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I’m not talking about R.E.M.’s song (although I liked that song when I was younger. I’m talking about my religion, my faith, my identity as a Pentecostal Christian.
When I began to work with my psychiatrist in 2002 there were two areas I refused to talk about: my father and my church.
My father forced me to open up about him. God forced me to talk about my church.
My life has never been the same.
I have been asked my entire life “What are you?” As if being a child of God means you have to slap on a neat label so people know where to place you.
I guess the best way to describe the religion I grew up in is Pentecostal with a touch of cultish personality.
I know that’s going to offend some of people in my sphere. But it’s true.
How else do you describe a church where you were forbidden to talk with someone from the “outside world”? We are not talking about teaching a child to not talk to a non-believer; we did not talk to anyone outside our CHURCH…of 30 people.
I hold the infamous title of being the only child I know expelled from school at the age of 7. The years I spent in a small ACE school are not my best memories.
I suddenly found myself thrown into a public school classroom. My parents meant well. Really. But it wasn’t the smartest decision.
I was technically a 1st grader. However because my writing & reading level were a 3rd grade level, they decided to place me into a 2nd grade class. I was placed in a group of kids that emotionally and mentally were a year ahead of me. Intellectually I was ahead of them.
Big mistake. The teacher was a tyrant. She had NO idea what to do with me. I was constantly berated for writing in cursive, reading books that I wasn’t “supposed” to read until 4th grade and for wanting to move faster than scheduled. I remember ducking a flying eraser when I asked if I could read instead of watching Bambi. (Remember, I didn’t watch TV. It was heavily taught against).
Just imagine a child who was shy, had little exposure to the world outside her religion, wore skirts, did not watch TV and had a father who thought the government was the devil. Put that child into a classroom of public school children and you have a recipe for disaster.
I was bullied. I often was the recipient of having my skirts flipped up, which was torment. At least once I wet myself because I was held down by a group of kids who taunted me for wearing skirts. That didn’t help my reputation on the playground.
We did not celebrate holidays. I found myself fighting with a teacher who couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to dye Easter eggs. When I did participate I snuck mine home and hid them in our backyard hoping my dad wouldn’t find out bringing on a spanking.
As I became accustomed to public school, the years did get somewhat better. I never did make any real friends and yearned for friends. Of course, it never occurred to me to make a friend at school…it would have been forbidden.
During this time I was molested by a neighbor boy who was older than me by 5 years. This continued for about 3 1/2 years until mercifully we moved away. Instead of turning to the adults in my life to help me, I turned on myself. I started to think that there was something wrong with me. I begged God to not let my parents find out. I did not want to be punished for my “secret sin”.
I was left to maneuver a world without the tools I needed. It was pure insanity.
My parents are not innocent in my upbringing. My mom and I are at peace with that. My mother did the best she could with the tools she had. My father…he still blames it all on my mother.
I realize now that a large portion of what happened WAS a direct result of the teachings of the church I grew up in. YET, I wasn’t ready to leave it. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I didn’t dare.
Until something happened that forced me to realize I had to leave. For the safety of my daughters’ well-being and their souls.
What I didn’t realize then was that it would be the catalyst for the biggest change of my life.
The loss of my religion.
