I have been part of the cult I am going to tell about for 21 years.

From the age of 24 until I was 45; when it finally became clear to me that the people involved in this organization were there either for their own private individual economic and or social advantages, or (as in my case) in need of an efficient and professional mental health help rather than a brainwashing cult.

In my youth, I have always been fascinated by philosophy: I was yearning to understand why some people encounter, apparently without any reason or fault, so many difficulties and hardships.

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I ordered this book out of one of my Dad's hunting magazines. I wanted to know everything about my Dad's world "The Great Outdoors".

It was so much, much, much bigger than my own world. I had just turned 13 and something changed in our relationship. I craved the good old days with Dad. I read the entire book so I could have something to offer on our next hunting trip.

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As a child, men would speak to god for me.

If I wanted to speak to god, i could speak to god in only two ways. In private.

In a group of women but with a napkin on my head.

It could never be in the presence of a man.

I had to apologize for being a female.

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I am a survivor of spiritual and narcissistic abuse. I was raised within a family dynamic of two Christian based cultic practices. As an adult I managed to get involved with a very dangerous international Japanese Buddhist cult.

I was deeply indoctrinated for nearly 13 years.

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My former self would have interpreted the way I met my guru in a completely different way: as a divine blessing. Turned out it has been the curse of my life!

My mother's best friend, Claudia, often looked after me when I was little. Her apartment was filled with pictures of Indian saints, deities like Krishna, and paintings of hearts and angels. While she cared for me and several other children, melodious Indian music played in the background. She lit fragrant incense, wrapped us in colorful cloths, and showed us how to protect our auras from harmful energy.

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I got out of an MLM after almost two years.

It was a very slow drain and a series of moments that eventually gave me the courage to finally quit.

When I joined, I believed there was something special about this company and I didn’t see the immediate harm because the products seemed harmless and were things I used anyways.

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The first time, I was a college senior. I often cowered under my dorm bed crying, while my boyfriend mercilessly berated me for any number of “transgressions.” I tried all kinds of things to hide my puffy eyes, from blowing cold air on them to holding ice cubes against my face in the mornings. Every day, I wished that he would hit me. Just once, and then I might have a reason to leave.

Until I Googled the words “emotional abuse.” I began to plan my escape, and sought help from some women I trusted at a local church.

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I am 68 years old. I got out of my high demand cult group 23 years ago.

It is only in the last few years that our family is tackling the effects of being in a cult for 9-10 years, so many years ago.

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I got out of a cult in NYC. I know, a cult in NYC? You would never expect it, would you? I grew up in NYC and still live here. It's a place that’s known for people being savvy and aware. You have to be when you live in such a big city with so much going on all the time. And yet, you can find yourself feeling quite alone here.

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At age 21, I graduated from an Ivy League college. I had a great education prior to that, attending day and boarding schools that I really liked and where I made a lot of friends. I was a high school competitive athlete and won academic awards. In college, I became overly attached to my college boyfriend. The year after college, he broke up with me and started dating someone else. I was devastated.

I moved to a new city where I knew very few people. Some new friends, from overseas, were fundamentalist “born again” Christians. Before long, they invited me to services, and, not long after, I was ready to be born again in a full immersion baptism. The officiants told me two minutes before the baptism that I should talk in tongues during the event and I complied, basically pretending.

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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.”

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I got out of an abusive cultic relationship with my narcissistic mother. Anyone who knows the both of us would not believe me.

She is very charismatic, and makes a convincing case that I’m the one who’s confused and unstable. She also pulls off with confidence a claim to psychic powers and access to spiritual wisdom beyond this earthly realm. I believed this, too, until only recently.

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Returning to the Motherland

Going back to Ireland has always been an unsettling experience. In fantasy, it is the Motherland I return home to, but in reality, it has never been home. Ireland rejected me when I was still in my teenage mother’s womb, and she was forced to travel to London alone and live in a Mother and Baby Home. For years, I rejected Ireland just as she had rejected me. I disavowed my Irishness in favor of an adoptive identity. But ever since I connected with my roots, that small rock in the Atlantic Ocean has had a magnetic pull akin to the seductive allure of an unpredictable, exciting but abusive partner or father figure.

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Now, I am living across town, 24 days into a new apartment. I live among the boxes that hold every single thing that I own or have owned since I was only months old. Some say, too young to remember, but I do.

Outside, I hear church bells and a train crossing tracks, the birds singing, and cars passing by. Before, I used to hear only silence in my isolated place out in the woods, out behind the "owner's" large house.

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Up until age 23 I thought I knew the answers to life’s secrets. I thought I was better than everyone else. I used to pity those who weren’t privy to this holy information I had, or grew up in the way that I did. Now, I look at those who did not experience what I did with jealousy, with remorse for how I used to look at them, and with pleading to accept me for the person I was.

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I was raised as a fourth generation on my Mom's side and third on my father's. I took to the religion almost immediately, becoming an unbaptized publisher at 8 and joining the theocratic ministry school where I would give five minute talks in front of over 100 people soon after.

While I wouldn't go out of my way to preach to my classmates, if an opportunity to talk about my religion came up, I would take it. Missing out on holidays didn't seem like a big deal, having never experienced them. It was, however, really hard for me to miss out on playing sports, which were strictly forbidden because this would bring me into "bad association."

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Eight years ago, I left my life as a stay-at-home daughter in the Christian Patriarchy movement.

I was struggling with depression, anxiety, and terrifying fear. My voice was silenced, and I had no agency over my life. I was not allowed to get a job outside the house, not allowed to go to college, not allowed to date. I had few friends and was mostly cut off from extended family.

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I got out of the cult in 1997-8.

I’d been indoctrinated at age 10, having celebrated my last childhood birthday earlier that year (got a wicked cool Duran Duran vinyl!). I left around age 24, having just had enough living with all the cognitive dissonance required to make my shit homelife excusable.

As an adult ex-member, I like to say that suicidal depression really saved my life.

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In the spring of 2020, chaos, civil unrest, and sickness spread around the world. Fear and uncertainty overwhelmed me. The bravery, strength, and courage of those who got out, inspired me, and gave me the strength to move forward.

Getting out comes at an exceedingly high cost, including being shunned by friends and family. And while getting out is seemingly impossible, here is my story of many failed attempts to get in.

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At first, I wasn't even sure if it was appropriate for me to contribute my "I Got Out" story, but I thought it was important to to share how hard it was to overcome the intense religious indoctrination of my early years.

I was born into a high control group, second generation on my Mom's side. My Mom was a baptized member and my Dad was not. My Dad hated it and did everything in his power to dissuade her from participating in the organization, many times in violent ways. This is the world I was brought up in...divided...half cult, the other half an "unbeliever."

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