening situations (both self-inflicted and otherwise, mostly otherwise). Despite my mother’s claim that she has popularized with the whole family, I didn’t actually leave Christianity until two and a half years after the shunning. My brother said recently that he’s very sure that me sending my parents that letter was the start of me leaving Christianity, and of course it’s me that’s continuing to enforce no-contact because mom would never 🙄 She almost had me convinced of this as well, but it’s definitely not true when I look back through my records. A few months ago I was interviewed by a graduate student who was studying people who grew up in cults, and she asked if I had been shunned because I left the cult, or if I left the cult because I had been shunned (or if they both just happened). I had never thought of the possibility that being shunned was why I left the faith, but I’m pretty sure it was.
Now, I do have to include here that what cult I came from is questionable. I grew up in a religious group that followed the 1689 London Baptist Confession of Faith and calls itself Reformed Baptists. Personally, I do not think that this group is super especially healthy as I have mentioned in previous entries, because there’s a lot of 17th-century level sexism and kids get molested what seems like more frequently than in the general population. Some congregations practice “church discipline,” up to and including excommunication. Our church actually did this once to our own pastor on the grounds that it turned out that he had a drinking problem that had gone undiagnosed and spiraled. Did they handle this super great? I mean probably not, but they sure tried. My parents have issues but the way I remember it, as dysfunctional as things really really were, people still cared about the ex-pastor and were moved by his situation. We could all still have talked to him if we’d run into him (probably in a bar). It was not shunning.
Meanwhile, there’s my family. My parents’ relationship is a strange blend of Hyacinth and Richard Bucket from Keeping Up Appearances on the BBC; overlaid with Pinky and the Brain. Mom was very sure that everyone in the church thought she was just amazing. There were some indications that everyone in the church thought she was a nut. Meanwhile, much like the brainiac mouse, she definitely would have taken over the world by now if she weren’t held back by her own cognitive limitations (she’s honestly not that bright). Meanwhile, my father definitely should have made a lot of very different decisions in life, but I do feel bad for him because he’s actually less smart than my mother, and she always brings him along on her chronically ill-fated attempts to take over the world and be admired for it.
So, you’d think it would all be fine. Unfortunately, she did have more wherewithal than I did when I was an infant. The same thing happened to my siblings, who were not shunned and are currently living with Stockholm Syndrome but are able to make money and seem otherwise happy. So, basically, my mom was the cult leader. We were in a high-demand religious group, but most people in the church were good and kind people. My mother is the one who has to be adored at all costs. And she joined a high-demand religious group so she could manipulate the system. She convinced us that God was somehow connected to her constant need for narcissistic supply. She adopted the role of church lady so that she could control anyone who got sucked into her web. I dared to challenge her, and I got permanently shunned for life. I am now an example to my siblings, nieces, nephews, and whoever else she has in her clutches that if you dare to challenge her, she will ruin your life like she ruined mine.
Which, I’m still actively trying to prevent my life from being ruined. But, as we approach my 10-year anniversary of being shunned, it’s not like I’ve managed to fully recover from the ordeal. Most of my reproductive years are over. I had a few romantic relationships before the shunning but never was able to trust enough after. I’ve been through experiences that you can’t just totally move on from. If I get a job tomorrow as a full-time teacher and am cured and can keep it, and nobody finds out about my life story, then I’ll still probably be the only one who’s been homeless, has lived in group homes, has had a VNA, has spent years in mental hospitals, etc. And as much as I wish it weren’t true, those experiences change you. My mother claims that it broke her heart when she found out that I use cuss words now. It’s like, how the heck did she expect me to get through all this without picking up the art of the potty mouth? And I can and do turn it off in professional situations. However, it’s a tangible example of the way I’m different now as a person. I know how to buy a gun illegally, what different drugs do to people, and how to get out of a mental hospital. (Although I’ve only ever personally made use of this third piece of information.)
If it had all been different, I probably would have completed my dream of moving to Latin America as a missionary for the PCA. I would have met a missionary man and had missionary children. I would have spoken more Spanish. I would have seen some major shit, but not personally experienced it. I would have still been close to my sister, as we were really close before I got shunned. It would have been a more desirable life.
So I was really down in the dumps. I had a crazy dream about trying to escape the Amish, only to wake up envious of the self that I was in the dream because if I’d been Amish, I could have at least socialized with other Amish children rather than being in solitary confinement in the Cult Of My Mother. This dream was probably triggered by the windowpanes at the subway station. They were the kind with lots and lots of squares of glass, separated by wooden strips painted dark brown. The dark brown paint just touches the glass where they meet. We had windows like that in our church before we moved to the bad place.
Finally, I recalled (of all things) a Reddit post on the vegan subreddit. If you’re considering that subreddit, I can’t exactly recommend it, because they’re a little intense. If they knew that my cat ate normal cat food, I would for sure be kicked off immediately- forget about the weekly pouch of salmon.
But, as in most things in life, it’s not entirely bad. I came across this post about a month ago.
Wayne was taken into custody on Thursday to await sentencing, after being found guilty of rescuing dying animals.
These are his first words from Sonoma County Jail:
“Being close to suffering changes us. I saw this from the moment I first walked into a slaughterhouse 16 years ago. A little lamb looked up at me from her pen. She was shaking and said to me with her eyes, “I’m scared. I don’t want to die.” As I watched her, the world suddenly became very dark.
My new life as a convict has begun, and I am near suffering again. This time it is me in a cage. Surrounding me are people in their worst moments of life. There is a young man, smashing his hands and feet against the tall walls, as he screams for help from some unknown terror. There is a middle-aged person, muttering in Spanish, as he leans over and digs his head into his hands. (In three hours, he has not bothered to look up.) And there’s a red-headed teenager, with bloodshot eyes and face, who looks as if he will break down in tears. (He cannot be much older than 18.) The world has, once again, become very dark. For the indefinite future, I’ll have to accept that change.
But there is another change that comes from being close to suffering. Wherever there is suffering, there is also light. I saw that in the little lamb’s eyes 16 years ago. Even as she scrambled away in terror, she showed me her desperation, her hope, her willingness to fight. And I see it in the inmates in this Sonoma County jail. The world has forgotten them. But they still fight. Scrounging together funds for bail. Piecing together a legal defense. Doing whatever it takes to be free.
The desperation of suffering casts a great shadow. It is the nightmare of every sentient being. But the struggle against suffering creates a light greater than the shadow. Indeed, that light is piercing and powerful precisely because it’s born from the dark. For 16 years, I have tried to come closer to suffering. I have seen things that no one should have to see. But there is a difference between seeing and being. To be truly transformed, I cannot just be near suffering. I must be suffering. I cannot just observe suffering. I must experience it. It is the only path to true understanding, wisdom, and change.
There is a theory in cognitive science that all human thought comes from metaphor. According to the theory, our minds are unable to understand anything beyond our own experiences. All other thoughts and feelings are just comparisons — metaphorical replications — for something we’ve personally experienced.
I think this theory goes too far — humans can think about abstractions, such as math, that have no connection to any experience — but it still capture essential truths. Part of the reason I don’t just know, but feel and understand the plight of animals, is that I have been trapped and terrorized myself.
As a child, I was bullied so mercilessly that I sometimes shook in fear before stepping onto the school bus. I withheld from my family, for years, the cause of the scratches and bruises on my body and face. But because of these experiences, I could be transported in an instant to the suffering of animals. I felt it. And that metaphorical connection was a source of not just fear, but motivation and fight. I know the terror of confinement — and the liberation of being back with the people I loved. For that reason, my childhood torment was a gift. It gave me wisdom that I otherwise would have lacked.
Yet, that childhood suffering pales in comparison to the torment inflicted on animals today. The violence I faced was intense but brief. It did not leave me physically broken or disfigured (other than a faint scar on my left lip.) I had a caring family to come home to. A best friend, a lab mutt named Vivian, who loved me more than I thought it was possible to love.
The animals facing systemic abuse have no such comforts. They suffer alone, in the dark, where no one will hear their cries. And, as the brilliant writer Andy Greenberg once put it, this is the dominant experience on Earth today: “The average experience of a sentient being on this planet is the life of a factory-farmed animal in a cage.” I have suffered in life. But I don’t truly understand this experience. I was not torn from my mother’s arms as a child. I was not forced to fight for food and water and watch as those around me were cannibalized. And I was not trapped in a cage and denied the freedom that is the birthright of every sentient being.
Until now. The coming weeks, months, or years will bring me closer to suffering — to the dominant experience on Earth today — than I’ve ever been before. I can already see that this will change me. The petty resentments and frustrations I felt, just days ago, are gone. They have been consumed by the darkness of this place. But in suffering, there is both darkness and light. Every sentient being yearns to be free. I can see that — feel that — because of the light cast by my own captivity. This is the fight of my life. But it has always been the fight of their lives, too. I will soon come closer to that wisdom and truly understand:
The dominant experience on Earth is that of an animal in a cage, and it’s time for that to change.”
I wouldn’t say that I was sheltered as a kid. I mean, unless you want to say that prisoners in solitary confinement are sheltered, as they’re often put there “for their own protection.” However, if it hadn’t been for the absolutely indescribably awful things that have happened over the past ten years, I would probably still have thought that I felt bad for panhandlers as I passed them safely from my car. You know, the kind of empathy that’s more like pity, because the person experiencing it has never personally been anywhere close to losing everyone in their lives and having to subject themselves to that kind of public humiliation and loss of all self-worth. Christians are particularly famous for this, because while much of the world turns a blind eye, some Christians actively go into bad neighborhoods and offer food to the undeserving, which is free as long as you listen to an hour-long sermon of wisdom bestowed from the all-knowing pulpit. That would have been me.
And it’s frustrating because I know more than I ever cared to know, and at the same time, in the process of teaching me, life has dragged me down so much that I feel powerless to actually do anything with the information.
I don’t think there’s a god. I don’t think that any of this happened for a reason. But it did happen, and hopefully I can make something good come of it.
So, wish me luck. I got shunned in the spring, and the unfortunate cross-country move that transpired when I was nine happened at the end of June, 1999. Anniversary reactions beget dysfunction which beget more trauma, so now most of the year is an anniversary reaction. Yesterday I literally hyperventilated for two hours after trying new body wash that gave off a smell that I had apparently encountered many moons ago during the particular incident which I remembered in perfect detail at the time. I tried the “Don’t worry, we’re not there, we’re here now, it’s okay,” but that works better in theory than in practice. Kind of like trying to wake yourself up from a bad dream. It’s been rough, and the reality is that it’s going to be rough for a while. I’m probably going to need a lot of grace from those around me. Most especially a certain turtle and cat. The turtle had been trying to explain to the cat that Mom was a lunatic, but I’m not sure he believed him until the past week 😳
