Train up a child...

   

Three generations of the most important women in my life

         Recently I have been hearing mixed reviews about how open I am in my writings and the topics I have chosen thus far. I expected this, and I enjoy it.  Although I believe that there are a few things in need of clarification. It has been brought to my attention that people of the cult have been approaching my mother and telling her that they are so sorry for the things that I am writing, they are sorry that I openly criticize her, and they are praying for her because they have felt the pain of having a wayward child. They tell her that they are sorry I have lost my faith. I don't remember anywhere in the Bible where it says that having faith means that you cannot bring to light what happens in a cult, that was created by man. I have been told that I should inform my mother of the contents of my blog before I publish it so that she does not learn of my stories from the internet, as the rest of the world does. I am told that I should have more respect for my mother than to embarrass her by saying that she raised me in a cult. What those Pharisees fail to understand is that I have never once criticized my mother in any of my writings, and she is very aware of how I have felt on many of these topics for years now, and I choose all of my words carefully. 

     My mother raised one shy child and one very bold child (I'll give you a moment to figure out which is which). My mother only spanked me once when I was small (well, twice if you count the time that she acted before she heard the story of what was happening and I was beyond devastated that she would ever think I would be doing something so horrid, but I digress). She didn't need to spank me more than that because I was very much a self-governed child. The amount of guilt I would feel if I did something that could possibly disappoint my mom was overwhelming. If I tried to keep a secret from her I would throw up almost constantly until I told her whatever it was that I had done. She was never very surprised, and was usually very understanding. Perhaps she is not aware of each detail of my stories before I write them, but none are news to her. Also, my mother was raised by a woman with no filter at all, I come by my personality quite honestly. 

        My mother has a fine balance of being the perfectly submissive wife and a normal mom, and fits the role so well that it drives me insane. My mother obeys every word my father says, and sometimes she follows only to a gesture or a snap, but I did not inherit that trait. When my mother was in the hospital and my father was home with me, you can bet he made his own coffee that day. My mother is also good at allowing me and my sister to live our lives within reason. My mom did not enforce the ridiculous rules set by the cult such as limiting our TV to 2 hours a week, not wearing pants (although we didn't for a while, but I could have), and knew that I was going to date anyway, so she might as well be on board with it. When we got older, my mom didn't stop me or Hope from swearing (within reason). If that was a safe way to vent our anger and frustration, it was a much healthier choice than smoking or drugs. I am glad that my mom is good at keeping her own standards, while not forcing them onto me. She hasn't had any alcohol since she became pregnant with me. My father will not attend parties that I host because I serve alcohol. My mother attends my parties (Mama Harvey is now in fact quite the party staple among my friends) and she just has her sparkling cider without judging anyone else's choices. 

        Writing my blog has not upset my mother at all. She respects my opinions and often says that I make very good points. Through some of the more serious topics about which I have written, I have actually found out more about my mom and she has seen that it's okay to talk about terrible things that have happened to you. I was not allowed to celebrate Halloween as a child, but Halloween was the topic of one of my first posts. My mom agreed that many of the rules put in place by the church were for no good reason, and not only did she attend my Halloween party, but she full on embraced it! 

I have one, but none of us actually needed a wig for our princess

         In my last post I wrote about how I was told I was rejecting God's plan for my life by becoming a paramedic instead of going to Bible college. A few weeks ago my mom texted me after church and sent me the following: (Edited slightly to protect the innocent) "You know I was thinking of you yesterday during the sermon. I was thinking how awesome you are...(I did not instantly respond)...Do you want to hear why?" My mother knows how humble I am, but of course I responded "YES!!!"

"He was talking about vision and you know he meant a ministry like soul winning and stuff like that, and he said that without vision, the people perish. Well, without Heather the people perish! You have far greater vision than someone knocking on doors just to make yourself feel like you are doing God's work. And don't post this!" (that was before I took out the curses). "I was watching a video of someone helping people get out of their cars after a crash and I thought, Heather does this sort of stuff every day! She is so awesome. I wish I could do that. Lifesaver Heather! That's my girl!! What a fantastic thing to do. You are the one who makes a real difference in people's lives." See, even home schoolers have a cheerleading squad. 

No, I don't wear the tiara on calls...unless it makes a squishy happy

          I don't blame my mother for the fact that I was raised in a cult. No one wakes up one day and thinks, "Hey! I am sick of making choices in my own life, I would like to start living by some ridiculous standards laid out by a man, that I shall never question, and I will subject my children to their false teachings and abuse as well!". No. That is not how it works. I asked my mother one day why I was home schooled. I have a video from my 3rd birthday party where my mom is talking about driving the school bus so that she didn't have to be away from me in a few years. My mother, like many of us, just wants to be loved and accepted. She told me that when she was a teenager she started going to church with her brother. The pastor of that church was a big fan of Bill Gothard, the founder of ATI. My mother and my uncle went to a few of Bill Gothard's seminars and found a place where they could study the Bible and reasonably fit in. From there everything sort of slowly kept drawing my mother in deeper. My father enjoyed the seminars as well, which is not surprising because Bill Gothard is a firm believer in the man having rule over the woman. My mother had never heard of home schooling before ATI, but once she found out about an option where she would never have to be apart from her reason for living, she was in! Besides, as all parents assume, her kid was smarter than the rest, why hold them back at a "normal" learning pace? 

There was also a lot of talk about keeping your kids under the "umbrella of protection" Here is mom in action!

          None of the terrible things that happened in ATI or at the cult where my parents still attend church happened on my mother's watch. Last weekend, Gramma and I got all fired up and asked my mom to give a good reason why she still attends the cult. My mother fully admits that it is a cult, but she said that my father likes it there, they have been there for almost 15 years, and "They have a good Biblical foundation, it's just the things that they teach are wrong".  So not to worry, Pharisees, who tell my mother that you are praying for her wayward, lost child. She knows all that I am doing and she is realistic enough to understand the choices I make. My mother loves my blog and the fact that I had the boldness to leave that she lacks. She also knows that this is not an insult. She knows that I only want her to be happy and free, but I am not going to be able to do that for her. 

        Many of my friends who have left the cult and made different choices for their lives have parents who won't speak to them anymore because they have allowed so much sin into their lives. Over the past few years I have had many difficult choices to make. When my ex-husband wanted a divorce, I didn't fight and I signed the papers. Although divorce is unacceptable in the church's eyes, my mother never expressed anything but sympathy. When I was pregnant with my 6th baby, I was told the baby was not growing and I waited to miscarry, as I had with the others. I spent a Mothers' day pregnant but devastated. My mom wasn't upset at all that I ignored Mothers' day that year, she knew I wasn't forgetting her. I didn't miscarry, and I was advised by my doctors that for my health I should end the pregnancy. Of course this is an all-out-bound-for-hell sin in a church, but there was no chance that the baby would be nearly functional, if he even lived at all. Not once did my mother bring up the fact that I was being told I should commit the worst sin possible. When I was about to go in for the surgery, I sent her a picture of the final ultrasound. She told me that once she saw that, she saw how sick and small he was, and she no longer felt like vomiting and sobbing, but fully supported what I had to do. Something that I can't imagine any ATI mother saying to her child. My mother came to stay with me and care for me after the surgery, and told me that no matter what, I made her a grandmommy. 

         Often my mom won't "like" things on my Facebook because she doesn't want "to hear all the crap" from the church people about it when it shows up on her page. When I got my tattoo, I showed my mom and she said "Okay, I like it, but I'm not liking it on Facebook!"

       My mother never forced faith on us. She is very quiet about her beliefs and she will share if she is asked. My father forced us to do "wisdom searches" and sometimes as punishment I would be made to read passages that applied to the sin I had committed. I usually had to read James because I had issues with pride (clearly his methods of making me humble were futile). My father is one of those people who asks a waitress if she is saved or not, and who prays loudly over a meal in a restaurant, but only at home on holidays. The Bible admonishes the Pharisees for praying loudly in the streets so that all can hear and behold how righteous they are. I'm pretty sure that my mother has studied the Bible more than my father has, but she does so on her own, quietly. When I lived home and I would get up and come to her room, I would see her reading, but she never made a show of it. She doesn't like to go up to the altar at the cult and make a big show of the fact that she got a rhema from the sermon. I know that my mother prays, but I know that she is genuine about it. 

She also didn't force me to learn how to cook

    

        When Hope and I would fight, my mother would mix movie quotes with Bible verses. "Be nice to your sister! Pray for those who persecute you! Don't mix beer and wine, ever. Agree with thine adversary quickly! Bless them that curse you and despitefully use you! Don't drive on the railroad tracks!"  When I had to memorize Proverbs 31, my mom drew each verse with an example of Cinderella being a virtuous woman and hung them through the entire hallway. She made the Bible applicable to real life, or that of a princess.

         The Bible says "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." I am exceedingly elated that the brainwashed people of the cult think that I am wrong for how I am. That means my mother followed what the Bible taught her...and let her own works praise her in the gates.  

Happy Mothers' Day, Mommy! Love, Da Headdas

From Homeschool Heather to Paramedic Princess

    If you were raised as I was ,you know that as a woman you are only able to pursue a small number of career choices (if your father or husband even allows you to pursue a career at all). These choices are limited to careers that would allow you to stay modestly dressed at all times, still maintain a home and family, and never put you in a position that would cause you to have authority over a man. If you had dreams of managing a male strip club, it would be time to dream another dream. It has been my dream ever since I can remember to be a mom, and that is still my ultimate dream. However, that does not mean that I did not want a career. For a long time I thought that I wanted to be a teacher. I really liked research and telling people about everything I learned. I love kids, and I could wear a skirt to work. Of course I would have to teach in a Christian school so that I could leave out all that "evolution nonsense" and teach children that the answer to any science question they had was simply because that was how it was created. Have faith, stop questioning. 
    
     I did enjoy learning about how bodies worked and I loved reading all those little booklets you get at the hospital that teach about different diseases. When my little sister had oral surgery, I was prepared in the care of abscesses and was ready to go. I loved medicine, but a CNA class was the only medical option available to women in our homeschool group and I was not interested in that. I wanted to be part of the emergencies. 

I even had my "Lil' Medic" bag. 

    When I was 16 I lived with my grandmother for a few months when she was sick. I was able to care for her and do my school at the same time, and I read up on all the medical information I could so that I would be able to know what she needed. She was a teacher and knew that I also was leaning towards following that path, but I was also becoming more and more intrigued with all things medical because of all I had been reading. I had to call 911 once day because grandma had a stroke in my arms and although I could carry her to the couch, I didn't yet have my license. I thought that the EMS crew who came was awesome. The thing that I remember most was that they wrote on their gloves and I thought that was hilarious. I thought "If I ever had a job like this, I would use my gloves instead of paper too". They seemed so calm with all that was happening and told me that I did well to recognize and know exactly what was going on with my grandmother. We spent a lot of time in the hospital in her last few months, and when grandma died she left me money to take an EMT class. 

    I joined the explorer post at the EMS station about 2 miles down the hill from my parents house and instantly loved it. I showed up for the first meeting in my ankle length skirt and had no idea what to do. I met Danielle, who took me under her wing and told me that she was probably going to corrupt me. A few months later she bought me the first pair of jeans I had owned in years. I made it through EMT class and for graduation Danielle made me an "EMS survival kit" with things like a toothbrush, lip balm, spare socks, a flashlight, work gloves, and some note pads. I started riding on a crew with Danielle, Scott, and Paul every week and learned more about the world in a few months than I had in the last 16 years. 

My homeschool friends became a little jealous because I was in a world where I could not only sit next to, but close to a boy who was not my brother. 

   It took me quite a while to adjust to the world of EMS. I had to learn a whole new language and often I did not know what people were trying to tell me. I remember picking up a man who was passed out on the sidewalk and his friends told me "He had too much Wild Turkey". I knew that I got sleepy after Thanksgiving dinner, but this dude must really not be able to handle tryptophan! I asked if he had eaten his dinner warm because I had been told that tryptophan is activated by heat. After the laughter stopped, the police handed me an empty bottle of bourbon and told me I needed to stop being sheltered if I was going to make it. 

     When it came time to go to college, I was planning on going to Hyles Anderson in IN for elementary education. It was the Bible college where our Pastor and his wife had gone, and we had been to several conferences there. My best friend from church, Jess, was also going and we were going to be roommates. I was going to have to pay my own way through school, so I found a local EMS station walking distance from the college and applied to work there. During the final weeks before leaving the college called me to go over plans. They asked if I needed to apply to jobs through the school and I said I did not. They told me that I would not be allowed to attend the college if I was working as an EMT because this was not one of the approved jobs that a woman could do. They said it violated their standards of dress since I would need to wear pants, and it would also sometimes require me to be alone with men, as well as touch them when caring for them as patients. They told me that they could get me a job as a telemarketer instead. I was very distraught over this. I LOVED being an EMT and I didn't want to stop for 4 years. I vacillated about my life choices for a week or so, then decided that I was not going to that school (cult). I was worried about how to tell Jess that I was backing out, but when I looked at her from across the church during service that night she knew instantly and we had one of those silent arguments with only our eyes. The college called me several times to tell me that the devil was doing this to me and he was trying to lead me down the wrong path. They told me that I was turning my back on God's will for my life and that I would never know true joy if I was letting the devil control my life. They were also REALLY mad that Jess backed out as well and blamed me for leading an innocent mind down the path of destruction with me (Jess is now married to a woman, and works two full time jobs. Mission accomplished!).  All of their cult-luring attempts were futile, and I applied to paramedic school instead. 

     I walked into my interview for paramedic school full of optimism and excitement. Barry (Bark), who ran the program told me in my interview that I would be much better off if I went to go sell shoes or something that was not difficult and wouldn't adjust my personality all that much. I told him that I wanted to be there more than anything, and he let me take the entrance exam. I took the exam and walked out sobbing. That was unlike any exam I had ever done for school, and I spent the evening crying on the floor next to a chair, much like I had learned from Disney movies. Bark called me later that night to tell me I had passed the exam by 2 points and that I was in if I wanted to be. I had no idea what was ahead of me. 

     Paramedic school came easy to some in my class. I had never been in a classroom before other than a 3 month casual EMT class. It was very difficult for me to adjust to being in a class of 30 instead of 1. I no longer had individual attention. I got in trouble often. I didn't know that you couldn't talk during tests. When you are alone, you don't think about that. I didn't ever try to cheat on the tests, I was only asking how a classmate's family was. It took me a while to learn that I had to raise my hand. I learned a very hard way that people are not as open about their lives as I am and that I needed to keep my mouth shut. I was told that I needed to stop living in a fairy tale world where princesses live happily ever after, where no one ever stabbed you in the back, and learn how the real world worked. After one test, Bark came to me and told me that I had to stop writing "Because that's how God created it" and "Miracles" on my cellular function tests. I wasn't being rude, that was just what I knew. Medic school was a struggle every day for me. I was exhausted. I was frustrated that I was so far behind everyone education wise, and I cried after every test because I was convinced that there was no way I could do this. 

      As drained as I was, I knew how badly I wanted to make it. I would not need to sell shoes! On Sundays when I would ride on the church bus through Bridgeport to go pick up kids for Sunday school, I would see the ambulances all over. Every time one would pass us, "Part of that world" would play in my head. There was no way I was going to be stuck in this world of long skirts and fear of men. I have written before about how difficult it is for me to fight my instincts and take charge of a scene. I was thrown into this in medic school. As a medic student you are expected to impress everyone. Your teacher, classmates, preceptors, the companies where you trained, the hospitals, and patients. All eyes are on you all the time, and if they didn't see you, you could be sure that word would get around quickly of what you did. It didn't matter. One day I was going to be in that ambulance, driving past the church bus. 

     There had to be a way I could do this. Since I was used to very non-traditional ways of being educated, I figured out a way to get this information into my head. The drug flash cards didn't stick with me. Instead I made a giant map of all the little houses where the drugs lived and had streets such as "Benzodiazepine Blvd" and 
Analgesic Ave". The cranial nerves became a song. EKG rhythms became poems. I honestly began dreaming in algorithms. I had teachers who worked with me and as long as I was learning, it didn't matter how different my methods were. 

     I will never be able to put into words how grateful I am to the people who got me where I am today. I had dozens of amazing medics who pushed me as hard as I have ever been pushed and who spent countless hours studying with me and making me stronger than I thought I could be. I really don't know how, but I made it. It took me 3 tries to pass the national exam, but I passed it. I thought I could finally breathe. That was only the beginning.

      Since medic school, I have worked for 5 different EMS services. Every service brought struggles, but amazing friends. Thankfully I was pretty good at making friends and I was getting a little better at not making enemies. My game plan was to tell people that we were going to be friends now, and that was it. It worked pretty well for me. 

       One day, the HR lady from Bridgeport called me and asked me if I still wanted a job. I had applied there a year before but was told I didn't have enough commercial experience. I told her I absolutely did and I went to take their hiring test. I passed and was offered the job that day. I was thrilled! The company where I had worked before did mostly transfers and I wanted to do emergency calls, my new company did both. 

I walked into orientation on our first day and met Joe Heath. He told me "Hey! My name fits inside your name!" He also did not get a choice about being my friend.
(Update: Now his name IS my name)

      For my first week in Bridgeport, I was assigned to Kathy. I had known her for a while and she was not known for being gentle. Hilarious, but not gentle. EMS is a pretty tight-knit community and most people knew "Homeschool Heather". Kathy told me that there were a lot of people who didn't think that I should have been hired and that I was never going to be able to cut it. She was among them. I wasn't offended, I was grateful that she was honest with me. She didn't hold my hand. She let me work and learn to think on my own. I hated it, but otherwise I never would have made it through training. Somehow I made it. I found my own groove and made a ton of friends. After a while, Kathy told me that she was impressed with how far I had come, and that meant the world to me. We lost Kathy a few months ago. I am so thankful to have had the chance to learn from her and remember what she said every time I think a call is too rough for me. 

      During one call when I was working with a medic from another town I mentioned something about being home schooled. He stopped what he was doing and said "YOU'RE Homeschool Heather?! I never would have guessed that!" That was when I knew I was in. I wasn't in the spotlight anymore. I was just one of the medics. 

     I can't tell you how elated I am that I made the choice to drop out of Bible college and go to medic school. I've been working as a medic for 5 years now, but I'm going on 11 years in EMS and I wouldn't trade it for the world. I was always jealous of my other home schooled friends who had giant families when I only had one sister. Now I am part of what truly feels like a giant family. My coworkers are not just coworkers. We don't punch out and forget about each other for the weekend. It is hard to understand our hours and our sense of humor. Most of us end up dating and/or marrying within the EMS. fire, police, or RN world. It is much easier than to try to explain every story we tell or why we come off as insensitive or morbid. We have our own way of coping with things. We don't find it strange to call each other at any hour of the day or night. We become very close with our partners. We recently lost another coworker and friend, Chris. I was out of work at the time and all I wanted to do was be there with everyone else. We have all spent the last few weeks as a giant support system for each other. As I sat in the church when they played the final tones for Chris, I was able to reach back and grab my co worker's hand and know that I'm part of a family that is more loving, caring, genuine, tolerant, and strong than any church group I have ever seen. I have so many brothers and sisters who would, and have been there for me at a moment's notice. They are the ones I instinctively run to when I can't handle the world. 

We play together

We make each other smile

We have parties

We have friends to visit when the calls take us there

We have Disney sing-alongs to make a day better 

We have our own meaning behind what we carry with us

We spend hours stranded together

We spend holidays with our "siblings"

We celebrate no matter what

We understand if you don't wanna build a snowman

We make each other stronger

   Never have I had a doubt in my mind that this is what I should be doing. Recently someone asked me why I talk about my job so much. It's not because I have nothing else going on, it's because this isn't just my job. This is part of who I am. These are the people I love and who love me. When we want to get together we look to see if there are shifts we can work together. This is what pushed me to break out of the sheltered world and leave Homeschool Heather behind. I have gotten used to cold food and doing things in small increments (I had to take a blogging break to go do CPR).  I look at the world and people differently than most people do -upon knowing you for four seconds I will have already assessed what size IV I can put in you, calculated some drug doses on you, and debated how difficult it would be to put a breathing tube in your throat. I can't turn it off. They told me I would be miserable if I didn't stay on the path that was laid out for me, and I couldn't be happier that I didn't listen. I also write on my gloves several times a day.