That's not what this post is about, and I don't think I should even have to say this, but I don't view myself as an anti-feminist, just always pragmatic, rational, and sincere. And being this was recent, I figure it's a good place to start.
So I asked that question after becoming somewhat involved with feminism myself, for a short time. Having strong feelings about the importance of women's rights and having developed friendships with very honest, outspoken feminists, I have had to ask some difficult questions of myself over the past year. My experiences often do relate, but don't always relate with feminist ideals. And I have been in situations were former friends have tried to silence me, and I have even been shamed and threatened myself, specifically by feminists who I originally thought were friends, simply for saying things they disagreed with. So I ask the question particularly because it has not been since I left the Jehovah's Witness cult that I have gone through such a significant period where I felt this confused and sickened by the prospects of expressing my experiences and opinion. And I find that ugly. In fact, as a cult survivor, this whole issue has a tendency to totally disconnect me, both emotionally and mentally, from such situations. And because of that, I have expressly decided, not only to ask that question, but to tell my whole story again.
I also realized just the other day that it has been a while since since I spoke up about my past as one of Jehovah's Witnesses. I've mentioned in another recent post that I am somewhat involved with the online ex Jehovah's Witness community, a loosely-knit group of former cult members who are shunned by their families and try to provide support and a sense of belonging to each other, as well as activism against this worldwide organization that has horrible, unethical, and even lethal policies. The cult's doctrines, among other things, provide a safe haven for pedophiles and are responsible for broken families, countless suicides, and compel martyrdom on several fronts, but most heavily based on a historically shifting doctrine regarding blood transfusions (they even go as far as glorifying child martyrdom in their publications) which has led to many needless deaths.
Consider this the kick-off to a reprise of that experience. I have found many friendships and done a lot of self-discovery since I last went through this story. And beyond anything to do with feminism, if ever there was a group that needed a spotlight as much as Scientology did, it is Jehovah's Witnesses. So I'm going to go ahead and retell that story now.
My journey out of the cult was a long one. It was a process for sure, all of it.
I'll start out by saying that I grew up feeling very different. For a while it was tough for me to put words to that, mostly because it was met with a lot of hostility from my mother whenever I tried to express myself. I know now that hostility came from her own insecurities, mixed with the cult indoctrination. But that didn't make it any less traumatic or stunting for me, as I learned to close myself off for decades afterward.
My father worked far too much, and also seemed to have his own issues to sort out. It sounds cliché, but he did seem to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. I remember he seemed generally, far kinder and more approachable than my mother most of the time, but also mostly aloof. And unpredictable, as he could, from time to time, become loudly and fearfully verbally aggressive at a moment's notice. I have to admit, though, most times that seemed to be triggered by my mother's nonstop attacks on his very character. I don't remember many nights when my parents weren't angry at each other. Things did get physical once, but only once. I'll get to that later.
On top of his busy schedule and my parent's arguing when he was home, my mother constantly told me hateful things about my father, from my earliest memories forward, so I never really developed much of a relationship with him until I was older. I have many little, happy memories with my mother, despite how much seething hatred she displayed when I simply tried to be myself. Looking back, she seemed to go through the physical motions of motherhood, but didn't actually care for my mental or emotional well-being, or much of anything else real in life, for that matter. She had given up. And it's so sad to me she still lives this way. I honestly view her, and all of us, as victims of this cult, each having been anchored in by our own set of "transgressions". Speaking with friends who have known me since I was young, apparently it was always obvious that I was different in some way, but no one ever told me. And I can't say it was anyone other than my mother who stuck it deep in my mind that I was inherently, from birth, what Tumblrites today might call a shitlord, prone to evil, as was anyone who sported a pair of testicles in my family. I honestly wasn't surprised to learn from my father that my mother had been somewhat of a feminist in college, before the brainwashing.
One of my vivid memories of her, when I was younger, was when we were awaiting a special announcement at a Jehovah's Witness convention and her remarking, "I bet it's going to be women elders!" I always admired her for being a strong woman, when I was younger--I always wanted to grow up to be like her--so this isn't me being critical. It's no secret that Jehovah's Witnesses could definitely benefit from allowing women leaders in their congregations. My mom was always one to encourage the other women in the congregation to think critically and not take any crap. As I said, I admired her. But, looking back, the longer she stayed in, the more the brainwashing whittled away at her sharp mind. And as my brother later came out as gay, and I also eventually left the cult, I feel she was so let down that she entirely lost herself and her resolve. All the things I say here about my family in this post are, again, not at all to be criticizing, but simply to say to my family members still inside--especially my mom, if she happens to read this--that I remember who they are.
Unfortunately, I have far fewer childhood memories with my father, good or bad. Whether this is more of the effect of the cult or the effect of his work schedule, I can't say. I have a decent relationship with him now, unlike my mother who completely shuns me, as she is advised to. But my fondest memories with my father, from those childhood years, are probably--him a professional technologist--the time he spent teaching me how to use a computer, DOS prompt, and eventually Windows, showing me how to build a computer, letting me loose on the Internet (that part sounds way worse now than it was back then, believe me), and teaching me simple web scripting.
One of my vivid memories of her, when I was younger, was when we were awaiting a special announcement at a Jehovah's Witness convention and her remarking, "I bet it's going to be women elders!" I always admired her for being a strong woman, when I was younger--I always wanted to grow up to be like her--so this isn't me being critical. It's no secret that Jehovah's Witnesses could definitely benefit from allowing women leaders in their congregations. My mom was always one to encourage the other women in the congregation to think critically and not take any crap. As I said, I admired her. But, looking back, the longer she stayed in, the more the brainwashing whittled away at her sharp mind. And as my brother later came out as gay, and I also eventually left the cult, I feel she was so let down that she entirely lost herself and her resolve. All the things I say here about my family in this post are, again, not at all to be criticizing, but simply to say to my family members still inside--especially my mom, if she happens to read this--that I remember who they are.
Unfortunately, I have far fewer childhood memories with my father, good or bad. Whether this is more of the effect of the cult or the effect of his work schedule, I can't say. I have a decent relationship with him now, unlike my mother who completely shuns me, as she is advised to. But my fondest memories with my father, from those childhood years, are probably--him a professional technologist--the time he spent teaching me how to use a computer, DOS prompt, and eventually Windows, showing me how to build a computer, letting me loose on the Internet (that part sounds way worse now than it was back then, believe me), and teaching me simple web scripting.
In the long run, by the time middle school had ended for me, through the secret power of Alta Vista's web crawlers, I not only had figured out exactly why I felt so different and how I wished I could handle it, but I also simply knew from my culty, Bible-based indoctrination, that this was--I was--just flat-out, fundamentally wrong. I knew I was perverted and completely unfixable. Mixing what I knew about myself and what I also knew about how Jehovah God felt about it... I knew I was going to die.
I was going to die. I knew it. There was no doubt in my mind. But because I loved my family and friends and just believed it was totally--I mean of course it was-- the "truth"--I felt like I wanted to spend my bit of remaining time with my family and friends, surrounded by those I thought were the best people in the world--they were all I had ever really known--and helping to save other people's lives. That seemed like the right thing to do, considering all the information my little brain had at that point. Just maybe there would be hope for me. At the very least I wouldn't loose the people I loved.
Of course, that was a child's mind trying to rationalize all this...
The ultimate result ended up being that I focused on doctrine and scripture. And there was one particular scripture I zeroed-in on: 1 Corinthians 15:58. My goal, in line with that passage, dogmatically became me totally relying on "always having plenty to do" in that organization so I could keep my mind from thinking, and remain completely "steadfast" to Jehovah. I got baptized, auxiliary pioneered, then regular pioneered, and at 17 they appointed me as a ministerial servant. A ministerial servant of Jehovah's Witnesses holds a similar function to a deacon in the Catholic church, if you are unfamiliar.
If you were a friend or you were to follow me on social media, I don't think I'd have to explain how much deep inner conflict was still ongoing inside of me, despite all of this constant moving from distraction to distraction. And what made it worse was that I would see red flags and people walking around in either a smile-plastered haze, or an aloof and unhappy gloom, and everyone was suffering because of it, all through my congregation. I wanted to try and change things, but looking back, I was so brainwashed myself I had no idea where to start.
In the end, I did try to help in the best ways I knew how at the time. I'd offer to take conflicted teens, those who were younger than me and struggling to find to the drive or interest to become baptized "active" publishers in the congregation, out in our preaching ministry. Many of them being my friends, I'd try and make it fun. We'd take lots of breaks, we'd have the latest music playing, and when we did stop, we'd find something fun to do. We'd go play video games, or skateboard (our motto was a cringeworthy "skate or preach"), or we'd just hang out. We'd "witness" at the mall or the beach and do plenty of goofing around. We'd take tape recorders to the doors we'd preach at and do little pranks or jokes with our presentations, recording them to listen to and laugh our asses off later.
Honestly, I have to admit that I might have been the textbook Jehovah's Witness "bad association", especially for a ministerial servant. I bent their rules in a lot of ways like that. I honestly thought I was doing the right thing by showing my friends--who tended to be as annoyed and on the fence as I had been before I unwittingly gave up on myself at the ripe old age of 13--that serving Jehovah could also be fun. And I was set on making it true.
I still carry a lot of guilt for these decisions and having had this influence. Most of those former friends are still inside and brainwashed by that cult. Even though I was also clearly brainwashed, it still weighs on me.
There were other things I did to try and help. I often tried to sneak new ideas into my talks at the Kingdom Hall, ideas which I thought were important to at least think and expand on, but also seemed to have a scriptural basis. I discovered then that I excelled at seeing patterns in things that other people tended not to see. So, despite my brainwashing and limited study material, it became my goal to help people broaden their thinking, still within the scope of the Jehovah's Witness doctrine, which I myself still held as the final word.
Probably the most glaring example I remember is when, in a small talk I had about honoring Jehovah with our example to the world, I referenced Revelation 11:18, and then I talked about automobile pollution "ruining the earth", and asked the audience if we should be considerate of how much we drive. Then I read Luke 4:9-12, noted that automobile accidents were one of the leading causes of death in the world, and then noted something along the effect of "Perhaps it is wise to consider that we may be 'putting our God to the test' every time we get behind the wheel, and we should weigh the need versus the risk." The elders shifted in their seats a little at that one, but mostly they let it pass. However, later I was reprimanded when I remarked at a gathering that driving a car was a necessary sin. All sin is bad, I was reminded. There is no such thing as a necessary sin.
But seriously, I tried to help. My hope was always to make things better and do the "right" thing. And people often would be calling me when they had a problem, because they knew this about me. I was only a 17 year old kid, though. And it started to get really hairy, and I became very involved in a terrible situation, when one of my younger friends called me one night over domestic abuse. I advised him to call the police and the elders. I even rushed over to help, if necessary, but they were gone by the time I arrived.
But these are the things that really started upsetting me, without even granting myself the mental and emotional space to address my own problems, which still hung gloomily over my head. Without addressing the main problem which caused me to drink, hurt and mutilate myself, or to secretly wear clothing that I knew everyone else might have felt was horribly vile if they had only seen me in them. This was all how I coped back then, though.
My dad was disfellowshipped when I was 15, which meant we were to shun him--as much as you can shun a family member you are living with--according to cult rules. Shortly afterwards my sister completely stopped speaking to him altogether.
I was so conflicted over this because my parents also had a violent dispute shortly after, which led to me launch a right hook into my father's jaw in an attempt to protect my mom, and my dad responding to that by, in turn, launching me across the room and into the couch. I've talked to various family members regarding what happened that night, and when it all began I was in another room, so I do not know the particulars of what really happened. I've been told the situation was instigated by my mother in some way. I don't think violence is ever the answer, but unfortunately it does break out when people are going through inescapable emotional abuse or torment. I blamed my father for years. But I now think we were all victims and culprits. All I really know for sure, looking back, is that my mother very seldom ever spoke well of my father as I was growing up, and it grew worse when he left the cult. My father almost always spoke well or was silent about his feelings regarding my mother, until well after the divorce. Finally, one parent shuns me like I am an alien creature she never cared about, while the other does not. The other has accepted me entirely for who I am, and I can't say there was ever a time he didn't try to.
So, being as conflicted as I was then over that situation, I went to the elders about my sister's lack of communication with my father, because I felt there were things that needed to be addressed, and my sister was simply "forsaking" my father, as Proverbs 23:22 specifically said not to. I was told I should consider doing the same as my sister. And I found that to be completely unexpected advice and appalling at the time. I only wanted to understand and do the right thing. I now know it was the right thing for her at the time, considering the pain surrounding what happened. But the dangerous part about the cult's influence regarding shunning, in all of this, is that she seemed later to tie that event to any part of her family who left the cult. She, without a single word further, began shunning me the first time I voiced that I no longer believed, and I haven't heard from her since.
By 19 I felt so unbelievably conflicted with everything. And I had no way to even begin expressing myself.
In the meantime I had kept moving with the Jehovah's Witness life expected of me. I met another pioneer. We had fallen in love, and were engaged, planning to "need-great" in Costa Rica after marriage. Everything was planned.
But then, one night, my best friend went through a heavy breakup with the girl he had been dating. Participating in the cult's traditional coping mechanism, we had both already taken to drinking a few years earlier, so we scored some tequila pretty easily. We talked and drank for a long while. And long, sickening story short, we both ended up with alcohol poisoning that night.
My friend's father, who was an elder, of course found out when my friend got home. At first he told us it was a small mistake and there'd be no judicial committee necessary (this is typically how Jehovah's Witnesses determine if someone will be excommunicated or simply reproved after committing what they perceive to be a sin). However, as my congregation became involved, my elders, who had grown tired of my easygoing, rule-bending attitude, insisted that headquarters be called over the situation. Honestly, I needed help, and although their actions didn't have the results they intended, I am thankful it happened.
One thing lead to another, and eventually I was privately reproved, meaning I was not to talk about what happened. In addition, I was also removed as both a ministerial servant and a pioneer and lost my "privilege" to speak during meetings. And all of my partner's and my plans after marriage went up in smoke.
We married anyways. We were best friends and I had been more honest with her than anyone else in my entire life to that point. She knew exactly who I was, everything about me, and we were close. But at the time, all the reality of my inner turmoil was simply dwarfed by Jehovah and meetings and preaching and being Witnesses. And we were young and in love. So we thought we'd figure it all out together with Jehovah's help.
Yet after the reproof, even though we got married, the congregation proceeded to treat us as if we were absolutely horrible people. Again, my reproof had been a private reproof, so people were gossiping and coming up with all sorts of explanations for what had actually happened. Some speculated we had sex before marriage. Others thought I had just given up on everything, out of the blue. I was incredibly upset at the time that my whole "career" of sorts had just vanished in an instant. I tried to progress again, but everyone and everything was suddenly staring me in the face, and I was too conflicted at that point to deal. I had become busy working in the trades, and focused on my marriage, and soon we had a baby on the way. But people never treated me the same again. I was outcast. My "friends" that I had spent so much time helping to grow "stronger", now avoided me. And all simply over gossip and speculation, when in reality, I had just been a teen that got too sloshed from trying tequila for the first time. But the more that people pushed me away--it sincerely hurt--but the less I felt that any of this still made sense. The less I felt that any of it was worth my time. I was slated to die anyways, right?
Over the years that went by, I kept attending meetings and praying. In the mean time, I started a business, I lost a business, the economy collapsed, our car was repossessed, and our house was foreclosed on. I had nothing else to fall back on but prayer and a ton of judgemental people. And it was terrible.
Then I discovered Buddhism. Which helped me rethink the world in terms of that suffering, and letting things go. And that began to help me coalesce again for a while. I then started researching apocrypha, and other Bibles and Bible-themed books, in hopes of finding the real "truth". My partner was becoming disillusioned too, but not as much as I was. She kept up with meetings here and there, but I only faded faster the more I learned about the history of the Bible and other religions, and eventually science.
In 2011, despite unbelievable protests from my mother and sister, I started college, and I started with Anthropology and Political Science, Trigonometry, and Applied Physics being my first four courses. I discovered I had an IQ of 132 that had been seething for years under the mental blockage that was Jehovah's Witness brainwashing. I majored in Electrical Engineering with a focus on education and the growing relevance of quantum mechanics in the field. I was invited to STEM competitions and to study in China. After a few terms in college, I also came out as an atheist. I started watching ex Jehovah's Witness apostate videos, like Anondude2, JWFairytale, and Danmera. Three months later, I told everyone I knew on Facebook at the time, mostly Jehovah's Witnesses, that their donations were being secretly paid in settlements to victims of pedophilia. Everyone left, and my long time childhood "best friend" was one of the first ones to give up on me.
And that's it. That's my story of survival from the Jehovah's Witness cult.
What happened next? What was my original problem that I thought, since childhood, had slated me for death? Well, that part most people already know. But where did I go from there?
I continued in college one more year until I had a complete mental breakdown and just could no longer function due to my long ignored and unanswered gender dysphoria finally invading every thought I had, every nook and cranny of my mind--despite still having "plenty to do". I was in the middle of Calculus 2. I had an "A". I even finished with an "A" although I failed my last exam. Instead of concentrating in class and instead of completing that exam, all I could do was keep writing pros and cons and venn diagrams regarding my gender. I was literally unable to think about anything else. I couldn't even focus long enough to complete the final. That's how bad it got.
Obviously, I've talked about gender dysphoria a lot on this blog, and my whole life it was always a constant theme, and I did always want to wear dresses and play with dolls, and often veered toward girl things. I just wasn't supposed to. And over time, that wears on someone, to not be allowed to be authentic. And so, by the time was 26, it was completely consuming my thoughts.
Over the years since, I've come to realize that my internal gender--the same as long as I can remember--originally sprang from the same sincere place as any little girl that looks up to their mom, and wants to grow up like her. My mom was an intelligent, strong, and independent woman who got duped, and emotionally manipulated by this cult. But I remember always knowing I was going to grow up to be a woman like her one day. Or rather, like the one she started out as before the cult fully brainwashed her. Back when she was happier. Before she gave up. I've realized since then, that gender dysphoria developed--over time--starting as a very simple exasperation with where my body and perceived gender was headed, and ended with an inability to see problems in any other way but in a gendered way. And understanding this has helped me better see the mother I personally need to be to my children. Learning from both my mother's mistakes, as well as her better decisions, and my father's as well, I understand the person I need to be.
So obviously, I took steps to correct the issue, and treat my dysphoria. I transitioned. But I lost almost everyone else that was in my life at the time. Although some of them did return. I never was able to return to college. I've met lots of legal opposition in various forms due to being transgender, and also faced lots of abuse and discrimination, in both employment, and in trying to build honest, trustworthy relationships. I've overcome a lot (and no, it wasn't Satan) to still be here right now. I have beaten the odds and learned so much to grow into the woman I am today.
So... Thank you, me.
Thank you, friends that cared and helped me.
Thank you, life, for teaching me. Not thank you, Jehovah.