I am naturally an introvert. I don’t like to be the center of attention or to share my personal life. There is, however, something about surviving a horrific event that changes many of our minds about sharing. We want to be who we needed during our horrific events, and we want to help bring awareness to problems that people may not be aware of.
I was raised in Branham’s “Message” in Washington State. I was an only child, and my parents were not typical “Message” parents. They were not as strict, and my dad was not a jerk to my mom like most of the men in our church were to their wives. My story brings awareness to how influential a cult group can be even if your parents are not “beating you over the head” with the beliefs.
As a young girl, I distinctly remember hearing recordings of Branham or a screaming preacher repeating his dehumanizing sermons about women. My heart would race, and sometimes I felt sick to my stomach. I was devastated to hear that my grandmas in their pants were “abominations” to God. I was too scared to admit that I disagreed. I instead confirmed what the preachers had already mentioned hundreds of times, that it was my fault because I wasn’t believing enough. I put my gut feelings “on the shelf” as I had been instructed, and I waited until the day that I would understand the “revelation.” Little did I know, that day would never come.
I went to youth camp in August on my 16th birthday. An older guy from a prominent “Message” family started talking to me with interest. I was absolutely enamored because of the six-year age gap and was flattered that he would be interested in me. People immediately started asking “when’s the wedding?” and exclaiming about what a cute couple we were. My naive mind really took that to heart. I really trusted these people. I didn’t return to high school. We were engaged by Thanksgiving and married in April. It happed so fast. I was a 16-year-old bride with hardly any experience of the real world.
The first red flag I ignored was when we were engaged. We had gone to a couple’s house for dinner where there were several other married couples. On the way home, he had his first fit of rage. He was so angry at me because I didn’t get him a drink like all the other wives did. He said I embarrassed him. I was crushed. That is when I started the cycle of self-blame in our relationship and began walking on eggshells to try to do everything perfect.
The degrading comments started right away. He would say things like “I only married you because all the best options were already married,” as if he had done me a huge favor. Whenever I tried to stand up for myself, he told me I was just like my Aunt Jan, who in his eyes was the epitome of a domineering woman (Branham’s worst enemy).
Divorce was not an option, so I figured that I had made a choice and had to live with it. I repeated a mantra in my head “if I just.” If I just be super sweet and obedient, keep the house super clean, cook really good meals……..Later I thought the birth of our first baby would magically fix us, as I did with our 2nd and 3rd.
About two years in, the first physical abuse happened. He started raging at me because I hadn’t read his mind that he wanted a sandwich. He shoved me down on the floor and stormed off. Scared out of my mind, I ran into my mom’s room and locked the door. (We lived with my parents who weren’t home at the time.) I called 911 but hung up because I was scared at what my ex’s reaction would be. The police ended up coming anyway, which was such a Godsend. They took him into custody and took my statement. We lived close to other church members, and I was absolutely mortified at the thought of them finding out, so I didn’t press charges. I just wanted it all to go away. It sure didn’t.
Whoever invented the phrase “if looks could kill” must have time-traveled to the moment when I picked up my ex from the police station. I went immediately to self-blame and apologized profusely for calling 911 for something so “little.”
When our second son was about one, my ex decided that he was not his child and accused me repeatedly for years of cheating on him with my previous boyfriend. This broke me. I couldn’t believe he would say such a thing! One day when he was raging about this in front of both boys, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I hit him in the face. He punched me back in the cheek so hard that I literally saw stars. I, of course, blamed myself for “starting it.” That was not the last time he raged at me for “cheating on him.” I couldn’t even mention talking to the cashier at Walmart if he was a male, or I’d have to be screamed at about being a “cheater.”
The incidents were far enough apart that I would rationalize things as better or normal. A few years later, my ex was playing Mario Bros with the boys. He kept yelling at my 5-year-old that he was a “retarded idiot” because he wasn’t hitting the buttons fast enough. I asked my ex several times to stop, but he wouldn’t. Frantic to protect my son, I threw a remote at him and told him to leave our son alone. He attacked me with so much hatred and force that I had no option but to try to fight back. It ended in our room with me on my back and him choking me with his hands to the point that I couldn’t breathe for so long I thought I would die right then and there. Once again, I ended up blaming myself because I threw the remote.
I tried to get him do to counseling, but he acted like I was insane for suggesting that because “Message” people don’t believe in counseling. I begged to try different churches, and he acted like I suggested that we become Satan worshippers! I read two books written by ladies who had escaped the FLDS and found myself relating to parts of their stories. That shook me to my core. I also stumbled across some posts explaining narcissistic personality disorder on Pinterest. It was like reading my life story!
I was so depressed and desperate for change that I became self-destructive. I was not myself at all, and I wasn’t making healthy choices. I remember hearing about a mom who killed herself and her children. Instead of being horrified, I felt understanding for this woman. I noticed my oldest son starting to exhibit the same anger issues and physical rage as my ex did. When I talked to my son about intentionally stomping on his sister’s foot, he said, “Well dad does it to me.” I knew it was time to get us out.
After a nasty and scary divorce, I found myself being angry at God. I didn’t understand why I had to live a 13-year nightmare, and I was so sad that my kids got less than they deserved.
I was so confused about Christianity because the only religion I knew was not Christ like at all. I had totally dismissed blatant verbal, physical and emotional abuse because of the degrading teachings about women and because I knew of other cases of abuse that were swept under the rug to “protect the church.”
I later married a man who not only loved us unconditionally and treated my kids like his own, but he supported me through the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced: disentangling my faith. I know that God put him in my life for a reason. I also believe that we go through hard things so that we can help others who are going through similar struggles. I have fully forgiven the people who have hurt me. It is worth telling my story if it helps even one person.
This is my rescue story, God can rescue you, too.
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