Great Link about PTSD/EMDR and past abuse

Post Traumatic Stress: what it is (biology), what makes it worse and what helps it heal.

HUGE shout out of thanks to Cindy Kunsman for posting this!  Girlfriend, you are doing so much good in the world.   You teach us so much about our brains and why we experience so much pain from spiritual and emotional abuse.  I can't thank you enough for your web site.  You have blessed more people than you will ever know.  Stay strong sister, and know you are very dearly loved!

Does it ever end?

Probable Cause Affidavit in the Hanna Williams case

If you will take the time to read the above link about the tragic death of Hanna Williams, one thing becomes painfully clear.  Child abuse is never one on one.  The whole family system is complicit in the abuse of a scapegoated child.  Now where older sibling are concerned, it is apparent that the vilification of the scape goated child was not their original idea.  Clearly it all comes from the parents and is taken up as accepted truth by the other children the way all the family truths are transmitted.  In most families, the truths are benign and even beneficial: one must clean one's plate before getting dessert, or bedtime is always nine o'clock on a school night, or one should always brush your teeth after meals.  Only sick twisted families pass on ideas like: the outcast child is rebellious, disobedient, a liar.

As you read through this affidavit, notice how often those three words are used about Hanna BY HER SIBLINGS.  These same children watched her freeze to death, all the while encouraging themselves to denounce and taunt her as faking her symptoms of hypothermia because she was a bad person.

The mother uses word forms of "rebellious", "refuse" and "pretending" in her statement.  She admits to using her older children to carry out her orders to "check to see" what Hanna was doing- not to help Hanna or make sure she was safe but merely to spy and report to mom what was happening.

When detective first interviewed the other children, they reported that "They all stated that HGW
was "rebellious" and disrespectful  to their parents and that HGW didn't mind their mother."  The emphasis on the word ALL  is mine.  This is how I grew up.  My other sisters would have said the EXACT SAME WORDS ABOUT ME had anyone ever bothered to intervene in our family while I was growing up.

When the surviving adopted child could not remember his birthday, the mother interjected that he "chose" not to take part in a birthday celebration.  All the abuse against this boy and his sister is excused in the family as being the fault of the victim.  The victims either chose it, or they deserved it, or they were lying about it or faking the symptoms of abuse.

The 16 yr old sibling "continually used the word "rebellious" and indicated that both HGW and IJW were rebelling  and would  be disciplined for their behavior."


The 11 yr old male sibling "said that HGW and IJW were rebellious and they were punished ... Neither one
were allowed  to celebrate  their birthdays  because they didn't deserve it."


The 11 yr old female sibling " indicated  me that (Hanna) lived in the closet for disobeying" and admitted she "didn't like (Hanna) but loved her as her sister..."  She further stated that "(Hanna) was spanked because  she was "disobedient"  all of the time. She stated that (Hanna) had to be outside "all of the time." She said (Hanna( was outside because (Hanna) could not obey"

The 7 yr old female sibling " said she saw (Hanna) on the night of her death and "(Hanna) was pretending  she was cold and couldn't  walk."..When asked why (Hanna) had to eat outside (she) stated "my mom said we don't want to look it her grumpy  face."  


The children boldly say that they did not like their sister, morever they said it was because she was rebellious, could not obey, was a thief and a liar and faked the symptoms of abuse.

My older and younger sister would have said the same things about me if you had asked.  They would maintain these suspicions about me today.  I just sent my older sister flowers and she reacted with suspicion.  Since they came from me, in her mind there had to be something sinister about my intention.  In her mind, I am incapable of good will from a good heart.  It's been over thirty years since we were children.

I don't think it is possible my my family of origin to stop the abuse.  My sisters may have been coopted into the abuse against their will as children, but it still forms their narrative of our family.  It will not be undone.  Maybe it can't be undone.  Mom will never recant any of her behavior or her lies, so if it relies on her then there will be no change of narrative.

And even though my older sister says she wants to see change in our family dynamic, she automatically shows anger and suspicion towards me every time we are together.  She fights it to some extent, but it is so deeply ingrained in her mind, it is as much a part of her narrative of life as that the sun rises in the east.

To her mind, Shadowspring is:
Rebellious
Liar
Disobedient
Wicked
Selfish
Mean

It will never end, as far as I can see. Abusive family systems don't change. The best that you can do is get the hell out and stay the hell out of these damaging families.  They won't let you be anything except what they choose to label you.  Thirty years out, the answer is still NO, IT NEVER ENDS.

Skype and the Family That Never Was

I don't write much about my family of origin.  It's a mostly irrelevant subject; I have been completely without any support from them in any way since I was seventeen years old.  You can read about the day my mom kicked my twin sister and I out of the house (with the complicity of the elders of the church in a religious ceremony) here: Bill Gothard has negatively affected my life part two

Still, it's on my mind a lot these days.  Just now I was watching an ad for video chatting.  I'm not sure it was Skype but it was something like that.  Family and friends were shown joyfully sharing life together, though separated by distance.  The laughter, smiles, playful teasing and sheer happiness of sharing life together was beautiful to watch.  It is what I strive to share with the people in my life today.  I want to create a place- a home, a friendship- where there is always welcome and good will.  Watching the ad made me feel good inside, and made me feel good about my life today.

Until it struck me.  I never once experienced anything like it, not even close, in my family of origin.  There was not one joyous exclamation of glee at an accomplishment of mine.  There was no levity.  There was no laughter. I don't mean little, I mean none.  Zero. Zilch. Nada.

Even if my mom did something that appeared to be a gift of some sort, cook a meal or take us shopping, it was done without joy.  There was an expectation that she should be lauded for any effort she put into being a parent, and in fact, I am pretty sure that was her only motivation: it affected the way she felt about herself, and in every instance I can remember, just became another excuse to blow up at her ungrateful, selfish children.

My older sister was merely an extension of my mother.  I don't know if I've written here about the time I almost died of an asthma attack. My mom was leaving the house for the day, putting my older sister "in charge".  We were commanded to clean our rooms.  My room was very messy.  I had no parent teaching me to make my bed, spending time in my room with me talking, laughing or playing.  Not. Ever.  I was mostly unparented, except in these spurts of domestic dominion which I suppose came about because my mom felt shame at the messy house or the truth that she was no parent.  Anyway, the edict had been given: clean your rooms and don't go anywhere else until it's done.

I have asthma and I am allergic to dust.  As I started in on my room, I began to wheeze.  These were the days without inhalers, so when I noticed I was actually wheezing (you'd be surprised how detached I was from my body), I had to go take a theophylline pill and get away from the trigger and wait for the pill to take effect.  I left my room to tell my sister I was wheezing.  In my mom's stead, she simply became my mom to me.  She called me lazy and a liar and accused me of just trying to get out of cleaning my room.  I protested my innocence and that I needed to get away from my room and rest.  She ridiculed me and berated me further.

Defeated, I went back to my room and, though I was wheezing loudly and couldn't breathe, I began moving stuff around.  I started crying, which only made it worse.  I was terrified and I knew I was going to die.  I also knew it was imperative that I stop crying and calm down as much as I could.  I told myself that dying would be like getting on a bus.  If I could just fall asleep, I would wake up in a new place, heaven.  I was parenting myself as always, and this time in the acceptance of my impending death.

If I could convey what it feels like to be dying of an asthma attack, I would.  I could not get breathe into my lungs.  I was sitting up, leaning forward, every muscle in my rib cage contracting, trying  to squeeze out the carbon dioxide to make room for oxygen.  The medical term is "contracting" I think.  It was an impossible task. Oxygen was not getting through.  I could hear the loud wheezing of air trying to get through swollen, mucus-filled airways.  It wasn't going to happen.  I knew I was dying.  That is no exaggeration.

The pain of my heart at being called an evil, lazy liar and being sent to my death by my sister, in spite of my pleas to be heard and loved and helped, was just a radical manifestation of a daily reality.  I was not loved in my family.  I never had been.  My twin and my grandmother were my only true family, and they were also abused and rejected.  My older sister did not love me; had never loved me.  Her survival demanded she be an extension of my mom, and my mom fully and completely rejected me and my twin sister.  My older sister did the same.

I think Jesus looked down at me like God spoke about looking down at Israel as a rejected newborn, left to die of exposure in an open field (Ezekiel 16:4-6 ).  That's my explanation for why my grandma just happened to stop by right then.  She came into the house and asked for my mom.  My older sister explained she had gone for the day, and then told her that we were to clean our rooms but I was being "rebellious".  That was a perjorative often used to describe me.  My grandma opened the door to my room to check on me.

She freaked.

The local "ambulance" came, which in this small Great Plains town meant a van with a siren on top.  The funeral director drove it, and he drove like a mad man the twenty miles to the hospital.  I remember him telling me not to die on him, to hang on.  He repeated that often.  I remember getting to the hospital.  I remember the beautiful color of my crimson blood squirting a nurses white uniform  when they put in the I. V. line.  I remember other terrifying aspects of my admission: the battleaxe nurse who kept pushing me down when I tried to sit up.  I couldn't breathe at all lying down.  She kept telling me sternly that I needed to rest, push me down and immediately I would pop right back up.  I couldn't easily tell her that I needed to breathe more than I needed to rest.  I could only get out one breathless word at a time, with great effort, and I needed that effort to breathe.

I remember the panic and feeling of suffocation when they put me in the oxygen-tented bed.  My mom had met us at the hospital.  I remember screaming for her to help me, and her walking out as I cursed and cried while medical people (as far as I could feel) tried to kill me instead of helping me breathe.

I fell into a coma.

I was in a coma for five days.

When I came to, the doctor was so happy to see me. He was a great man.  He had no idea what my home life was like.  I thank God his was the first face I saw, and his words of encouragement were the first words I heard.  He told me that he was scared they had lost me, and he was so glad I was alive.  There was no more oxygen tent.  Instead I had a mask blowing oxygen directly into my nose and mouth.  He made me feel like my life was worth something.

As soon as he left, my mom, who had been sitting vigil at my side (only while she looked a hero for it) began gathering her things to leave.  I asked her to stay.  She refused. I asked her why she left me when I needed her and why she was leaving me now.  I told her I needed her.

She lectured me for embarrassing her by cussing out the nurses when I was in a panic and making a fuss, when people were only trying to help me.  She told me how selfish I was to ask her to stay, after all she had other kids besides me.  They needed her too.  And, with that final berating, she turned her back on me and walked out.

Feminism and Me

I grew up in the seventies. The feminist movement was very much a part of the social context I was living in, even way out in the sticks of the Great Plains. All in The Family was forever making patriarchal men look like the joke they actually are. One Day at a Time and Alice gave us a realistic view of what being a single working woman was like at the time, while Mary Tyler Moore and Rhoda presented to us the ideal of all life could be for a single working woman. Betty Friedan and Erica Jong were on our book shelf. I was reading "Diary of a Mad Housewife" and Redbook magazine in middle school. Helen Reddy was belting out "I am woman, hear me roar..." from the radio and record player.

Many of the messages were mixed. It's great to be a woman, but it really sucks to be a mother. It's great to have sex, but it really sucks to be pregnant. You can do anything you want, but if you choose to stay home and love on your kids you will go insane. You can do anything you want, but if you WANT to stay home and love on your kids you are a cowardly, dependent, woman-child. Look at Edith Bunker- your husband won't respect you, society won't respect you, and you'll get all vaque and clouded in your thinking. Smart women do not stay home and raise children. If the man is keeping women down, then children are the tools he uses.

Feminists will often deny what I'm about to write, but then the movement can't learn from it and move on toward it's higher objectives of equal power for women in society. So here's the big scoop, the reason for the backlash that brought on home schooling and patriarchy among other things. You ready?

We who were daughters, children during the seventies, got the message. The message we got was this: we were hated. Children are an obstacle to get around. Children suck. Caring for children is low, low, low on the feminist's list of things she might want to do with her time. There is nothing lower than child care, except maybe house keeping. We were a hindrance to our mothers' "higher" aspirations.

(This could even account for why so many view abortion solely in terms of cruel, selfish women "getting rid of unwanted children". My generation feels this acutely in our inmost being. In my experience, this is rarely the reason a woman chooses abortion. Women who choose abortion rarely do so flippantly, and it is often a heart-breaking decision based on compassion, for those who bother to research it IRL. Still, to a generation who grew up knowing we were considered an unwanted inconvenience to our mother's aspirations, it is easy to believe that this is the only reason women seek abortion. "Pro-life" propaganda exploits this to the hilt.)

Now my own problematic situation was further complicated by my mom's personality disorder. She would have been a mess to live with no matter what philosophy had been popular during my childhood. I have written on the blog that the only way my own childhood could have been worse was if my mom had been a home-schooling SAHM. That's because she would still have been completely self-focused and uninterested in meeting the needs of anyone's heart but her own. NPDs are just that way.

But the feminist movement is culpable in that they agreed with her that children were a pain in the butt and caring for them, both physically and emotionally, was beneath her and a waste of her time and life.

That is the fatal flaw in feminism, the way I see it. The idea that childcare is lowly and demeaning and not for smart woman is the real reason for the backlash against feminism that has filled churches across America and actually resonated with the hearts of both men and women.

We were those children.

We were those children, the ones considered unworthy of our mothers' time and talents. We were those children, the ones despised and looked down on as mere hindrances to our mothers' "true ambitions". We read it, heard it when our mothers' talked to other adults over our heads, and certainly felt it in the way our mothers' treated us. For some of us it was mere disdain at having to meet our needs. For others it extended to real rejection, persecution, neglect and abandonment- all in the name of a woman's "liberation".

Liberation from what? To a child growing up in the seventies it was clear to me that the liberation women wanted was liberation from the obligations of mothering. Feminists hated children, and hated mothering. Right along with the male workforce, women stated that child care was meaningless drudge for the lesser capable among us. There's a reason child care is still one of the lowest paid and lowest respected occupations among us.

And so I became a very different (and in my mind) more authentic kind of feminist- one who embraced her body and it's amazing capacity to create and nourish new life. I determined that not only would I use my incredible ability to bring forth life and nourish it from my body, MY children would be worth all of my time and talents. I determined to make an art and skill out of raising my children, in defiance of the way my mother and her generation had continually said we children were worthless crap.

Much of the rest of the feminist message I did and still do embrace. Equal rights? Yes. Equal pay for equal work? Yes. The right to control her own body? Yes. But every time I start to think I can actually call myself a feminist, I run across disdain for my chosen career of SAHM and I think to myself,"Damn, they still think I am a worthless piece of crap. Eff you, feminism!"

How I wish it wasn't that way. I wish feminism could have room for those who embrace their reproductive capabilities. I wish feminism loved children, and were demanding honor and commensurate financial recompense for those who nurture, teach and mentor them- i.e. parenting and child care. I keep waiting for feminism to grow up to the point that they see that children and caring for children are intrinsically honorable and worthy, but I keep getting disappointed.

I always run into the feminist who loudly proclaims her disdain for SAHMs and children. It never fails. The woman on stilettos at my husband's office who looked down her nose at my children like they stank when we came up to see where Daddy spent his days? I would loved to have beat the holy sh** out of her skinny ass that day and I could have easily. His coworker who lived in our neighborhood and asked what I did, who responded to my proud declaration that I home schooled with a malicious "Oh, that's right. You don't DO anything."? I hope your husband leaves you, your kids grow up hating you, and you die alone and unloved like you deserve. (Yes, that falls short of loving your enemies, I know. So sue me.)

Last year, I picked up an awesome feminist magazine, Skirt, and I was really getting into the articles. They even featured a woman who was starting her career at fifty after staying home to raise her children, and they portrayed this in a positive light! I was so excited. Had feminism finally stopped hating children and denigrating those who loved them? My heart started to race with hope.

But alas, it was not to be. Shortly thereafter,in the same magazine, came the article from a woman complaining about how children are always demanding something (how dare they?), always have some sort of noxious substance oozing from their bodies somewhere, and how that particular author could never understand why someone would willingly carry a parasitic creature in her womb for nine months and then get stuck caring for it for the rest of her life?!? YUCK!

When I hear these ugly sentiments about children and mothering expressed, there is no way I cannot take it personal. I was that child!

Feminism that truly embraces the female body and ALL of its capabilities? Count me in! Equal opportunities, equal pay for equal work, the right to control what happens to your own body? Hellz to the yeah! I would love to see a feminism that elevates the status of pregnancy and child care to the valued status it should be, as women who choose this are shaping the attitudes and ethics of the next generation. What could possibly be more important than that?

The feminism I see, though, still resents the functions of the female form. Rather than elevating the status of children and those who care for them, the feminism I see disdains these traditionally female roles and only honors social roles traditionally open to men. Any function in society that is clearly woman only- pregnancy or nursing- is considered icky and disgusting by feminist women in solidarity with the men they really wish they had been born.

Every time a feminist puts down pregnancy, child birth, child care and child mentoring (i.e. parenting) she is not only saying that she doesn't believe her children or potential children are worth her time, she is saying that all of us born to feminists are/were undeserving of our mothers' time and talents. If child care is so lame and icky, then those women who choose to care for children are losers. That message is undeniable.

And THAT is the weakness in feminism the patriarchy exploits! The prey on the hurt and resentment of the generation brought up hearing that they were a waste of a woman's time. The also honor the parts of our lives that we women embrace that traditional feminism mocks- pregnancy, nursing and raising children. It should not be this way.

When will feminism open her arms and embrace children? When will she stop despising women who understand that raising the next generation IS a noble and worthy pursuit? If feminism was our champion, the patriarchal religious establishment would be worthless to women.

Wouldn't it be awesome if feminists valued SAHMs and home schooling moms? It would totally rock if feminism was demanding that society value these traditionally womanly roles with the same value society ascribes to traditionally manly roles, like hard physical labor. Surely raising the next generation is more important in the long run than constructing new houses?

Alas, on another forum I frequent, I have recently heard the same old, same old feminist drivel from younger voices. Caring for children isn't rewarding, and people who say it is are lying! (No, we're not. Some of us actually do like it. Sorry to disappoint- again. But then since I started out one of those children myself, I guess I have always been a disappointment to feminism. Sigh.) Truly smart woman avoid pregnancy and parenting. Sucks to read that this is still the feminist party line.

The other part of feminism- you can be and do whatever you want- still nurtures my own heart as I set out to start a career midlife. I do believe, as Helen sang, "if I have to, I can do anything. I am strong. I am invincible. I am woman." If only feminism would open their hearts to include children and caring for children, and give traditional women's roles the honor they deserve, patriarchy would dry up and blow away in a generation. I hope to help build that kind of world myself.

Peace and good will, SS

Deify or Defy?

What should be the proper response of a believer to an other who wants to claim for themselves the title of gatekeeper to God for that person? Is not complying with that demand giving to that mere mortal equivalence with God himself? If this mere mortal claims the right and responsibility to interpret Scripture, issue edicts, demand total submission and obedience, are they not putting themselves in the position of God himself?

What blasphemy! What arrogance! And yet, whole ministries and families run on these very presuppositions. Not only so, but they market the ideology and ensuing lifestyle to others. It is an extremely profitable business, if the Vision Forum full color catalog and the prices of their wares are directly related to the success of their venture. Big bucks are flowing into the idolaters coffers.

It all comes down to this for the children of patriocentric homes: deify or defy.

Deify your father, ascribe to him all the rights and privileges of God Almighty, live as if his words are the edicts of the Most High, in other words, commit blatant idolatry... or defy him.

Just say no. In that simple act of honesty, "no, daddy, you are not god", the children of these homes face an emotional cruelty that mirrors the excommunications the Roman Catholic authorities handed out to those who dared defy their claims to supreme authority acting as the sole representative of God on earth.

I have seen and read with my own eyes, listened with my own ears, of multiples stories of excommunication. Daughters who just say no to idolatry are cut-off from their families "for their own good". Just like the Catholic church excommunicated Martin Luther for defying their idolatrous claims to power and authority, these daughters (and sons) are sent edicts, damning them to hell in some cases, cutting them off completely from all love and fellowship with their families in all cases. And like the devout Catholics of the seventeenth century hated the Protestants and joined in the persecution of those "rebels", followers of patriocentricity band together to ostracize and persecute the faithful believers who have just said no to Daddy, casting them out with the dreaded charge of "rebel" as in days gone by.

I never thought I would see the day when the evangelical community so closely resembled the Roman Catholic church of the Middle Ages. Everything that was wrong with the Roman Catholic church then, all that our fore-fathers struggled against, is now repackaged as "the true faith" and sold in glossy catalogs, wholesome-looking web sites, promoted by fresh-scrubbed speakers at well-attended modern convention centers and parroted by a world of wannabes looking to be included in the esoteric circles of the truly committed. The office of "priest" is now conferred upon daddy, but all of the power ascribed to the role remains the same.

Deify or defy. Idolatry or obedience. Traditions of men or the terrifying leap of faith into the holy wild with Jesus.

To all of my sister in Christ who have chosen Jesus over Daddy, even though it meant excommunication and exile from all you have known and loved, you are in good company. I know that Jesus will never fail you nor forsake you, and life will be a grand adventure as you go from glory to glory with the Lord leading every step of the way.

Mark 10: 29 “Truly I tell you,” Jesus replied, “no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel 30 will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age: homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—along with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life.

You made the right choice.

Can You Hear Me Now?

I can't believe I am up typing at 5:00 am. I have been up since 3:00 am. This doesn't happen to me often. I hope it doesn't happen again for a long time.

Holidays are often such stressful times for people because of family of origin issues. I don't usually have much trouble with those, seeing as how I am a grown adult with a family of my own. However, my twin sister being so seriously ill complicates things a lot. It has drawn me into the outskirts of family of origin complications, and that's why I can't sleep tonight.

Scapegoat.

It's a Biblical term, you know. Once a year, the High Priest would lay his hands on the scape goat, pronounce the sins of the people over the goat as he laid hands on it, and then the goat would be led into the wilderness and abandoned.

As the Priest turned his back on the goat and walked away, he was walking away from the responsibility for the sin of the people. None of them would be held responsible. It was all the goat's fault at that point.

In my family, I am that goat.

I didn't volunteer for this role, I assure you. Neither did my twin sister, who shares the role with me because of the misfortune of being born a twin.

Talking to her recently, I also was reminded just how negatively my family of origin chooses to view me. My oldest sister, whom I once asked for temporary shelter if I needed to leave the marriage, is spreading this confidential news all over the family of origin relationship sphere. Of course she puts her own twist on it.

In her version, I am melodramatic and just crying for attention. Plus, if there actually IS any problems in my marriage, they are all my fault. I am lying about my husband, he would never hurt me. I am an evil, vindictive person out to destroy a good man. *sigh*

I can't believe I trusted her.

Well, for all of you who pray, please pray for protection for my very sick twin sister. I was surprised when the whole family came together to help support her in her time of illness. Our family is so ungodly, though very religious, so any practical compassion on their part is a true testament that the forces of good are at work in the earth!

They are still one screwed up dysfunctional family though, with a history of blaming everything on the twins, perpetual scapegoats that we are. One the one hand they do currently provide financial support for my (very sick) twin. On the other hand the last time my oldest sister visited her in person, she accused her of faking her illness.

She made these accusations publicly and with a great deal of anger. Talk about kicking a person when they are down. It was wicked. It was cruel. It was destructive. It was ugly.

But she is the one who holds the purse-strings. What can my twin do? She is completely at the mercy of my oldest sister.

So here's the bad news: my oldest sister hasn't spoken to me since she freaked out on me almost a year ago. She had just returned from a visit to my mom's, which seemed to take her right back into the old family role of mom's co-abuser.

Now she is going back to visit my mom again, and intends to then immediately go see my twin sister. I am terrified for my twin. At the very least she will be verbally and emotionally abused during this visit. Don't suggest I am just being negative; I know these people well.

But at worst, my oldest sister is about to abandon her again. It is entirely likely that she is going to announce that the rest of the family is tired of financially supporting my twin. She will probably tell my twin that the Lyme disease is her fault somehow. Likely my oldest sister will hint it is all in my twin's head, and if my twin would just try harder to be well, she would be. Maybe my oldest sister will outright accuse my twin of faking it, like she did to her on her last visit.

I know how my family works. If they want to stop supporting her financially, they will do it in such a manner that they can blame my twin. They will torment her until she breaks, and then spread the news amongst themselves about how ungrateful and hostile my twin was, and after all they did for her! They will tell themselves that my twin doesn't deserve their support. They will try to torment her to the point that my twin herself will refuse their money.

I say "try" because that is not an option for my twin. She is permanently disabled by Lyme disease. She can not work. I think she is still getting government disability, but that is a paltry sum. She is on Medicaid, but then Medicaid doesn't cover Lyme disease. The government health care doesn't acknowledge that chronic Lyme exists, even though Americans die from it every year.

We send her rent money every month. My younger sister pays her prescriptions. My older sister pays her private health insurance. Even my NPD mom chips in, surprisingly.

My older sister organized all this, in her moments of Christian conviction, about the same time that she reconciled with me. Of course those days are over now, and I am afraid that all the Christian charity has dried up as well.

SO PLEASE PRAY FOR MY TWIN!!

I am asking God to heal her, as I have been all along, but no miracle has been forthcoming yet. Maybe if you join your prayers with mine?

Pray that God will turn my oldest sister's heart: that she will not be able to go see my sister immediately after visiting my mom. That's is the absolute worst-case scenario for my twin.

Pray that God will stir up the hearts of my family once again to true Christian love. It was a miracle the first time. It would absolutely rock my world if He would do it again.

Can you hear me now, God? Out here in the exiled wilderness where the scapegoats go? Does anyone else hear me? If you will join me in prayer, please leave a comment. I am so in need of hope this morning. Maybe God will come through for my precious twin if we all pull together in prayer?

I feel rather puny right now. ~SS

My Own Olive

Yesterday was bitter sweet for me. I had a wonderful relaxing low key Thanksgiving with my husband, children and a good friend. We feasted and laughed and life was good. We don't have much in the way of leftovers, just some turkey and of course the vegetables. As much as we love them, if the leftovers for grazing are cold vegetables versus cold pumpkin pie, it's a no-brainer.

After dinner we watched a movie about family loyalty, Little Miss Sunshine. Take that, my fundie upbringings! There is more real love and loyalty in the final scene of that movie than I think I ever experienced in the totality of my life growing up in my (self-) righteous "Christian" fundamentalist family. It is quite a contrast.

So after the movie, my dear friend, whom I admire greatly, found the cajones to make a difficult phone call. Her life, her story so I won't elaborate here, except to say that I found it inspiring. I decided to make a difficult phone call myself.

I had been thinking about my twin sister and praying for her more than usual. (Back story here.) I always hesitate to call, because she is gravely, chronically ill and I do not want to be the person to wake her up just as she has finally fallen to sleep. It's safer to e-mail.

An email is just not the same as a human voice, though. Sometimes the payoff is worth the risk, so, following my friend's example, I picked up the phone and made the call. I didn't even get her voice mail. The phone just kept ringing so I assumed she was on another call and hung up. I resolved to try again later, and by later I meant another day. I don't think she can handle two phone calls in one day.

Well, to my surprise, she called me back later. We would up talking for almost three hours. I consider it one of my finest achievements of the year that she was actually laughing when we got off the phone. If I accomplish nothing better this year, my life counted for something good in that moment. She deserves to laugh and experience joy in this life.

Most of the two hours was not overflowing with laughter. She is truly ill, and that is a reality that hangs ominously like a dark cloud over every moment of her life. It IS her life right now, unfortunately. All of her energy is focused on getting well, getting treatment, fighting the ignorance and indifference of overworked medical staff, struggling against the insurance establishment, and then underlying it all, the abandonment, rejection and vilification from her effed up family of origin is still there.

I hate what fundamentalism did to my sister. I realize that is was just one of many tools that my NPD mother used to dominate and control us, but the weapon itself is still nasty, really destructive. My twin is one of those who went through the terror of believing the rapture had taken place and she was left behind. Damn that horrid movie A Thief in the Night. Understandably, having been abandoned at birth to the hospital preemie ward, then abandoned by mom completely when sent to live with my Grandma, and abandoned by our biological father by the age of two years old, abandonment was already her biggest fear and greatest source of pain.

For those of you not in the know, the "rapture" was made up by Americans in the 1700-1800s. It was never a traditional Christian doctrine, i.e. the apostles who walked with Jesus never taught it. It remains a great tool for terrifying people to convert to a semblance of Christianity, a la "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God", and it is an especially great tool for controlling people once they "get saved". Walk that line, people, or get abandoned by Jesus right when the world starts to get the ugliest it has ever been!

(For the record, the gospel message is the opposite of Jonathan Edwards and his manipulating sermon. Jesus came to seek and save those separated from the loving heart of God. He came to reconcile us to God. Jesus tore the veil separating us from the Divine Presence of the Holy Trinity. The Father sent Jesus to us, to show us the Father and because the Father so LOVED us! God is not disgusted by you, and anyone who tells you different is a liar. (All of this is in the Bible, plain as day, but I will not thump you with references here. Email me at to_shadowspringATyahooDOTcom if anyone wants the references. Be warned that if you want to merely argue doctrine, I have no time for you.)

Rejection was my twin sister's earliest emotional experience, so of course when a preacher one day told her that God planned to burn her in hell for all eternity, but if she would walk the aisle and pray this prayer, then God would relent and not punish her forever, she fearfully, tearfully made her way down the aisle. It was no hard sell to convince her that God rejected her as she was. That preacher had it easy on that count. The gospel of grace, though, the truth that Jesus will never fail us or forsake us? The truth that Jesus will never reject anyone who comes to Him? She was never able to rest in that. My twin sister couldn't really trust that His love was steadfast, unfailing, totally secure. She was never fully assured that He wouldn't snatch back his offer of mercy at any moment.

The Baptist proclivity for Finney style hard-sell high-pressure audience response techniques did nothing to assure my sister of God's love. In fact, re-dedications were almost as rewarding to the preachers as first time salvation responses. They worked that angle all the time, your need to "get right with God". For the insecure and the wounded it just muddled up what little true gospel had gotten into their message even further. Just thinking about fundamentalist doctrine upsets me, so let's just leave that bitter taste behind and get on to the sweet, shall we?

I was able to tell my sister that I loved her and that I accepted her as a sister in Christ, even without the fundamentalist trappings. Like many of our most vulnerable and weak in society, she talks to God all the time. She relies on Him to get her through each day, and is continually asking Him for help. She has an awareness of His presence and His love (thank God!) but it does hurt her to know that our fake Christian family rejects her as a heretic because she left fundamentalism behind so long ago.

I am just really really grateful that Jesus is not defined by fundamentalist doctrine. I am really really grateful that the Holy Spirit of the Living God doesn't take orders from the American Christian politico-business machine. I am thankful for that Amazing Grace that John Newton knew, and for all the drunks sitting around campfires today still crooning out that paen to the true grace of our Loving God. Keep singing.

I am thankful that I finally get it, that doctrine over person is WRONG. Jesus said that his new command was that WE LOVE ONE ANOTHER.

He did not say that his greatest desire is that we all get doctrinally correct, and finally uncover the hidden message of the rapture.

He didn't say that all men would know we were his disciples because of our regular church attendance, or the way we snubbed "unacceptable" people.

It was sweet to be able to honestly, sincerely tell my twin sister that she is acceptable in God's sight, just as she is, holy and precious to him because that's who Jesus is: He is love. It was sweet to be able to say honestly that yes, I believe the Holy Spirit is at work in your life, leading and guiding you on a daily basis. That meant so much to her and to me. I am ashamed that I missed out on that for so many years because I let fundamentalist fear be my truth, instead of trusting in the gracious love of God.

If my sister's life could be likened to the character Olive, putting her whole heart into something my religion told me was the wrong song, then like Olive she still deserved to be loved and supported. God looks at the heart, not the outward appearance. I wish I had loved my twin sister unashamedly like the non-religious family in Little Miss Sunshine loved their Olive.

I am thankful for all the families out there in the world that are like the family in Little Miss Sunshine, standing behind one another in solidarity no matter how tough times get. In that movie, the little girl may have made some embarrassing choices, but her family saw the innocent heart behind her efforts and refused to condemn her. I want to love like that: whole-heartedly, willing to be embarrassed if love calls for it, never rejecting but caring for people in the ways that they need, in that moment, to be cared for. I want to love like Jesus.


As a cyber friend wrote recently on his blog:

Do you think that if all the other voices were silenced (as if it were possible) and all you had were the scriptures and your own children to teach you about God that you would assume God loved you despite your behavior?

Good question, Ryan. Good movie, Michael Arndt. Good conversation, sister.

May the grace of God be a very real experience to all who read here. SS

And the Answer Is....

Healing is a journey, but my husband is a trust-worthy traveler on that path.

I am just so...what word am I looking for? Happy. Satisfied. Content. Serene.

Let's go with serene, in honor of the Serenity Prayer. It's stupefying to me, the easy way I handled this last little relapse. Really, I amaze myself. It has got to be the EMDR, because that's the only thing that has really changed in my life since we began the process of recovery.

I have changed. I was not distraught, ruined, devastated by his rejection and his insults. I am not saying I was unaffected, but I was not knocked breathless. I am not saying I didn't want him to repent and work to restore the good vibes we had been previously sharing, but I was not in agony waiting for it to happen. I was not desperately pleading for him to " fix it NOW" as if the agony of being rejected by him was more than I could bear.

Part of my resolve has no doubt come from Kantor's book. Reading the description of how passive aggressives interact with their victims was like watching secret footage of my marriage over the years. The book called the psychological tortures my husband put me through abuse, which it was. It also showed me how I fell into the sado-masochistic cycle that perpetuated the abuse.

Kantor underscored the truth I already learned from various self-help books and support groups through the years. I can't change my husband. The only one I can change is myself. Pleading with him to change not only didn't help, it egged him on. Ditto attempts at calm rational discourse and yelling angrily. I tried it all, and I knew none of it worked. But that didn't end my compulsive need to get him to stop rejecting me. Even though I knew no good would come of it, I still felt driven to come to closure, to keep engaging him until he repent of being cruel and show me love and acceptance instead. I could not seem to stop myself.

This time it was easy. It has to be the EMDR. I can't think of any other explanation.

This EMDR stuff is now on my list of must-haves. Any daughter of an NPD out there still in pain? Zip your search engine over to this link and look for a competent therapist as fast as you can. I looked for the highest level of training in my local area and started there. You have nothing to lose except years of anguished relationships and some money you were going to spend anyway on something. Why not spend it on healing your heart? You deserve it. n_n

He has changed too. Joel and Kathy Davisson's Marriage Intensive got the ball rolling. Like Skills twenty-six week program kept it moving in the right direction. And EMDR is helping him keep that ball rolling in the right direction on a daily basis. I am so proud of him and how quickly he recovered himself from the pit in which he fell most recently.

I don't know how much, if any, my lack of tormented response had to do with his quick recovery this past incident. It may have only affected me, or it may have been helpful to him as well. Don't know and don't really care, LOL. It sure made me happy! =D

And in general, he is much happier than he has been in years! In addition to the EMDR, let me remind my readers that he is also taking anti-depressants. That in itself is a huge break from his family dysfunction, which says that physical need is a weakness that good (Christians? or just members of his particular family?) people don't experience. He left a broken leg untreated once for almost twenty-four hours to "see if it will get better" because of the shame he feels about receiving medical treatment. (Oh, his family system is so mean! Yet very Christian "nice" on the outside. God save us from their fate.) So humbling himself to take anti-depressants was huge.

I am really happy today, and satisfied with our relationship. So many insights, people and therapies have come together to help us have the relationship we both always wanted, but just couldn't reach. We are, as Joel and Kathy Davission like to say, "living it and loving it". I almost hate to type that out, afraid I will jinx it.

I also want to strongly emphasize to any battered women (emotionally, spiritually or otherwise) that the only reason this marriage is healing is because we ditched the whole traditional "man rule, wife submit" false teaching of the church. We embraced the "husband source of life" and "wife ezer- ally and friend" interpretation instead.

My husband took responsibility for both the state of our marriage and his own mental health. That will never, ever happen with an NPD partner by the way. If you suspect NPD, do whatever you can to get out of the relationship with as little damage as possible. I can't stress that strongly enough.

But for the PAPD, there is hope. They can learn to identify and express emotions safely, with therapy. That would include treatment for domestic violence as well as trauma therapy. Supportive aids like anti-depressants can make this process easier, as there is good reason these people have been suppressing their emotions. They are usually wounded very deeply, and very angry about that at their core,

So, to all my friends, thank you for your prayers and support through this healing time. To readers going through hell in their marriages, I hope my experience benefits you in some way. And to home school parents reading here who are being marketed to by the "man rule, wife submit" crowd, take warning. It's a simplistic and sinful twist to scriptures written in foreign languages and then translated into English a thousand years later. Go back to the source, dig deep and don't be led into bondage by the home school industry big wigs. They have plenty of money already, they don't need yours.

Peace and good will, SS

Power and Control Wheel

Power and Control Wheel from Paul Hegstrom's Like Skills web site.

If you are very unhappy in your marriage because of the way your Christian spouse is treating you, please check out this wheel. Many of us hesitate to call abuse what it really is because it has not yet escalated to physical violence. Abuse starts our far more subtly than that, and escalates over time. Please check out the resources at the Life Skills web site, as well as any other resource you can find, if your partner treats you like even ONE spoke of this wheel outlines.

Bad marriage relationships can be healed in some cases, but not without treatment. Start getting the help and support you need to find healing or move on. Jesus loves you more than life itself! He certainly loves you as a person more than the institution of marriage and/or the reputation of the church.

Peace, SS (to_shadowspring@yahoo.com)

NPD vs. PAPD

I only have a quick minute, but I wanted to capture my thoughts on this subject: Narcissistic Personality Disorder versus Passive Aggressive Personality Disorder.

NPD is a disorder in which the person fails to develop normal human empathy and emotion. In most cases it is completely intractable. In past years, it was considered one hundred per cent incurable. In recent years (don't have the links, sorry!) it has been considered more of a spectrum, with a few lucky and highly motivated individuals on the less severely disordered end of the spectrum capable of some improvement. It has been hypothesized that NPD could be caused by biology, extreme emotional neglect during the important 19-24 month window of development, and by over indulgent parents who in their smothering concern never allow the child to experience life where the little person is not the center of the universe.

PAPD is also a personality disorder, but it is not caused by biology nor is it intractable. It is mostly taught. Children who develop PAPD live in homes where anger is considered a sin, and therefore is not allowed expression or even acknowledged.

PAPD is the label for the behavior of an angry person who often refuses to admit they are angry, yet their anger will out. There are many different patterns of behavior they might indulge to express their anger, all of it indirect and sneaky. If you are truly interested, I recommend Kantor's book Passive Aggression: A Guide for the Therapist, the Patient and the Victim. They may transfer their angry feelings towards a sacred target which is forbidden (fundamentalist parents, for example) to a safer target which is allowed by their belief system (a wife, a child, a fellow driver on the road, etc). They also may deny they are anger yet engage in behavior that frustrates other people to the point that this other person will express anger, sort of manipulating other people to process their feelings for them.

Since people who grew up in homes where anger was not allowed have never learned the healthy expression of anger, when they come to believe that it is okay to be angry, they still have some big problems.

First of all, they have suppressed their feelings so long, they don't even recognize feelings as they are experiencing them. Their first instinct is to suppress and deny, so even though a situation may be frustrating them, they will meekly and silently comply. If you ask them, they might admit they are unhappy about it, but on their own they do not even recognize the change in their emotions. Once they do become aware that they are unhappy about what they are doing, rather than accept responsibility for their emotions and decisions they assign blame to the people nearby for "making" the PAPD do whatever it is they did not really want to do.

Secondly, when these feelings do burst through, they are often extremely overwhelming to the person. They feel exceedingly angry, since they have been storing it up for so long, and they feel exceedingly guilty, since deep inside they still have internalized anger is a sin. Also they may very well be indulging in sinful childish behavior when they are angry, as they are emotionally undeveloped. The remorse they express is real, yet the anger they feel is also real. They will often cycle back and forth through venting and repenting, venting and repenting.

Obviously there is hope for a person with PAPD. They CAN learn healthy ways to experience and express anger. Trauma therapy as well as cognitive behavioral therapy can come together to make all the difference for someone raised to become a PAPD person. This is not an overnight miracle, however.

Learning to recognize that they are experiencing feelings before those feelings become overwhelming takes time. Breaking the unspoken internalized rules about what one is allowed to feel, think and say takes time as well. Identifying the traumas that created this well of buried hurt and resentment will take time, especially when denial was taught, modeled, and rewarded, while honesty and transparency were condemned and punished.

Fundamentalist Christianity, and more specifically my husband's missionary parents, are responsible for my husband developing PAPD. My husband is responsible for his recovery, and for every word, thought and action he chooses to indulge in today. But there is hope for him.

There is no hope (in my opinion) for someone suffering from NPD. I realize the majority of abusers of either gender suffer from NPD. I am quite sure that is why all the literature is written claiming that abusers never change, are continual liars, and that a spouse's only hope of a healthy relationship is to get out of relationship with the abuser and look elsewhere for love. And if you are in relationship with an NPD, that is the ONLY ANSWER.

I know all about NPD because my mother is NPD. She is a complete fake as a person. She has never experienced any real emotion other than fear and anger, unless you count arrogance as an emotion. She is manipulative, cunning, able to switch personas at the drop of a hat when the situation calls for it. There is no level of ugly she will not stoop to in order to obtain Narcissistic Supply.

My husband is not NPD. He has real emotions. He has genuine relationships. He is kind and sincere. But he is a mess emotionally, and he has not learned how to deal with his emotions in a healthy mature manner yet. He is trying, though.

As the daughter of an NPD mother (and in spite of much therapy!) I came pre-programmed to choose to fall in love with a man who is emotionally unavailable to me. That kinda sucks, but if the shoe fits, eh. *shrug*

My husband is not NPD, though. I can figure out NPD before a relationship goes very far. Once bitten, twice shy.

The question is not "will my husband change?" or even "is my husband capable of change?" The answer to both of those questions is "yes". The questions that remain unanswered are, "will healing come to him without us having to temporarily separate?" and "how much worse is this going to get before it gets better?"

For those of you who were in a relationship with an NPD (Final Anonymous =) you have my deepest sympathy. There is no hell on earth like the hell experienced by someone trying to relate to an NPD as if they are a real human person inside. I know from experience. (I added a labels widget so you can find my previous posts about NPD.)

Okay, that's all for now. I took the time to write this because I am taking the time to think about it. There is no other motive, so please don't anyone be offended! Peace and good will to all, SS

Bonhoeffer, iguanas and Jesus

"Our enemies are those who harbor hostility against us, not those against whom we cherish hostility… As a Christian I am called to treat my enemy as a brother and to meet hostility with love. My behavior is thus determined not by the way others treat me, but by the treatment I receive from Jesus." The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

The following story is a bit of my husband's past as a missionary kid in South America, living at boarding school with all the other lost boys, er, young missionary kids:

The clay basketball court was hot, hot, hot in the afternoon. It lay baking in the equatorial sun, absorbing radiation that could be felt and seen as heat waves rising in the air.

A group of boys were walking in the grass and one of them disturbed a large iguana. The boys chased the iguana onto the basketball court. Quickly they surrounded the perimeter.

The iguana was getting burned. The boys laughed as its claws frantically scratched acrosss the court. The lizard tried to escape, hauling tail to the far side of the court. A boy ran to that spot and blocked his exit. In pain, the animal then ran in another direction only to be denied relief from the burning again as the bullies blocked its every attempt to escape.

I don't know how long they kept this up, or if the iguana was only tortured for a short time. My husband doesn't remember. He doesn't remember much at all from his childhood.

But I do know those hurting boys were acting out their rage and experiencing a cathartic release of repressed anger by tormenting the lizard.

The iguana certainly harbored no hostility against these boys. The lizard simply had the misfortune to catch their eye.

The hostility lay in the boys hearts long before and long after that moment of release, which I am sure brought only a momentary relief.

Jesus said many things about enemies. One verse in particular was used as a proof-text justifying the missionary lifestyle of the 1950s:

Matthew 10: 36-37

36a man's enemies will be the members of his own household.' 37"Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; 38and anyone who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me."

Verse 37 was the verse used to demand the true disciples abandon their children to religious day/night/weekend/months-upon-months-at-a-time care in order to pursue their noble careers as missionaries. I guess they didn't read down to verse 42 where the Lord says that meeting a child's needs in his name is an act truly worthy of reward. Ironic, no?

42And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward.

You want more irony? As Focus on the Family, home schooling and being a SAHM became the new Christian standard, my mother-in-law (yes the same one who sent her five and six year old little boys to full-time, twenty-four/seven, around-the-clock, ten-months at a stretch childcare!) confided how lucky she was that none of her daughters-in-law wanted to work outside the home.

She was the ultimate career woman, but because that career was religious then it was not only okay, it was proof of her commitment to Jesus?! But her daughters-in-law were considered good precisely because we didn't have a career outside the home? Confused yet?

The truth is whatever the Christian culture glorified as the most righteous, the most committed, the most spiritually earnest course of action, that was the one my mother-in-law wanted to be associated with. She chose her career path right after Jim Elliot's death, when all the truly committed seminary students were being urged to take up Jim's calling as their own. Going to become a Bible translator to Stone Age tribal peoples was what the most righteous, the most committed, the most spiritually earnest evangelicals would do.

Many, many seminary students responded to that manipulative calling. It was the QF/homeschool movement of its day. That's why there was a whole pack of angry, wounded little boys walking in the jungle that day.

Today the most righteous, the most committed, the most spiritually earnest evangelicals are the QF/patriocentric crowd. But some things never change. It is still the children who suffer.

The days of my husband's exile to boarding school are over. The pain and anger of abandonment are not. So if you read my blog, please say a prayer for my husband,that he would find true healing.

And if you are living your own life trying to please God by doing whatever the Christian culture glorifies as the most righteous, the most committed, the most spiritually earnest course of action today-

STOP IT RIGHT NOW!

All you need to know about pleasing God is found in Hebrews 11:6

6And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.

Pretty simple: believe he exists, try to get to know Him. God speed on your journey, seeker! The iguana and I would like to ask you to keep it simple. Love God. Love people. Live loved.

For my daughter

Way back in the deep forest, far from the protected paths, lived a little man made of sticky sap. He looked like a flesh and blood creature at first glance. A very handsome flesh and blood creature, actually. Many forest creatures would gaze on his glistening skin and be mesmerized by the dazzling reflection of dappled sunlight on sap. It was quite the sight.

The sap man was not happy being made of sap. He wanted to be flesh and blood like the forest creatures around him, but he was not. He watched the other woodland creatures as they scurried around the forests. He saw them forage and hunt. He saw them play and relax. He saw them court in the spring, raise young together, and go their separate ways, according to their kind. He watched them all.

He was fascinated by all of the animals. Squirrels and weasels were the easiest to mimic, though, because he was around them all the time. On more than one occasion he had convinced these smaller animals that he was one of them- strange and beautiful but just like them in behavior and instinct.

The first time he got a squirrel to fall for it, he felt like a god! The insecurity he felt at not being flesh and blood like the rest vanished. But only for a short while. Soon the sap man realized, that being in close proximity to the living beasts, he would soon be found out.

See he didn't really feel hungry. He pretended to feel hunger. He didn't really desire to mate. He went through the motions of the mating play because he wanted to see if he could fool the living things. Getting a living thing to believe he was real was his motivation. But once he succeeded at that, then what?

The sap man knew that in order to keep the living things convinced he was one of them, he could not let them stay close long. Quickly his first squirrel started to question him. The sap man was really smart and most of the time he guessed correctly at the appropriate time and action: play bow or gather food or chatter noisily. But sometimes he guessed wrong, and the squirrel would notice.

The fear that the sap man felt in those moments is indescribable! Immediately the sap man would become very angry. He would begin to belittle the squirrel, question her actions and then threaten to abandon the squirrel. This terrified the young animal; she thought she had found a god for a mate, the most amazing mate a young squirrel could ever find! She could not lose him. The squirrel wound up groveling and apologizing and going through all the attraction behaviors that the sap man had observed and learned to mimic.

Power and satisfaction replaced the terror of discovery in the sap man's mind. He liked the idea of having so much power over another creature. He began to believe he was a god.

But the sap man was also smart, he knew that eventually that squirrel might figure it out. And whether or not she did, there was little challenge in getting her to adore him anymore. Too easy.

So the sap man pursued other squirrels. The challenge and the fun at first was keeping the squirrels from knowing about his other victims. It made life exhilarating and exciting. But eventually he was found out, and his shame at not being a living creature returned. Quickly though, he realized how he was able to control multiple squirrels by playing them against each other. That added to the challenge and for a time, kept the game interesting.

But only for a time. It was too easy too quickly. That's when the sap man began to study the weasels.

The sap man repeated the same game, studying the weasels until he thought he understood everything about them. He still had his dazzling appearance. Oddly his non-living aspects were what made him unique and attractive. By mimicking the behaviors of his target species so well, they were convinced that the sap man was a Super Squirrel or a Super Weasel, a god-like being who was better than they and yet one of them as well.

And so he tired of squirrels and moved on to weasels.

What became of the squirrels, you wonder? Many of the squirrels were so full of self-doubt and self-loathing at being fooled by the sap man that they ran off. They did not trust their instincts anymore. These squirrels did not know what being a squirrel really meant anymore. They had been berated and blamed so much by the sap man that they deadened their desires and doubted their drives. They stopped gathering food and starved during the winter.

Some tried to hurt the sap man and only got a sticky mess on their fur. These were the ones who realized that they had been tricked and they were furious! They rushed at the sap man with fangs bared and claws scratching. Soon their faces and paws were covered with sap.

For all these the experience was painful and embarrassing. Grass, dead leaves and fur stuck on top of the sap. This looked a mess and slowed the squirrels down. Some were handicapped so much by the sap mat that predators were able to catch them. One squirrel died shortly after first attacking the sap man. Sap filled her nostrils and she couldn't clear them. She died a horrible death, panicked and furious. The sap man observed emotionlessly. After all, he had never been a living creature so he didn't feel things like pity or remorse.

A few of those squirrels survived, but it took a long time for the sap mess to get fully covered with dirt and stop being sticky to the touch. It took longer still for the fur underneath to grow out so that the sap was no longer stuck to skin. Plus those who lived that long still had the pain to deal with when finally the sappy matted fur caught on something and was jerked out.

But oh, what a blessed feeling that was, to have every last bit of the sap man gone! These squirrels were the happiest squirrels you ever saw when that day of freedom finally came! But all them were the first to run away from new creatures and they were far less curious than they might otherwise have been. Better safe than sorry was their new motto. Not a bad motto for living for any animal.

Now in that forest there lived a gorgeous fox kit. Foxes, unlike squirrels, have a very wide range. Also they stay with their parents for a long time, learning to hunt and survive before they go off in search of their own territory. This particular family of foxes lived in a far part of the forest. And so these foxes had never seen the sap man, though the parents heard rumors that such a thing existed.

Unfortunately for the young vixen, her parents didn't put much stock in rumors. It was a quality they would all come to regret.

The sap man was already bored with weasels and restless the day the vixen first wandered into his territory. He had never seen such a powerful, attractive creature! Not that he was actually attracted, more like intrigued by the sight of something new. And not that he sensed power, but he observed how all the other forest creatures ran in fear when they vixen arrived. He watched as the vixen easily took a weasel and ate it on the spot. The sap man felt his inferiority for the first time in a long time.

At that moment, he became determined to deceive the vixen.

I would like to tell that he was unable to fool the vixen. After all, foxes are crafty creatures and great predators themselves. But this was a young vixen after all. And since there was no sap man in the part of the woods she grew up in, she was uninformed and unprepared for the danger that lie ahead.

The sap man stayed in the shadows and watched the vixen many days. Since he was not living, the vixen didn't hear him breath. Since he was made of sap, his scent did not alarm her. So the day he revealed himself, she was not aware that she was in the role of prey. That had never happened to her before.

The sap man had perfected his revealing through the previous months and years. He chose a quiet moment in the afternoon when the sun was streaming down. He quietly followed the fox until she stopped to rest and then circling ahead, he stepped into the clearing and struck his god-like pose.

The vixen was entranced by the beauty of the sap man from the moment she laid eyes on him. Here was something she had never seen before, so she immediately froze and went on high alert, but she could not help but notice his beauty.

The sap man began to speak to her in fox, casually as if her already knew the vixen. In fact, this was easy to do because he had been observing her and learning her ways and habits.

I would like to tell you that things went easier for the young vixen. I would like to tell you that the vixen was too well-informed (but remember her parents thought the sap man wasn't real) and too worldly-wise (but remember she was young and just started claiming her own territory).

I would like to tell you that when a sap-gobbed weasel tried to warn her, the vixen listened. But nope, the vixen pounced on the weasel and that was the end of that.

I would like to tell you that when a squirrel with bald spots, who stayed high up in the trees, tried to warn her, the vixen listened. But no, the vixen just called the squirrel ugly and stupid and dared her to come down and say that to her face. Of course the squirrel, wiser for her trouble, just leapt off through the treetops.

The vixen heard those words often lately, "ugly" and "stupid". That's why she hurled them at the squirrel.

You see the sap man treated the vixen exactly the same as he had treated the squirrels and weasels. Anytime it seemed his fox schtick was failing, he would rage at the vixen and belittle her. Then he would follow it up with the flattery and pretense of strength that attracted the little fox in the first place.

It was not pretty. One day rumor reached her old home that the vixen was involved with the sap man. Her mother hunted down the vixen, and tried to expose the sap man for what he was- not even a living thing. But the sap man had planned for this day and taught the vixen that all the other foxes were jealous of her god-fox mate. And so the vixen stayed.

Her father then hunted her down to warn her too, but with the same result. But by now the vixen was very confused and unsure of herself. Just like the smaller forest creatures before her, she had begun to doubt herself, to doubt that she was even a fox anymore. She knew her father might be right, but the shame she would feel if she admitted it was too much to bear. She ran away from the sap man (he wasn't worried; she always came back) and curled up under the roots of an old tree.

The vixen fell into a deep sleep and began to dream. In her dream, she was confident and self-assured, just like on the day she left home. She felt strong and capable, and dream-running through the forest was a joy. As she ran her dream-run, a nine-tailed fox caught up to her. He raced along beside her, and her heart was again full of foxiness and life. The vixen understood what it meant to be fox. She awoke.

Everything changed for the vixen that day. She knew the sap man was not a god-fox anymore. She had run with the god-fox in her dream and no counterfeit would ever fool her again!

I would like to say that the vixen remembered the bald squirrel and did NOT return to rage at the sap man. But remember, she was still a young fox. Bald squirrel's opinions don't mean much to young foxes.

Yes, the vixen left that part of the forest with some matted paws covered in sap.

She returned to vent her rage and get her revenge, only to discover that the sap man tried to entice her to the sort of fury that would destroy her. He laughed in her face and mocked her pain. (That was how he got the unfortunate squirrel to attack so fiercely her whole face was buried in sap, and he hoped it would work on the vixen too.) The power to destroy was what the sap man considered the highest and best he could achieve!

But instead of rushing forward in fury again and again, the vixen controlled her rage and took a step back to consider her next move. Her muzzle had sap on it, and so did her right paw.

At that moment a mangy looking weasel called out, "He ain't worth it!" Finally the young fox listened to another's experience. She realized that it wasn't mange patches on the weasel, but dirt-covered sap mats. The vixen glared at the sap man (if looks could kill!) turned her back and trotted away on sap-laden paws.

What happened to the young vixen after that, I do not know for sure. I like to think that she runs through the forest in power and grace, empowered by the spirit of the nine-tailed god-fox. I like to think that the sap mats have all fallen away, and a golden blond fur grown in to make the scars beautiful instead of leaving bald patches. I like to think that she found a flesh and blood mate and lived a flesh and blood life, maybe even raised some beautiful flesh and blood kits. And knowing that vixen, that probably IS what happened.

I do know what happened to the sap man, though. Being able to fool a fox stroked his ego over the top. His next victim was a wolf, and she had no more luck than the vixen. She did, however, have something the vixen did not have: a pack.

Since a sap man is not flesh and blood, he cannot be killed. And anything you attack the sap man with, it just sticks to him. Now usually, since it was living things attacking him, they would pull off a part of him in their fur and wind up the worst for it. Yet the sap man would be fine.

The she-wolf and her pack held counsel and thought about their options. The sap man could not be killed. The sap man could not be attacked in the conventional way. So the question was, how to neutralize the sap man?

"Drown him in the river?" offered one wolf. That idea was discarded as impractical. How could they force him into the water? Plus it wouldn't drown him. He's probably come out prettier for his bath.

The sap man just laughed at their council howls. He knew they could never attack.

The wolves were all silent, thinking, until a voice came out of the darkness. "Take away his beauty. Then he can no longer deceive. This takes away his power."

No one there recognized the voice. I heard a rumor that it was the vixen, but that can't be confirmed.

The surviving she-wolf looked at her patchy painfully matted fur. She thought of the scarred up squirrels and weasels and suddenly she knew what they must do.

Howls filled the air the night of the attack. The sap man, arrogant as always, didn't care. As the sounds got closer, he began to eagerly anticipate the opportunity to mock at such majestic creatures as wolves. He would make laughing sounds at their impotent fangs and muscles and enrage the stupid creatures! They would all see that he was a god!

At this point the sap man believed his own spiel. He had convinced himself that he was superior to flesh and blood creatures because they were so easily manipulated! Buffoons.

Howls filled the air now and all the other forest creatures slid deep into their burrows or cowered high up in the trees. A wolf pack is a dangerous thing. All wise things in the forest know this.

The first wolf came into sight. The sap man began to mock.

Two, three, six, a dozen wolves surrounded the sap man. He continued to belittle them, sure of their impotence. He was especially derisive of the she-wolf and told her how stupid she had been. But to his suprise, the wolves showed no reaction.

They simply surrounded him, glaring and silent. The sap man began to get nervous. He began to yell uglier disparaging comments, his voice getting more and more shrill at the impassive unchanging wolf pack around him. Panic set in.

The pack leader could tell by the change in the sap man's voice that he was finally and truly confused and afraid. This was what the pack wanted (and I think, the vixen, if indeed it was her counsel that sparked this action in the first place).

The leader gave the signal, and all the wolves turned their tails to the sap man and started furiously scratching up the earth in huge cloud of dirt and debris. The sap man lunged at the wolf in front of him, but the wolf deftly darted forward and the sap man fell.

It was a great humiliation. The noise, the dust, the feeling of shame pelting him like debris. Wait, it was debris. More panic. The sap man rose to his feet. He must stop the wolves before he was covered in debris!

But it was too late. Already the sap man was blinded by dust. He lunged here and there like a drunk zombie, unable to see where he was going, unable to stop the wolves from kicking up more dirt and leaves and rocks and mess onto the sap man's body.

The wolves were howling with delight at that point! They made a game of hunting the sap man through the forest, seeing who could get the closest or make the largest object stick to him. The game was over when the sap man was totally and completely covered in forest, and there was not a single sticky spot left on him. The wolves left him right before dawn broke through the trees.

The sap man's beauty was destroyed.

The sun rose that morning and streamed down through the trees like always. The sap man, confused, blinded and too heavy to move, could only feel a bit of warmth filter through the twigs, pine cones, acorns, leaves, rock, dirt and scat that covered his body, and that only when the sun came through the trees at just the right angle and only for a short time.

He is still there today. He can't die for he was never alive to begin with. It is possible, I suppose, that hundreds of years from now enough erosion may occur to allow the sap man to walk again.

But not as long as the wolf pack lives. They start every hunt there now, kicking up dust on the sap man, making sure he stays ugly and immobile. I've heard that all the other survivors of the sap man drop by on occasion too, to throw dust on the one who almost destroyed them.

Except the vixen of course, who is too busy enjoying life and foxiness to be bothered with an ugly pile of trash in a forest far away. =)

Bill Gothard has negativley affected my life part 2

My twin sister flopped down on her bed, a dreamy look on her face. She was clutching a beautiful down parka to her chest, hugging it like a teddy bear. I sat tentatively on the edge of the bed, swinging my feet that were snugly encased in my new leather boots. They were Christmas presents, unusual Christmas presents. Past Christmases never had expensive or thoughtful gifts, not for "the twins". We got socks and new underwear and inexpensive clothing. But this stuff was quality! So unusual.

We were continuing a conversation that had been going on for three weeks at that point.

"Isn't it beautiful?" my sister squealed as she buried her face in the parka. "See, Mom is changing. I think she finally wants us to have a happy family. I can't believe how nice she is being to us. It's like a dream!" Her blue eyes sparkled with hope, and I loved her in that moment as only a sister can. She was so beautiful, so happy. She was beginning to believe that mom might actually love her.

My heart hurt for her, and I wanted so much to protect her from hoping. It had never ended in anything but disappointment and heartache where my mom was concerned. And yet my sister was so happy right then, how could I crush that? I'd have to be as big a monster as my mom to crush her happiness.

"I hope you're right." I finally offered. "I don't trust her. Something is up. It is not like her to be so kind and thoughtful. I think she's plotting something new."

I looked down at my sweet, tender sister's face. A cloud had come across her joyous expression. Why, God, did my sister have to live with this too? Why couldn't it just be me? I would have given anything to spare her from the pain I knew too well myself.

"But I'm cynical, you know me. You're probably right. It's just hard for me to trust her." I flopped down next to her and stared at the ceiling.

We talked of other things for awhile, and then I crossed the hall to my own room and went to bed. As I lay there drifting off to sleep, I thought maybe, just maybe, my mom had grown a heart. Like the Grinch. Maybe.

BANG BANG BANG

"Get up and get dressed. We have company. Come to the den. Do it NOW!"

The old mom was back. The angry voice, void of anything resembling kindness, the abrupt demands, the expectation of bad attitudes on our part. Oh, God. I immediately thought of my sister. This was going to crush her.

Another piece of my heart broke as I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt. I put on my game face along with my clothes. This was going to be ugly, I knew that much.

I had no idea how ugly it would get.

As I opened my bedroom door and stepped into the hallway I saw my sister. She was so frightened and bewildered. I will never forget the look on her face. Tears are in my eyes as I type this. If God really means it about millstones and drowning for offending little ones, there will literally be hell to pay for what happened next.

Our house was small so it took very little time to get to the den. There in our little den, sat the elders of my mom's fundamentalist church-the same fundamentalist church that took us all in buses to the Gothard seminar.

Oh God, help us! What has she done this time?

I took my sister's hand. I have never seen a more wounded expression on a person's face. I wished I could protect her from whatever evil was about to befall us, but I was as helpless as she was.

If only she hadn't hoped, I thought. Oh sweet sister, why did you trust her? She only ever does evil.

I'm not sure when exactly my brain shut down. I remember the pastor standing up (wicked man!) with his big black Bible. I remember the sectional sofa full of men, all of whom I knew from church. The pastor began to speak in a loud voice.

First he went on about what a godly woman my mom was (Ha! If he only knew.) and how she had tried so hard to raise us for the Lord (Is he talking about the same person?). Then he began to go on about how rebellious we were (True of me, NOT true of my sister!) and finally he got to the Bible reading.

He read from the book of Deuteronomy, chapter 21:

18 If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who does not obey his father and mother and will not listen to them when they discipline him, 19 his father and mother shall take hold of him and bring him to the elders at the gate of his town. 20 They shall say to the elders, "This son of ours is stubborn and rebellious. He will not obey us. He is a profligate and a drunkard." 21 Then all the men of his town shall stone him to death. You must purge the evil from among you. All Israel will hear of it and be afraid.

Once he started reading, I checked out. I probably talked over him to my sister, telling her not to listen, that this was bullshit. I don't remember exactly what I said and did, but I do remember shutting out everything that was going on around me.

Seems my mom, who was at best neglectful and at worst violent, whose righteous deeds pretty much consisted of going to church on occasion if she wasn't hung over or spending the night at her boyfriends, had convinced these patriarchs that she was a helpless little woman in need of their protection. Could those big strong elders please come and rescue her from these rebellious ungodly teenagers? And they fell for it: hook, line and sinker.

The real story is that my mom feared my sister and I. She found out that we had recently renewed our relationship with our estranged step-father. She knew that might result in a new custody battle for my little sister. She had to discredit us, and do it quick. Otherwise, we might talk and someone might believe us and then where would she be? No one would leave a child in her home if anyone believed us.

The bottom line, pronounced the pastor, was that we deserved to die for being rebellious to our poor, helpless, uncovered-by-a-man overwrought mother.

But since stoning wasn't legal, we were given two options. Call my step-father to come and get us or they would call the police and have us declared incorrigible (a legal status) by the state and we would go to juvenile justice.

I know enough now to confidently state that the second option was a bluff. We'd never been in trouble with the law for anything serious. I skipped a lot of school one semester, but was back on track at that time. The law in that state about incorrigible youth was intended to get the chronically criminal off the street. We were typical teens, not criminals.

But we didn't know that at the time. The threat seemed very real that day.

We called our (non-religious)step-dad, who came and got us, and that was a temporary fix. My mom never stopped trying to destroy our lives, however, and my step-dad had no idea what to do with teenage daughters. He had been a single workaholic man for the past fifteen years! But he had a heart, praise God, so he showed up for us in our hour of rejection. I will always love him for that.

Eventually my mom would make sure that I wound up in foster care and on my own with nothing when I aged out. My twin sister was dumped on the street at eighteen with nothing, my mom having stolen all the money in my sister's savings account since it was in her name as well. We were completely discredited- homeless high school dropouts. Mom wins again.

The truth is, my mom played those patriarchs like a fiddle. She loved the idea of absolute authority and total submission as long as she was the one in authority- LOL! In her personal life, she honored no one but herself. Not long after she got these people to do her dirty work, she moved on to another job and another city.

The thing about the NPD my mom suffers from is that my mom truly doesn't care. She didn't care if we partied. She didn't care if we went to school. She did not care. She had never tried to win us over to a righteous way of life. It really did not matter to her at all what we did with our time or our lives as long as she was not inconvenienced.

The only thing she cared about was her reputation. It could never get out what kind of monster she truly was, because she has an unyielding need to appear perfect at all times. This was the source of all her rage when she was angry- we had negatively affected her life or reputation in some way and that must never, ever happen. It's a mental illness; I don't think she is capable of change. It's just how she is.

No amount of "godly submission" or a "sweet spirit" on my part would have ever changed her. I don't think there is a medication that could help, and it is the nature of the illness that she will never seek help. She can't admit to anything less than perfection, or her whole psyche will collapse. The fear that people will find out the truth- that at her core being she is lacking essential human qualities like love and empathy- terrifies the NPD woman. Anger at having that veneer of perfection threatened and fear that she will be exposed are the only emotions NPD sufferers ever honestly experience.

The pain of that day never goes away. I recently found out that neither of my other two sisters ever knew what happened that day! My little sister was told we wanted to go live with my Dad. My older sister was already out of the house so that's what mom told her too. Mom must always look perfect. According to her, she was the victim here as we just up and called our step-dad and LEFT HER! Out of the blue!(insert tears here) I only discovered this lie recently and here's how I found out:

To this day my twin sister will have nothing to do with any church or Christianity as a religion. She is deeply wounded emotionally and has suffered greatly from depression and anxiety her whole adult life. My older sister was being very critical of my twin sister for refusing to go to church. So I shared this story with my older sister to explain WHY my twin wouldn't ever go to any church ever again.

That's when my older sister told me that she never knew! Mom kept it a secret for almost thirty years! Incredible. But it makes perfect NPD sense. My mom wouldn't tell my sister the truth, that she had called the church elders and kicked us out complete with a religious ceremony. My sister knew my mom wasn't exactly a devoted Christian and that the whole thing was a scam. Much better to lie and win my sister's sympathy than tell the truth and be scorned.

This is where it continues to be twisted. Life with an NPD never changes. Mom spent a lot of time fostering mistrust between sisters. My older sister asked my younger sister if she knew about this incident. My younger sister did not, but had also heard that we left mom of our own free will. All those years of maligning my character had the intended effect. Even now my sisters hesitate to believe me.

Happily, my step-dad is still alive and he can verify these events. And my best friend at the time still lives in that city, and she can verify those events as she came over right away to say goodbye and help us pack. My mom gave us until my step-father showed up to gather our things and get out. There are witnesses other than those elders and my twin and myself.

So, does everyone get why the nice winter parka and the good leather boots? It was to "bless us" on the way out the door, her pre-emptive gift to the homeless for the coming winter. As a good friend of mine would say later, mom must have been singing inside, "These boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do, one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you."

I haven't looked at the events of that day for a long time. I post them today in solidarity to every daughter who has been kicked out on the streets under religious pretenses.

I post them today in solidarity to every daughter who has seen her siblings suffer and been helpless to protect them from spiritual and emotional abuse.

I post them today in solidarity to every daughter who has been lied about to her siblings by manipulative parents who want to keep the truth hidden and the exiled daughter a pariah.

I am not a Quiverfull daughter. But I totally empathize with those who are. You have my unflinching support.

Bill Gothard has negativley affected my life....

I started this blog to have a space to write about how patriarchal fundamentalist thought had affected my marriage and resulted in disaster on many levels. The truth is that patriarchal fundamentalist thought had already wreaked havoc on my life before I even met my husband, but that is really a whole different story. I did not intend to write much about my family of origin here, but I will today in solidarity with the Quiverfull Daughter, of whom I am very fond.

I am not a Quiverfull daughter. I am one of four girls raised by my single mother after two failed marriages. Her story is one of abuse and heartache, and it affected her life and personality in very negative ways. My mom is abusive and manipulative and completely self-centered. I am convinced she has Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Since I started relating to her as if that were a true diagnosis, our relationship has improved significantly. (Recommended read: Children of the Self-Absorbed by Nina W. Brown, Ed. D., L.P.C.)

My mom was a staunch feminist, but she was also a great opportunist. She was in and out of different churches all my growing years, depending on her needs and how she thought it could benefit her. She was also in and out of illicit sexual relationships, but of course those two lives never crossed. She was very abusive in private, and managed to keep my siblings and me isolated from one another even though we were all going through the same thing. To those of you who ever lived in such a tangled mess of a family, you understand. To those of you who had a healthier experience of life, I couldn't begin to explain it. Her public church persona, however, was "poor abandoned single mom just trying to live for Jesus".

The summer between seventh and eighth grade was the most violent. I only found out as an adult why the physical abuse suddenly stopped, but the mental/emotional/psychological abuse would never end. It would continue today if I allowed her the access to my heart that real mothers have with their loved daughters.

The biggest spiritual crisis of my life came that summer. I was twelve years old. The honest truth is that I loved the Lord with all my heart. Not because I was raised in a family with daily devotions, but because Jesus loved me and had comforted my heart so many times- through moves and divorces and shamings and beatings and beratings. I loved church when we went, and I spent time every day pouring out my heart to God in prayer. My Bible was underlined and highlighted and I memorized Proverbs not because I had to or was in a competition, but because I wanted my loving Lord's counsel for how to live my life.

At the same time, the abuse was at its peak and I was crushed- angry, depressed and desperate for any kind of love and acceptance I could find. I would tell my mom I was spending the night with fictional friends (she never checked) and then spend the night in the abandoned house across the street just to be away from her. Once when I was hanging out with God at lunch, a group of kids from school found me. Instead of making fun of me, they asked me to join them. They happened to be partiers, so soon I was smoking and drinking if I was invited to join the fun. It felt so good for someone to like me!

That fall, I was forced to go to the Basic Youth Conflict seminar. Even though I drew pictures of KISS all over my notebook, I was listening carefully. I wanted more than any thing to please God and would have loved for my mom to care about me. And Billy G. had all the answers! If only I would submit to my mom in everything, forgive her unconditionally ever time she wronged me, then *presto* *change-o* God would change my mother into a loving mature woman of God. After all, she was my AUTHORITY.

I came home determined to make this work. I worked hard to please my mom, yet never was able to make her happy. I was subservient, and when she began to verbally and/or physically abuse me I tried to keep a "sweet spirit". And I prayed. I prayed harder than I had ever prayed before, that God would make me good enough so that my mom would be free to live for Jesus and stop abusing me/us.

But you know what? My mom didn't change at all. She kept right on treating her children as she had always treated us. And it still hurt just as much as ever. I was still angry at being screamed at for hours, slapped around, and continually insulted and degraded. I just could not be the "sweet submissive child" that Billy G. told me God wanted me to be, even in the midst of abuse. It never occurred to me that Billy G. ws wrong. I thought something was wrong with me.

I thought God wasn't changing my mom because I wasn't sweet enough. I thought God wasn't changing my mom because I was still angry and hurt about being mistreated (such a mild word for such devastating heartache). I thought that the presence of these emotions meant that I had an unforgiving heart, and pray as I did, those feelings just would not go away.

Of course the truth is that Bill Gothard is a dangerous heretic and his teachings are poison, but at that point in my life I thought anyone on a platform was right. It was easy for me to assume the problem was with me. My mom had told me my whole life how stupid, thoughtless, selfish, lazy and utterly hopeless I was.

And so I walked away from Jesus with a broken heart. I remember how deep I sobbed that night, gut-wrenching sobs from the depths of my being. I told Jesus I could not be a Christian, because I was such a hypocrite, and I did not want to blaspheme his name with my abhorrent behavior. I was not good enough to follow Jesus.

So I quit reading my Bible and trying so hard to live a righteous life. I hung out with people who appeared to actually like me, and if we drank and smoke and did drugs, so what? I was a moral failure, an epic fail at godliness. So what did it matter.

Because of my own experience, of loving the Lord with all my heart and yet continually being accused of evil motives and thoughts, I identify with Quiverfull daughters.

Because of my own experience, of never measuring up and yet carrying all the responsibility for the actions of others, I identify with Quiverfull daughters.

Because of my own experience, with those in authority claiming absolute power over our lives in the name of God, I identify with Quiverfull daughters.

My experience began in the seventies, and all that damage came from only ONE weekend seminar. I cannot begin to imagine the pain of having this pounded in your head day after day after day. So, Quiverfull daughters, children of ATI, survivors of fundamentalist cults, you have my loyal sympathy and strong support.

And that was only the beginning of the way Bill Gothard negatively affected my life. It would peak in a perfect storm of spiritual abuse, complete with church elders and symbolic stonings.