Good For Nothing Slave Girl...

Likewise, when you have done all the things assigned to you, say:
‘We are good-for-nothing slaves. What we have done is what we ought to have done.’ — Luke 17:10

The papers in my hand were still warm from the printer. Standing alone in my bedroom, I read the testimony of a principal leader of the religion I was born into to the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Abuse in Australia.

Lightheaded, my peripheral vision faded to black. I felt light as air yet curiously strong, grounded. My body was electrified, as if I could shoot lightning from my fingertips.

The thought I’d dared not give voice to, that I’d pushed deep into my stomach and out of my conscious awareness my whole life, was suddenly crystal clear.

“It’s lies. All of it. None of it is real.”

Life is a journey of self-discovery and growth, and for me, it took decades to find the courage to break free from the grip of a cult I was born into and deeply entrenched in for most of my life.

I was a born-in, my parents having converted as adults. I got baptized at age 14. It stuns me that I was allowed to make such a serious decision at that age, too young to consent to sex, vote, drink alcohol, get a job, drive a car, sign a legal document. Yet, I was expected to make a lifelong commitment under duress, knowing if I didn’t, I would be considered a bad association and potentially shunned.

Like so many other teens, I married far too young to a person I barely knew, since JWs aren’t allowed to have premarital sex or cohabitate to judge compatibility. My husband was traumatized due to abuse he’d suffered at the hands of relatives in the religion. Our relationship was fraught with difficulty, but congregation elders told me to stay in order to keep God’s approval.

Finally, I left — but I had four children to raise, no education (due to the cult’s policies), no job skills and no savings. Vulnerable, I couldn’t face being rejected by the only community I’d ever known.

While I’d had doubts all my life, I pushed them out of my conscious awareness as soon as they appeared.

But as a newly divorced woman, I was waking up.

The harsh treatment of the elders in my congregation accelerated this. Because I didn’t have a “spiritual head” anymore, they couldn’t control me as much. I got a taste of freedom. I toyed with the idea of getting disfellowshipped intentionally so I could leave the cult. But, I was reliant on my parents’ support emotionally and couldn’t face getting shunned.

A few years later, I met my second husband. He was a good man, a great dad, and kind to me. But like so many born-ins, he was unable to be his authentic self, which caused a deep rift in the foundation of our relationship. While I’ll forever be grateful for his friendship as we both woke up, our marriage didn’t survive our exit.

Though I was trying to raise my kids in “the truth”, my doubts got louder and louder.

The constant dumbing-down of the organization’s study material disturbed me. Meetings and conventions were repetitive and boring. Doctrines changed constantly, and some new “understandings” were nonsensical. I saw much hypocrisy in the organization’s rules and culture.

In addition, many fellow congregants I encountered through the decades were unloving, hypocritical, judgmental, backstabbing people who I would not have spent time with if I’d encountered them outside the cult. It was difficult making friends, especially once I became a mother. I disapproved of the parenting style of many of the people around me.

This is one reason the leader’s testimony to the Royal Commission woke me up. The organization had undeniably encouraged physical punishment of children for decades, something he lied about under oath, to preserve the organization’s image. Practicing “spiritual warfare” or “theocratic warfare”, as the organization refers to it, allowed him to obscure facts with authorities.

I never felt good at the “church”. I had constant anxiety while engaging in cult activities.

Another nail in the coffin of my faith was when my seventh child, a 27-weeker preemie was born.

During my pregnancy, I read everything about high risk pregnancies and preemies in the organization’s literature. I knew that, according to their guidelines, if my life was in danger, I could terminate the pregnancy.

What was inconsistent and crazy-making to me was that while I could abort him if my life was in danger (and it was, due to placenta previa), I could not allow the doctors to give him a teaspoon of red blood cells, if needed, to save his life once he was born, or risk disassociation and shunning.

It was obvious to me that the cult’s ban on blood transfusion was a man-made, unscriptural rule.

After my preemie’s birth, I slipped into a deep well of anxiety and depression. I had cPTSD, undiagnosed at the time. The fear I’d had since childhood about an upcoming Armageddon ramped up to a fever pitch.

Looking for answers, I read extensively. I’d always felt self-conscious about my lack of formal education and had always read a lot in an attempt to fill gaps, checking out dozens of books from my library each month.

I became convinced that evolution was the logical explanation for humankind’s existence. I no longer believed there was a creator who cared about me. The more I read about human progress, science and history, the more I saw that we were not living in any “last days”. Rather, man had more prosperity and safety than at any point in history.

The cult narrative and the “God delusion” was crumbling. I was becoming an atheist.

Enter a global pandemic. My ex-husband and I watched as the “lifesaving” preaching work we’d been told since infancy was more important than even our very lives, was canceled. Meeting attendance was moved to Zoom.

I felt relieved. But I was so good at ignoring my own feelings, my own gut, the sensations in my body, that it didn’t register initially that staying away from the church made me… happier.

My then-husband and I began taking walks after dinner. Away from the children, we opened up to each other about feelings and thoughts we’d suppressed our entire lives. Our complaints about the way the organization was doing things. How unloving the congregations were. How those with responsibilities in the congregation didn’t seem to care. How our kids struggled to find decent friends in the organization. How we also struggled to find friends. That many of “God’s happy people” seemed downright miserable. How the “persecution porn” kept ramping up.

The fatal blow to my faith: my second-born son woke up.

He told the elders that he no longer wanted to be identified as a publisher (thankfully he’d never been baptized!). I admired him for sticking up for himself and acting like a man, under the intimidating circumstances of an elder inquisition. He was a great kid, respectful to me and his stepdad, kind to his siblings, helpful. He told his stepfather why he no longer believed the religion had the truth: among other reasons, they were hiding a huge problem with child sexual abuse.

It wasn’t long after this that I too saw the testimony of two prominent leaders of the church to the Australian Royal Commission. I read their words, and watched video of them lying, like cowardly little boys, to the professionals querying them. I lost all respect for the leadership, and the beliefs I’d held dear for forty years, fell apart like a house of cards. The men behind the curtain were scared, out-of-touch, uneducated, narcissistic nincompoops.

My religious deconstruction was swift and effortless.

I had no guilt. I had little fear. In fact, the fear and anxiety I’d been plagued with my entire life began to lift. I allowed myself to research deeply. I stayed up late and read accounts of apostates and unbiased histories of the beginnings of the religion. A clear picture of a cult emerged. I’d been lied to my entire life. While this was the hardest thing I’d ever been through, I was finally free.

The ex and I announced to our children (my eldest had already moved out) that we were leaving the organization. They were overjoyed! We celebrate that day annually as our “freedom day”.

Fast forward a couple of years. My ex and I are amicably divorced and co-parenting our children peacefully. I’m thrilled that my younger kids will barely remember their time inside the cult, and the older ones will be able to enjoy their young adulthood free from the constraints of an apocalyptic doomsday cult.

Life is good.

~ Carrie H.

CarrieWillard.com