Daughter of the Devil
“And I will cast you out of my sight, as I have cast out all your brethren…”
Jeremiah 7:15
I swept aside my tear-soaked hair and gazed up from my fetal position. I could hardly recognize the faces around me. One was that of my mother, but her eyes were devoid of their characteristic warmth. The other was that of a family friend who’d been summoned to preside over my trial. He looked distraught and confused. Satan had struck our family again, taking captive the mind of another child. But my excommunication was predetermined by God, and he was only the voice of his will.
Then there was my father. His eyes were red with sorrow and rage. “If there is one thing the bible teaches us,” he said, “it’s that the women will always rebel.” His voice quivered as he raised his shaking finger. “You are under the influence of the Satan. Satan has been trying to destroy this household for years. And you know why? It’s because we have the truth.”
It would not be a romanticization to say my life flashed before my eyes in that moment. Truthfully, it rewound; all my experiences came undone, all the love and respect I thought I’d garnered revealed itself to be conditional. All my binary conceptualizations of love, hate, morality, family, God, authority, and human nature all rode upon my faith, a faith from which I was now being forcefully expelled. My reality, this house of mirrors through which I viewed my existence, began to shatter panel by panel. Cracks formed over even the most basic presumptions I’d made. I shrank back to an infantile state, crying, screaming, and incapable of commanding my language. My whole body shook violently, I could not walk in a straight line, and I did not know who my family was anymore. This moment would end up being the most traumatic blessing I’d ever receive in my life.
I was born to the founders of a fundamentalist cult. My father, its pastor, believed that he'd found the only true form of Christianity in existence, and that merely doubting his theology was enough to judge a person unsaved and to excommunicate them. In order to enter the fold, one would have to answer a lengthy questionnaire and sign an agreement stating that they’d never fellowship with anyone who disagreed with a single tenant of my father’s book. I signed this when I was 12 years old.
My father’s teachings on women were particularly oppressive. Women could only operate under the authority of a male and were to be quiet, subservient, and shame-faced. I could not wear makeup, jewelry, or do anything to my appearance which could be interpreted as attention-seeking. I could not leave the property without permission, pray out loud in front of men, or choose my career or spouse. My father told me that if a man demanded anything of his wife or daughter that was not a sin, they were to obey without question or complaint.
As I grew up, my older siblings began "falling away" and were banished from the assembly and family. One was banished for dating, the other for open unbelief. After each excommunication, I was told to mourn them as if they were dead. I loved my parents, and I tried every day to prove to them that I was not like my older brothers who’d fallen away. I agonized over my every thought, trying desperately not to think the wrong thing or question anything, for even a moment of doubt would mean that I was destined for hell and never saved at all.
My desire to express love though submission and my desire follow what I believed was my God-given moral compass eventually clashed, and I was faced with a choice. Keep quiet and remain in the family, or voice my dissent and lose everything. The choice tormented me. I would abrade my arms with paper clips, wake up frequently in the night, and cry myself to sleep. In my dreams, I would run up the driveway and never return. When I finally mustered the courage to tell my mother I was leaving, disciplinary trial began - an 8+ hour ordeal which left me weak and shaking uncontrollably. I attempted to run away, and I was locked in the house until police arrived.
Five years later, I have reconnected with my brothers and extended family who I was forbidden from contacting. I got married, graduated Summa Cum Laude with my bachelor’s, moved away to a vibrant city. In all honesty, I could not have tackled the world outside with such tenacity had I not endured such abuse, and nor would I have the ambition and zest for life that I now possess. Before I got out, I’d never seen a movie, dressed up, or celebrated a holiday. I can now experience all these things and more with a childlike wonder afforded to very few. Since I left, my father has attempted to sabotage my every endeavor and has labeled me an evil, vicious, manipulative, lying whore - a daughter of the Devil. Instead of taking offense, I've chosen to embrace this label.
None of this is intended to discount the pain that I and others experience and continue to experience, but to give hope to others. I have three siblings who’ve yet to escape and who I’ve been unable to contact for years, and it is my greatest desire to watch them free themselves and become whoever they truly are. I hope that anyone reading this who is trapped in an abusive environment chooses to value themselves and begins to take their first steps towards freedom. It’s possible, it is precious, and you are worthy of it.