Don't Ever Dare A Dancing Bear To Teach You How To Waltz...

Don't ever cross a crocodile
However few his faults.
Don't ever dare
A dancing bear
To teach you how to waltz.
-Kaye Starbird-

I was quite sleepy Friday night and was in the process of shutting down my laptop when Commandments of Men latest blog title caught my eye: "Buckle Up For These Links..."
Of course I had to jump over and find out what I needed to buckle up for- the last couple of posts Lewis wrote necessitated that he outfit his e-mail with Kevlar. Brave man, that (cheering for you Lewis!)

I wasn't the least bit sleepy after reading the post he linked. I was sitting with my head between my knees trying not to be physically sick.

I won't list the details in this post. Roll over the link for Commandments of Men
to read the details.

Have You Been Spiritually Hazed?

Winkipedia has this to say on the subject of hazing:

"Hazing” refers to any activity expected of someone joining a group (or to maintain full status in a group) that humiliates, degrades or risks emotional and/or physical harm, regardless of the person's willingness to participate. In years past, hazing practices were typically considered harmless pranks or comical antics associated with young men in college fraternities.

Today we know that hazing extends far beyond college fraternities and is experienced by boys/men and girls/women in school groups, university organizations, athletic teams, the military, and other social and professional organizations. Hazing is a complex social problem that is shaped by power dynamics operating in a group and/or organization and within a particular cultural context.

In the context of “any activity expected… [to join] a group…that humiliates, degrades or risks emotional…harm” I endured hazing for two plus decades. In my perspective the dynamic was a power play of a narcissistic woman to see how far she could degrade without protest from the “hazee” or the surrounding crowd.

For example: a church member spends a holiday with a family member outside of the church with whom they share a relatively strong bond. Upon the next church service, the pastor would stand to her feet and say God had revealed a “rebellious spirit” to her: like Achan and the hidden gold, there was sin “hidden in the camp”.

Whenever she made that announcement, my heart would beat faster, my mouth would go cotton dry, and often I would sweat a vile smell from sheer fear.
She would then begin to vaguely list the symptoms of the afflicted person. Each church member had been assigned evil character traits by the pastor. If she spoke of a family spirit or someone that was always tired (I had an auto-immune disease- fatigue is a normal symptom) I knew my number was up: God through her was about to check my loyalty by public ridicule.

The pastor would rant and rave about my last year’s worth of mistakes, real or imagined. Then the congregation would stand to their feet one by one and say how that if they were blessed enough to have God reveal spiritual danger through such a wonderful mouth piece, they would fall to their knees and repent. Kind church members would talk about their last experience with God’s cleansing. If you were lucky like me you got to sit by one of the pastor’s favored people and have loud “AMENS” yelled in your ear as the pastor revealed the worst of your offenses to the whole church. It was bitter humiliation to say the very least.

I knew the only way to stop the emotional torture was to stand and admit to every offense she had listed. Many times she would have the guilty party come forward and have the evil cast out of them by prayer.
The final humiliation was to publicly thank her for the emotional abuse and call it a gift from God.

And her hazing had accomplished what she intended: her power over the group had been re-enforced, I was debased in my own eyes and the eyes of my peers and not much of a threat to the system, and the on-lookers would be loath to find themselves in such a situation by attempting any family visits.

She had many such tactics to ensure her twisted authority, such as instructing family members, even husbands and wives to distance themselves from the offending party.

Hazing, in my mind, is a great tool for an abuser to keep their place of authority right where they want it: right on the neck of the hazed church member.

Have you been "hazed" in an abusive church? Please add your experience in the comments below.

Further Reading:
Exploring Bounded Choice
Vulnerable
Can't You See I'm Dying?

Informative Links

If you scroll down the blog you will notice a sidebar titled "Informative Blogs". I highly recommend each of them as they are excellent resources on recognizing and escaping spiritual abuse.

There are several links that I would like to bring to the top of the list due to their relevant topics:

1. Signs of Spiritual Abuse by the blog "Religious Cults in the South"
2. Newspaper in California Cover Spiritual Abuse and Red Flags by the blogger "Provender"
3. Strong Delusion and What We Lose by Danny Bryant
4. The Grieving Process: Depression & Loneliness by the Blogger My Teen Mania Experience
5. Conversations About Spiritual Abuse by Pluck’s Blog

Book Give Away

Breaking The Chains: Overcoming the Spiritual Abuse of a False Gospel is Shari Howerton’s account of life in a cult and the subsequent journey out of the mind control. Click here to read Shari ’s blog interview with the Cult Next Door.

Shari’s book is slated to be released mid-October and I am counting the days to get my hands on my copy.

In the spirit of sharing, I will be giving my copy to one fortunate reader, who hopefully will share it with another friend.

Two steps are required for the book drawing. First: tweet me @ toxicsheepnomore with the scripture, song, book, friend, movie, etc. that helped you ‘break the chains’ of toxic faith, a bad situation, a harmful relationship, etc.

For example: Shari speaks of Stephen Curtis Chapman’s song “Remember Your Chains” as being inspirational on her journey. Shannon on the blog Free Believers speaks of feeling like the character Rose in Titanic as she despairingly considers ending her life.
I recognized myself in the character of Penelope, a girl who has been cloistered all her life till she faces the world bravely, despite her pig snout nose. Several family members read Charles Swindoll’s book, Grace Awakening, and realized their bondage.
And the list goes on and on. Pick your favorite inspiration and tweet me. If you are a spiritual abuse survivor be sure to include those words in your tweet. That will cause the tweet to show up on the side bar.

Next e-mail me at toxicsheepnomore@yahoo.com the address you wish the book
sent to. I will put the addresses in a literal hat and pull out the winner on December 1st, 2009. I will post the winning tweeter unless you request not to be posted.

God Bless!

Halloween Post Two: Some Days it is Just a Monster Mash

In an interview with Focus on the Family author Frank Peretti explained his motivation for writing about monsters. As a child he had a medical condition which turned his tongue an oozing black.

As children are often the cruelest beings on the planet, Peretti suffered through taunts of being a “monster”. Choosing the positive aspect of a bad situation, he decided to see monsters as “cool” and himself as special in being associated with them.

This post is in celebration of choosing the positive, and yes, even the humorous aspect of feeling like a freak.

After living in a fundamental cult for twenty plus years, I escaped into what I thought would be stress-free living. I survived hell on earth- now it was time to lay back and relax, right?

That might be right for some. And if you are part of that some, congratulations- you have the good life.

For me and many that I have spoken with, coming out of the cult is the easy part. Living outside of the cult is the true challenge.

For many, the challenge proves too great and they return to the cult, though it be harsh and unforgiving, at least they understand how it functions.

I grew up inside the cult, attended the cult’s school, and after graduation was told that I needed to volunteer my time in return for the all the cult had given me.

When I escaped, and left behind the twisted, haunted laboratory of mind control I discovered that, surprise! I had stunted social skills, an amputated sense of self, and a macabre understanding of what my future would be.

Like Frankenstein, I raged (mentally, at least) at the perverted mind that amputated my sense of self and hijacked my devotion to God to serve her evil empire.

I stomped about for a year, howling with anger at whoever I could. I hated parties; they reminded me of a “get-together” at her house. These often included being yelled at in her bedroom (if you were lucky) and in front of everyone (if you weren’t).

I hated searching for a job. How do you explain away a decade plus that you gave away? How you never finished college because you were too tired to think after forty hours of volunteering, five nights a week of church, and twelve plus hours a week of cleaning on her cleaning crew?

Honestly, I felt like a Picasso painting walking into a job interview that said, “This is me. My nose is on my chin and my eyes are in my forehead. I don’t know how to make decisions, I think my worth is below minimum wage, and I will never speak up for myself. So, please hire me (if it’s not too inconvenient) I know I’m a freak, just let me scuttle around in the background quietly.”

Here lies the dividing line. Some well meaning but utterly clueless soul might say that I should believe that God was ‘working a good work’ in my life and in the middle of it all and I should praise my way into joy at this knowledge.

This is foolish thinking. God did not and never will plan abuse to ‘work His good work in you’. What is at work here is the fact that humanity has free will and a pastor chose to use her position of leadership to satiate her need for control. She placed herself as a god and will, unless she has the good sense to repent, one day stand in judgment for deeds.

What I do know is that God gives ‘beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning’.

And so for the Frank Peretti moment of deciding to embrace the experience (not the abuse), acknowledge where I am because of it, and take stock of skills I learned in the proverbial fire.

As for where I am:
I spent years wishing to know the joys of marriage, for as Luther said there is nothing more comforting than a marriage.
I met and married a wonderful man a year after leaving the cult. Our paths would not have crossed if I had lived a different life.

What I have learned:
I am resilient, having lived under extreme stress and oppression.
I have empathy for others who have experienced abuse or slavery.

The skills I have acquired:
Endurance in the workplace and a willingness to go the extra mile.

One ex-cult member showed beautiful perspective in dressing up as the pastor for Halloween. Their motivation was she was the scariest character they could think of.

It was a perfect statement. She is scary, she is monstrous, but it is she that is the monster, not me.

I think I will make my statement one Halloween by making a scarecrow that resembles her and hang a sign that reads “This would scare anything”.

Am I making light of the abuse or the fact that a pastor is in dire moral straits?

No. I am doing what many people do with Halloween: Put on a monster mask, confront what you fear, celebrate it for a day and then, move on.

Till next year. Maybe I’ll dress up as the witch she always accused me of being. After all, I know the hat fits and I’ll wear it.

On the other hand, is she brave enough to wear her hat?


read another excellent post on this subject by Provender