Ghosts of Character Sketches Past

I wonder how long it will take before I am no longer haunted by the ghosts of seminars past. It's been 10 years since I've been out of ATI and I'm still having nightmares. Well, to me they are nightmares.

I woke in tears and a panic around 4am from my ever-evolving recurring dream. This time in the dream I found myself in the house where I began my ATI life (not my parents' current house). My father and Dreamy Eyes were sitting together and instructed me to sit, as it was time for Character Review. I should have known then that it was a dream because Dreamy Eyes has not seen my father since probably 2 years before we were married. But I sat down and began to hear a handful of character qualities that I had shown recently. I got high marks in attentiveness, boldness, enthusiasm, and gratefulness.

That's when things took a frightening turn. Having the positive praises out of the way, the two informed me that they had come together to pray about my lack of submission to either of their God-given authorities, and this was about to change. I would be made to go to the church of their choosing, to sit silently in the baggy clothes that had been selected for me. I would not be allowed to decide my own wardrobe until I learned to show reverence. I would have my car taken away until I could show meekness and orderliness (my real car is quite messy). I would not be permitted to wear jewelry until I learned virtue. I could not use my phone until I learned creativity (THAT'S WHAT PINTEREST IS FOR!). I couldn't tell Dreamy Eyes about my day until HE was finished talking about his day until I learned deference.

I think it's pretty telling that this was instilled into us seeing as I can still list them in my sleep, with punishments, 10 years later.

The dream continued and I rebelled against these rules. I walked everywhere... determination. I dressed myself up without jewelry... flexibility. I climbed out the bathroom window when I should have been getting ready for church and went to a protest instead... justice. And eventually I convinced a bunch of other women to stop the submission lies and come with me... persuasiveness.

Again, even in my sleep, I can still fight in character qualities. I guess it's that whole "train up a child" thing hard at work in my subconscious.

By 5:45 I desperately wanted a few minutes of peaceful sleep, so I gently asked Dreamy Eyes if he was going to the 6am cross fit class so that I could have the whole bed. I like to think I was just helping him show endurance.

I'm Sorry.

"What's going to happen, is going to happen. Just make sure it doesn't happen to you... You know I have no political convictions. Can I help it if other people do?"
"Oh yes you can help it. You MUST help it."

The Sound Of Music has been my favorite musical from the very beginning. It was the first I had seen on stage and the one that has stuck with me throughout my life. It is where I get the song I sing to my girls as we go to bed... "The sun has gone... to bed and so must I..." and they sing it too. I have a draft of a blog written about how much impact this story has had on me, but it was drafted long before the story became so very real again.

If you are like me, you have probably seen the quote by Nelson Mandela posted multiple times that states  "No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin or his background or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite." 

I was taught to hate. 

This doesn't make it excusable. I wish I had seen hatred for what it was so much sooner than I did, but I didn't. 10 years ago I would probably have been alright, if not pleased with the status of this world. Typing that made me cry. But I don't deserve those tears. It's just a feeling. No actual harm done. All that my past does is make me feel bad. It doesn't set me up for harm from others. It doesn't make a crowd march against me. I don't know how that feels. I may never know how that feels. 

I don't like the person I was 10 years ago. I wish so deeply that I could change who I was, but I can't. All I can do is move forward and try to be better every day. From my ATI days I was taught that anyone who was homosexual, let alone transgender, was an abomination and was destined for Hell. I wrote in my then (and I hope future) friend's wedding book that I loved her and her wife, and although I was against homosexuality, I was happy for them. I'm SO sorry. I. was. an. asshole. 

I have written about this before, but I went to a wedding of two amazing men, in New Orleans and enjoyed myself, but suppressed it because I felt that they were sinning and that I would go to Hell if I was happy for them. I looked around NOLA, soon after Katrina, with judgement because I was certain that God had done that damage to cleanse them. I'm sorry! I am so, SO sorry! 

I've also told you before that Bill Gothard, the founder of ATI would send updates to ATI families each month. In his update from April 1997 he writes "Being an exhorter, I tend to overlook the negative and concentrate on the positive. This approach to life gives me continual energy and encouragement. In recent weeks, however, two events have stunned me sufficiently to realize that conditions in our country are far more desperate than I had realized...(The first event is about non-married heterosexual couples living in sin) The second incident also occurred in Chicago. The city council voted to extend medical insurance and other benefits to the live-in partners of sodomite city employees despite the outcry of many community groups. This horrendous decision was announced on the radio the next day along with ridicule for those who opposed it and a closing blasphemous statement: 'God was not available for comment.' The fact is that He has already given comment in both Scripture and history. Whenever a civilization accepts sodomy as a way of life, severe judgements follow." I thought that I was following God by thinking that those who didn't follow His laws (as interpreted by me or my leader) didn't deserve the same rights as I did. I am so sorry. 

Part of standard courtship in the church where I was raised involves the young man asking permission from the lady's father before courting her. I found out that a man from church asked my father if he could court me, and my father said "no". Truly, honestly, I was happy about that because although this guy was kinda cute, he was as preacher boy dull as you can imagine. My father had seemed to like this guy, he got him a job, they prayed together. I asked my father if he said no because the guy was black. My father said yes. I can insert all of the "But I went out with a black guy!" arguments I want, but that still doesn't excuse the racism I was taught and subconsciously practiced. I'm Sorry! 

When I broke out of the cult I found my solace in EMS. I still believe that I have met some of my best friends there. EMS allowed me to meet Dreamy Eyes, and my girls' godmother, both of whom I talk to every day. But being SO desperate to break out of homeschool world, I did fall into the wrong crowd. 

I fell into the crowd of superior white guys who had a hard-on for the power their uniform held. The kind of crowd who thought it was acceptable to abuse a prisoner and say that "he fell".  The kind of crowd who would harass me for introducing myself to a 17 year old detainee because "he didn't deserve to know my name or why I was there".  I used racial slurs of which I am now too ashamed to type. I'm sorry. I thought I fit in by saying these things. I thought these racial slurs were funny because my grandmother thought they were funny. That's no excuse. That's not progress. I HATE that this is part of my past. I'm SO sorry. 

I fell into the crowd of confederate flags and chants at country concerts about how the working man supports the bums. This made me uncomfortable, but I didn't speak up. I'm sorry. 

Working in EMS is difficult when you have to care for the bad guy. It SUCKS when you are the caregiver for the person who you know is responsible for a violent act, such as murder. It hurts, but it's easy to care for the kid who was abused, because you naturally want to. It's easy to take your rage out on "criminals". It's easy to yell at someone who has overdosed AGAIN, and is depleting all of your narcan for "free", and not understand how gripping and overwhelming addiction can be, even when one of your own has succumbed to it. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. 

When I began my EMS career as a homeschooler, I was often teased about how naive I was. After I worked full time in a busy city, this ceased. Over the past year and a half, I have dropped my hours to part time and work enough to pay my rent and bills. This has allowed me several giant steps back. I am sorry that is what it took.

Working 80+ hours a week is exhausting. Being that tired makes it easier to be mad at the mom who calls 911 at 4am because her kid needs tylenol. It seems like such a simple solution to have tylenol on hand for when your kid spikes a fever in the night and can't sleep. It seems like such an easy solution to go to the drug store and buy a $7 bottle of tylenol instead of "selfishly" use an ambulance, hours in a waiting room, and even more in an ER all night just to get treatment for a childhood illness. I'm sorry that that frustrated me. I'm one of the lucky ones. I can buy tylenol. But the way that insurance works in the state where I work, the ambulance bill is covered, the ER visit is covered, and the prescription for tylenol is covered, so it only makes sense to "use the system", because that's what is provided when you can't afford tylenol.

The part of my past that makes me the most ashamed is that I refused to learn any language other than English. If I went to another country, I figured that I would be polite and get a translator app or book so that I could communicate, but I never planned on leaving the USA. Why would I? It's the greatest country on earth, right? I was among those who thought that anyone who came here should learn the language, and that I should not have to learn their foreign language. I followed the lead of the guy I was dating and did not want a foreign language spoken in our house. I was a complete asshole and I utterly loathe that part of myself every time I think about it. I hate that I could ever be like that. Nothing I ever do will make up for how horrible the past version of me was. I wasted so many years being purely hateful when instead I could have been fluent by now. I am working on learning Spanish. I also want to learn French. I would like to visit France someday and would like to understand without an app. But Spanish is what will help me most in my job, and in America in general today. I do the lessons along with my girls so that they will learn as well.  Lo Siento Mucho. 

Note: I have retyped this paragraph several times and have decided to stop trying to justify it and just write it. When I was a child and we drove past the market that said "WIC/EBT accepted" and I asked what it meant, I was told "That's where the drug dealers get milk for their kids". With Dreamy Eyes in school and two babies, we did the math every way that we could in order to be the least "drain on the system", and end up with enough money to pay for rent and bills, but needed State health insurance and WIC. I had quite the negative stereotype before I became the stereotype. None of it is a free handout. They keep a pretty decent watch on your receipts, social media, and wellness checks to make sure it's an honest system. WIC is an outrageously fantastic program and I wish that my family had reached out to them when I was a kid. There are SO many resources for education and healthy lifestyles. There is a breastfeeding support coach who calls me to check in each month. Just because you give birth to a kid doesn't mean that mother suddenly knows best. Having help to balance my kids' diets is literally a lifesaver, and I know that I would have been a MUCH healthier kid if my family had not been hiding from the "system" to cover the abuse that was mandatory in ATI. I don't know how WIC works in all states, but here there are "checks" that have milk, eggs, bread, yogurt, cereal, beans, and produce allotted by the ounce. There are a few items on each check. I learned that I must separate each order by a different check, and often the cashiers are unfamiliar with the ounces I am allowed, or how to use the checks at all. More often than not, this makes for a small scene at the grocery store. There are loud announcements for a manager's assistance for a WIC check. There are long lines behind me and crying twins in my carriage. I am a crazy couponer to the point where I can get 97% off my total. WIC does not accept coupons. I tried! I wanted to be less of "a drain". If you want to know what humility feels like, come shopping with me. I am SO sorry that I ever thought WIC was anything other than very, very needed help. Anyone who is pro-life should automatically be pro-WIC. This is NOT to imply that those women are poor. I am saying that pro-birth is bullshit. I am sure that WIC has saved more lives of children than any planned parenthood protester ever has. 

There is so much of me that I regret. I would like to think that much of this behavior was nurture, and not my nature. I have family members who don't think it's just a given fact that Nazis are bad. I can't believe I even typed that sentence. I don't know how to stop the evil in the world. I do know that I can try, with all that I am, to be kind every day and to be wary of the influences I allow into my life. I thought that I was correct back then, but I knew I wasn't kind. I cannot express, nor say I'm sorry enough. I can't change who I was. I wish I could.  I can only change who I am. And I... am sorry. 

Table For One, Please.

I love going out by myself. I used to go on vacations alone. I plan to do so again once my girls are in college. I love going out to eat alone. Maybe I can "blame" some of this on ATI because they used to teach the girls to go on dates with Jesus until they got married. But I always thought those girls were weird too.

For a short time in my life, when I would see someone out who was eating alone I would feel bad for them. Now I think it's great. That takes an enormous level of not giving a fuck what people think about you. High five, lady who takes advantage of senior discount Tuesday!

This Summer, I am spending an extended period of time with my in-laws so that they can have grandchildren (and super fun daughter-in-law) time whilst Dreamy Eyes is home focusing/ starting his second year of medical school. (Cue the dad and wife tears)

As a small digression, let me also note that I like to eat my feelings. They are not always sadness. Sometimes they are joy, boredom, anger, homesickness, or liberation. But they all taste like cheese and my in-laws happen to live in America's dairy land.

Tonight, on my second to last night before dad and I start our 1000+ mile road trip with the twins and what I'm sure will be another blog, I went out for some of what was promised to be the town's best french onion soup, at the Best Western.
I am no stranger to this joint. I have been here a few times with my mother-in-law's Friday coffee group, who I relate to much more than my own cohorts. I may or may not have also sampled the hotel's wings on Thursdays. Anyway...

I had planned on a "me" date tonight, with some french onion soup and my feel-good book. So after I put the girls to bed I headed off to the local hotel restaurant where the bartender is shyly protective and the waitress was just named "Most Gullible" in her graduating class. I took my seat at the end of the bar so as not to take up an entire table. I chatted for a bit as I ordered, about how the local JCPenney just closed, so there is nothing left for a girl in this town, and then became mostly lost in my book and my $3 glass of wine.

The last time I went out on my own, my mother-in-law said I should wear a wedding ring (which I had been going without due to an apparent allergic reaction). This time I wore my band, even though I would be eating cheese covered soup, which we all know is a super attractive food. 

As I was sitting there, thoroughly enjoying myself, I overheard a man talking about how odd it was for a girl to be reading at a bar. I thought they might be talking about me, but I didn't want to seem super conceited and look up. Then I heard the voice continue, saying that SOMEONE had to go and talk to "her", so I made it a point to start fiddling with my wedding band. 

A few moments later, a man in a very bright Hawaiian shirt, who was at least 2 drinks ahead of me, was standing beside me. He asked how I could possibly read a book in a bar?! (I would not classify the restaurant at a Best Western as a "bar", seeing as I need zero cleavage to get the bartender to wait on me, and I had plenty of elbow room.) I told him that I have very young, noisy twins, so reading a book where no one needs to be changed nor breastfed is rather delightful. 

He tried to keep making his way in by asking why I was here alone, without the babies' daddy. I replied that my HUSBAND was back in Maine, and I was here with my HUSBAND'S family. Having a husband didn't seem to phase the gentleman, nor did my very apparent wedding band fiddling, and he asked if he could buy me a drink. I pointed out that I already had one, but I would love some more soup (Thanks, 30 Rock!). I don't feel it's right to lead someone on, but since I had been quite clear about my relationship status, and the fact that he would not benefit from my drinking, I asked the bartender to fill half of my glass and charge it to Mr Fancy Shirt. Hey, why should couponing stop with shampoo? 

Part of the reason I like going out on my own is that I get to observe other people. I like to catch snipits of their conversations. But once in a while I get a front seat to the entertainment. Being out of the dating world brings a whole new, wonderful level of not caring a bit what guys think of me, that I wish I had possessed when I was single. Empty compliments and cheap lines no longer flatter me in ways that they once unfortunately did. Mr Fancy Shirt talked for a bit about his work that had brought him to town, and I politely engaged, seeing as I was not in apparent danger and I like talking to people when they aren't trying to tell me who else they know with twins. At no point was I rude, but I no longer feel it cute to giggle and blush when men flirt with me (I WISH it didn't take being married to the most handsome guy on earth to find this confidence, but... bonus!). 

Mr Fancy Shirt asked me about what I do for work, and then interrupted me to tell me that he can't even listen due to the fact that my eyes are SO gorgeous that they are just beyond distracting (this included some dramatic covering of his eyes and turning away from me). At this point another gentleman who was sitting opposite from me yelled "Hey! Mikey! You are taking too long to come back to your seat, so I'm drinking this shot without you!". Mr Fancy Shirt, a.k.a Mikey, ignored Chuck (Miss Gullible calls him by name a lot) and continued to stand around and awkwardly try to get me to swoon. 

It was then that I turned to Mr Fancy Shirt and said "Excuse me, but I would like to clarify a few things. First, I did not interrupt you when you were telling me what you do for work, even though your mustache is highly distracting (gross), so I find it rude that you did not allow me to finish what I had been saying about my job. Second, while I appreciate the compliment about my eyes, I feel as if this is your "go to" line. It seemed rehearsed, and we both know that my big, pretty smile is my best feature, not my muted brown eyes. Third, it seems that I am not special in this situation, nor should I be due to my marital status, but if you also bought drinks for other people around the bar, you should stop excluding them in order to talk to me, especially since Chuck has piercing blue eyes that are actually gorgeous, but I somehow doubt that you are ignoring him because of his distracting eyes." 

After a pause to take that all in, Mr Fancy Pants bid me adieu, asked for his meal to go, left his shot, and went up to his room. Apparently I had been the popular provider of the snipits tonight because the other 4 people sitting across from me at the bar raised their glasses in an "air cheers" with me and said they enjoyed that. Chuck told me that this was the first time he had ever seen a girl hold her own in an awkward situation like that, which was why he had tried to jump in and rescue me. I thanked him. It's comforting to know that there are people out there who look out for a girl who needs a way out of a situation, even a small one.  But I went home with a big, pretty smile knowing that tonight, I was a girl who could rescue herself. 

Dear Mr Gothard,

      When I was about 10 I had an assignment to write a hymn. I didn't need to write the music, just the lyrics. ATI is big on this. It took me YEARS to figure out that most of the songs I had learned in the Children's Institute (ATI's kid seminar) were parodies. Every time I went to a parade I thought that "The Ten Unchangables" was a largely popular song until I was an adult and found out the bands were playing "Anchors Away", and no one in ATI was as original as I had thought. 

Since my assignment, and being heavily involved with ATI's programs for kids (Children's Institute, Character First!) I have started writing parodies as a natural part of my day. I do it allllll the time. I have posted a few on YouTube about being locked in my room at the cult, and summaries of sermons. My thoughts tend to turn into parodies, which comes in really handy when playing with my twins all day, and entertains Dreamy Eyes quite a lot. 

     After watching the documentary The Cult Next Door , which is about ATI, I was up all night writing a letter in my head to Bill Gothard. He is 83 and I thought it would be cathartic to put something out there before he finally dies (I checked with my therapist, and she said to go for it, but to avoid becoming pen pals who argue).  As I lay awake, mentally penning my letter about all the ways that Bill Gothard had directly hurt me, the more and more it became a song. Finding this ironic that it became a song after this habit was one that ATI started, I decided to embrace it. It took me about one commute (3.5 hour drive) to write, and as you can guess, about 10 minutes to film. I also had to borrow my mother's ATI clothes, because I had thrown away anything that reminded me of how I had to dress back then. 

  

I think the only person on earth who understood the entire thing without explanation is my mother. Facebook decided that the preview of my video should be the first thing that is shown on my page, and that the snip of an image they would show is the part of me holding up a giant knife. Thanks, Facebook, I really didn't need more friends anyway. I promised my fans (read: my cousin) that I would write a blog post so that they could also be in on the jokes. So, here is the breakdown of the lyrics, and the video for those who don't know what I'm talking about.  ➡➡  Dear Mr Gothard ⬅⬅ (Really, click on it, and join the 37 others who have watched it)

Dear Mr Gothard, 

Here's a few things you need to know since you formed a cult, and then you robbed me of my life...

So far, I think it speaks for itself. 

Due to your evil rules, I was homeschooled, 

Everyone in ATI must homeschool according to their standards. 

And let's forget going to college 'cause I'm just a girl. 

Brevity here. You CAN go to college if you don't have a penis, but you can only major in SOME of the studies. Not the ones that require a penis, such as Pastor, or "How to use a tool that isn't a needle and thread".  My sister's graduation presents included a kitchen aid mixer, and books on homemaking and motherhood. 

There's no light in my eye. 

ATI is big on eye light. Bill Gothard and his wizard senses can tell whether or not you still have your V card just by looking into your eyes. Maybe it's me, but they really could have capitalized on this super power. 

Not a submissive wife. 

ATI teaches that you need to submit to your husband NO MATTER WHAT. Unless it is illegal. Then you pray about it first, but usually still submit. Dreamy Eyes is rarely wrong, but being able to say "I don't want to do that" and not being brought before the elders of the church is something that I never thought I would be doing in my married life. Dream bigger, girls. 

There is more to me than my baby factory. 

You guys have seen TLC shows. You know that spilling your seed is a sin. 

He's got that 9 to 5, but honey, so do I, 

Dreamy Eyes works, but my job pays the rent, and takes skills AND pants-wearing. 

So don't expect I'll have the Hebrew Bible memorized. 

Women should be at home, keeping the house spotless, whilst memorizing and meditating on Scriptures all day. The "ATI Bible" is a KJV with Hebrew and Greek study guides, and is Bill Gothard's personal favorite.  People stand in line for hours waiting for him to sign theirs (I stood in the line, but I didn't want him to sign my Bible). 

I read your Wisdom books,

Wisdom Booklets are the curriculum put out by ATI. They are all based on the Bible, and contain educational material on how to be a submissive wife, how to hate sodomites, how to deny climate change, etc. 

but you should take a look, 

Was it worth it all? Yeah, was it worth it all? 

"It Will Be Worth It All", aka "When We See Christ" is the theme song that the Apprenticeship Choir (choir of hundreds of 12-18 year old ATI students) sings at every ATI conference. It is a gigantic deal and everyone cries. After the song, Bill Gothard usually looks at the choir and says "What an awesome, awesome sight." (This comes up later). 

When I hear your name it sounds like clanging hangers. 

A "famous" story from Bill Gothard's Basic seminar is about how a woman complained that her husband left metal hangers on the door knob and they would clang and drive her crazy. It was like the "thorn in the side". Eventually she learned to love her husband more than the clanging hangers, and learned that submissive wives put away the hangers happily and stop giving their husbands shit about things that are their job. 

This did NOT resolve my anger! 

Bill Gothard also has an Anger Resolution Seminar. The portion I held up in the video is called "Understanding Why God Lets Things Happen". 

I'm so sick of blue and white! 

The dress code of ATI. White shirt/ blouse, navy bottoms. All modest, aka potato sacks. 

Dear Mr Gothard, 

Here's a few things you need to know since you formed a cult, and then you robbed me of my life. 

You told the fathers "If you want the hearts of all your daughters, tell them they'll burn in Hell if not pure on the wedding night. 

Fathers are "encouraged" to sign a contract with their daughters that will assure her purity until marriage. 

My father and I signed no such contract. You can see that I'm holding up my wedding photo, 6 months pregnant with the twins. 

And when you've found the man in God's perfect plan, and if he prays enough with YOU to win your daughter's hand... 

The ATI books literally teach that wives are prizes to be won from their fathers. 

What if your choice is wrong? Wait, men are never wrong!" 

How dare I disagree with your authority. 

It would take an illegal act, and a BIG one at that, to convince the population of ATI that what "God told the father" about his choice in suitor for his daughter was wrong. 

You taught the men how to take command of ladies. 

See: Bill Gothard's Umbrella of Authority-

  

Your umbrella makes me crazy. 

Get me out of ATI. 

I'm out, but again, brevity. 

Dear Mr Gothard, 

Here's a few things you need to know since you formed a cult, and then you robbed me of my life. 

You said rock music shouldn't be the kind of stuff I'm choosin', 

That it would allow the Devil to control my mind. 

Come over to my mom's house. She has a few shelves full of videos of Bill Gothard speaking on the evils of rock music. HOURS of this stuff! He preaches often on how a 1-3 beat gives your mind over to Satan.

Zero. Hyperbole. 

Don't need a neck bow to enhance my countenance. 

ATI is BIG on drawing attention to your face and away from your body. Neck bows were a regular part of my wardrobe. Note: This blouse is not ATI approved, as it has pockets that call attention to my tits. I borrowed it from my mother. Clearly my father needs to take better inventory of her closet. 

You locked me in my room in hopes that I would break. 

When I was at the ATI training center in Oklahoma City, I would get "Heart Checks" and get shut in my room with a staff member outside my door to assure I didn't leave until I had made my heart right with God. Eventually my roommate and I just started taking naps and pretended to be super spiritual. 

Then looked at all of us, once all our brains were washed. 

The Apprenticeship Choir: 

"What an awesome sight, an awesome, awesome sight!"

I told you it would come up later. 

You always told me to be an empty vessel. 

Constantly. The goal was to be an empty vessel, ready to be used by God. 

But the thing with empty vessels, is they make the loudest noise. 

This was my passive aggressive attempt at a sick burn. 

Bill Gothard: Bad at picking proverbs for motivation. 

Dear Mr Gothard, 

Here's a few things you need to know since you formed a cult, and then you robbed me of my life. 

You said a stronghold comes from all the lies the Devil has told, 

This is the famous "stronghold" diagram from many of Bill Gothard's seminars. It's pretty much a false thought (from the Devil) that you allow to fester and consume you and eventually ruins more and more areas of your thinking and your life. There is actually something to this, but this is the ATI version, where it's always the Devil's fault. 

But, hey, let's be honest, you're the one who told the lies. 

Which, according to my mother, include "This is NOT a cult". 

See my other posts for more lies. 

Ooooo, Mr Gothard, 

F you, and ATI. 

You can figure this line out on your own. Basically, I know that sometimes my friends with kids watch my stuff, and they will learn how to say "fuck" soon enough, so I don't need to be blamed for that too. 

Dreamy Eyes came home to find this on his bed. He figured I was working through some stuff. He is very supportive of my catharsis, even if sometimes I leave knives on his bed.

Homeschool Heather Goes To Prom

  Twelve years ago I watched as all of my friends got ready for their proms. I helped them pick out dresses, stood by at the mall while they tried on different styles that their fathers would hate, and finally find the perfect one. I went to their houses to help them get ready, and giggle about their dates, hoping it wouldn't be awkward going with a guy who wasn't thrilled about going to the prom, but it's a thing that you do. I took pictures of them outside, along with the other proud moms. I was handy to have around for group pictures, since selfie sticks weren't a thing yet. Then I would wave as they drove away for their magical night, and I went back home, understanding how Cinderella felt when she watched the rest of her village go off to a giant ball, and she was commanded to stay home.

Being homeschooled was a big part of not getting to go to a prom, but there were other factors. I could have gone. I was actually asked to 4, but I wasn't allowed to go because of all the sinning there would be.

(Example: tattoo showing above my dress)

     A giant fear of mine is that I'm going to drive my girls crazy by trying to live my longed for high school experiences through them, and they will end up embarrassed or hating me. I'm absolutely going to chaperone their prom, but I'm going to try my best not to take away any of their joy. I have always felt like I missed so many normal parts of growing up, and not going to prom was a big one for me. I've been told that it's not all it's cracked up to be, that many nights end in tears, that their dates were jerks and they ended up with a group of girls all night. Didn't matter to me. I wanted to go. I wanted the experience everyone else gets to have, and I think I got it, complete with the standard prom photo.

When Dreamy Eyes started school up here, I was talking to one of his classmates and she told me that the school throws a C.O.M. (College Of Medicine) prom every Spring.
I was elated!!! I was FINALLY going to get to go to prom!!! No matter what, I was going.
It took forever to find out when the date would be. I had to find out from one of his classmates because I had assigned her the task of watching for tickets since DE wasn't thrilled about going and was hoping I wouldn't notice. She came through, and he bought tickets.

I work 3.5 hours away from where we live while he's in school. I work all of my shifts in a big chunk, and of course, prom fell on a date right in the middle of my scheduled work chunk. This provoked a tiny amount of panic, but I rearranged my schedule so that I would drive (with the babies) from CT to ME on Friday, go to prom Saturday, and drive back to CT on Sunday to finish my work week. 8 hours of driving for a prom? To me, that's how much I wanted it. That's how much it meant to me to feel normal. That's​ how much I wanted that dream night. I was going to get myself all of the experiences I longed for.

Another friend of mine who is also a med school wife and brand new mom was also homeschooled, so this would be her first prom as well! We heard that a lot of girls get pregnant after prom. We had to worry about whether or not to pack our breast pumps. I guess prom as an adult is slightly different.

I don't think I can explain how excited I was in the days leading up to prom. I think I told anyone who would listen that I was going, and was going to have the most handsome date there. I got my hair styled on Friday and drove all the way home leaning forward and slept sitting up so that I wouldn't ruin it. I spent all day Saturday altering my dress, (I dropped 12lbs for this) which took hours because my girls are afraid of the sewing machine and it's not the easiest task to measure your own alterations and sew them while nursing 1-2 babies the entire time. But I was determined. I was FINALLY going to prom. I ironed DE's shirt and got his clothes ready, including the socks I laid out for him that got left home. I shaped my nails perfectly and painted them. The babies also wanted their toes done, so while the other girls were getting ready together, I was getting ready with my babies. Babies are really not helpful with hair curling and not putting applesauce on your dress. They spent most of the day crying, but it's only fair, because that's how I will spend all day leading up to their prom.

After lots of chaos, we were ready. The poor babysitter had her hands full, and because we don't have working doorknobs, got to see me naked. I told her I was sorry a lot. This isn't meant to sound cocky, but DE always looks handsome no matter what, and I'm told a lot that I'm so lucky to be with such a good looking guy. It took me a lot of work, but I looked better than I've ever looked before, and I was happy. I finally felt like I could belong on his arm.

12 years ago my friends all went to prom together in a limo. We have a minivan and are too lazy to move the car seats for a carpool.

We went to dinner on our own because our other plans fell through, and then walked awkwardly around the city for a bit because we were really early. We still ended up being the 4th and 5th people there. As we were walking, a few people yelled out of their cars that I looked like a princess. That was much nicer than when I get cat called walking past a cell block at work. It may have embarrassed DE, but it was kind of fun having a bunch of strangers tell me that I  looked beautiful. As flattering as that was, I would have traded it to hear that from him. I'll assume that he thought I looked ok.

I would guess that most typical prom features were there, except for the bar. I doubt they have those at most. There was a photo booth, which was fun. DE was the one who suggested we get our pictures taken. I wasn't even going to bother trying to coax him into that, so it was nice that he offered. As you can see, we seem to have forgotten that it was still taking pictures somewhere in the middle.

Once everyone arrived I think the night took on the atmosphere of how proms are portrayed. The girls danced and took pictures together and had a blast while the guys kept an eye on the trays of food.

I was surprised that there were no slow dances. I was looking forward to that, but maybe it's better to have not had the chance than trying to drag a reluctant date around for 3 minutes. Sometimes it's easier to have a romantic moment with a dissected cadaver between us than in a setting that most people would find ideal. I gave up on the idea of being with Prince Charming and realized I got more of the Flynn Ryder type of prince, who sings "I've got dreams like you, no, really! Just much less touchy- feely. They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny, on an island that I own, tanned, and rested, and alone..."
Which seems to be a decent fit as far as dreams go, because all Rapunzel wanted was to see the floating lanterns. Nothing big, just one happy night.

I had been really excited about writing this post about the magical night that I waited over a decade to have. Instead, I ended up having a fun night out with our friends, which was really, really amazing, but not magical. I love the friends I've made here, both his classmates and the "med spouses" who know not to make double date plans during block week. They are incredible.

I didn't have a fairy godmother to drive me 8 hours, lose 12 lbs, sew for 4 hours, do my hair for 2, or hold my babies during any of that so that a prince could fall in love with me. Escaping a cult was something I had to do on my own, just as I can't depend on anyone else for my happiness. It takes work, but it's up to me to make my dreams come true. Homeschool Heather went to prom. It wasn't a dream. It was a check mark. 

"I think that coffee is mine...wanna make out? " My own experience with a wife chaperone

Last night a friend sent me an article about a powerful man who has a standard of only dining with a woman who is not his wife if his wife is also present. Maybe you have read the article, or have heard people discussing it. It was a pretty popular one (shocking fact: my mother had no clue what I was talking about).  My blog is not a political one, and I would enjoy mostly keeping it that way. The article was in no way shocking to me. I had heard and practiced all of these things before... back when I was in a cult.


Several months ago, the new Pastor of my parents' church texted me asking if I would have coffee with him and his wife the next time I was in town. I asked if my writings against his church had prompted this, but he said no, and he had committed not to read my blog. He said that he wanted to be able to "love on" my parents, and to do his best at loving on them, he wanted to get to know the whole family so that he could understand them (heavy sigh, eye roll). I personally hate the expression "love on". It sounds like you have a very excited dog on your leg. We texted back and forth a bit over times and plans, and he assured me that he would not attempt to convert me or lure me back to that church. I assured him that I was not worried. The only reason that I agreed to the meeting was that I like when blogs write themselves.

A few days later, my mother informed me that her Pastor had told her he was in deep prayer about our coffee meeting because he wanted to ask me not to write anything about it on social media. I told her that I would not agree to those terms. I figured that he wanted to try to prevent me from talking my sister out of leaving the church and that was the point of the meeting. I had no desire to meet him if I would reap no benefit other than a free coffee. He later decided to "give the issue to God" and trust that I would make the right choice about my writings, and kept the plan to meet.

I went to Starbucks (before most of the church was boycotting them for hiring LGBTQ+ people) to meet the Pastor and his wife, with an honestly pleasant attitude, and the babies in the stroller. As soon as I walked in the door, someone from behind me began rubbing my back/trying to hug me, and I came very close to throwing a punch. It was his wife. I asked her what made her think it was acceptable to touch someone she had never met? She said that she knew it was me. I did not find that answer acceptable and explained the intent behind the signs on the stroller (that is in a past post).  His wife assured me that she also wanted to get to know me, but she would let her husband and I talk, she was there to be a silent partner. I told her she could talk all she wanted, I was meeting them both.

Although the church is not part of ATI, their foundation is pretty similar. Below are pictures from one of Bill Gothard's text books, noting the verses often used when "instructing" men not to be seen with women other than their wives, and to make sure that if they must be near another woman, that she is sure it is not a date.

Once the Pastor had brought the coffees to the table and prayed about our fellowship, he took a sip of one. He soon realized that he had sipped the one I had ordered. I said that I didn't mind the mistake, and to please pass me my coffee. He and his wife looked stunned. He offered to buy me a new one and discard the one he had sipped, but that seemed horribly wasteful to me. I asked several times for him to pass me the coffee. His wife was surprised that I would drink it after HER husband had had his mouth on it! I got a new lid so they would chill out, but I finally asked him if he had AIDS, because unless he had a disease, I didn't care. They figured that I must be used to a lot because of my job. False. I know that drinking from the same beverage is not the same as tonsil hockey. Maybe that's why Baptists don't share the Communion cup and everyone gets their own. (I also assume he has never donated blood, because he said this was the first time anyone asked if he had AIDS.) 

After several minutes of chit chat, I asked what he wanted from this meeting. He said he only wanted to get to know me. He wanted to know about my job, my life, etc.  He didn't want anything from me, nor to offer me anything. Essentially, a waste of my time. He said he didn't want to know what happened in the past that hurt me at the church, it wasn't any of his business. He told me a story of some pretty crappy things that happened to him at his sending church, but said he was just sharing those with me and asked me not to write about those. I told him I don't think he understands. My writing is not about him. It is about MY healing process. I told him that because he doesn't want to know about what happened in the past, he has no idea how many nightmares I had in the weeks leading up to this meeting. I still find it strange that up to that point, he had not attempted to set up meetings with much more reachable past church members. 

Finishing a cup of coffee was a long, uncomfortable experience. I spoke to both him and his wife, but she kept directing the conversation to her husband. He reminded me that his wife was there to avoid any appearance of evil due to him having coffee with me. So I mentioned that he needn't worry. Granted my husband is the same age as this Pastor, but Dreamy Eyes is far, far more handsome, intelligent, and respectful of women than the man who had transitively kissed me via a coffee lid. But even though I had a dashingly handsome husband, and his wife was there to chaperone him, that was not the reason that I wouldn't be sleeping with him. The reason that I wouldn't be sleeping with him is because I. Didn't. Want. To. It was obvious that my spelling this out made both the Pastor and his wife uncomfortable. I don't see why it would be inappropriate to mention such a thing. That is the entire statement of bringing your wife along as a silent partner, is it not?  Should I not point out that I understand your unspoken message? Although if anymore meetings are planned at an LGBTQ+ friendly coffee house, she may need to tag along for the men's prayer meetings as well. I'll admit, I was slightly annoyed that this was the time I was out that the babies didn't need to eat. I would have loved to see how that played out, but I vowed never to spite breastfeed, so I'll never know. 

I'm all for having standards and understanding in your marriage. All marriages are different and what is right for mine may not be right for yours. Couples should be able to trust each other and be happy and comfortable. But having standards in your marriage does not have to mean that you are disrespectful to others. As a child, having your wife ever present was the norm in my world. As an adult, it is offensive to me. Inviting your wife to join and be a valued part of a discussion or meeting is vastly different than asking her to put aside her schedule because you are unable to see another woman as a person equal to yourself, but only as the potential for temptation. 

Are there really guys out there who think "Gah! If only my wife had been here I would have remembered not to grab that lady by the pussy! Ugh, better luck next time." ? 

Of course there are exceptions in different situations. When my male OB/GYN does my exam, a female nurse is always in the room (guess what? There is a nurse in the room if my OB is a female also). But there are vastly different standards for each situation. 1, My OB did not invite me there to have a conversation over coffee. 2, My OB's wife, to my knowledge, has never checked in to see what happened at my visit. 3, The nurse is present because my pants are off and his hand is literally inside of me. I'm a big fan of education, so if his wife ever did want to be there as a student or resident, by all means, come on in! That would not make me uncomfortable at all. Having his wife silently in the corner of the room to make sure his behavior is appropriate...super weird. 

If a man wants to have a meeting or discussion with me and feels that his standards would be in jeopardy were his wife not present, that tells me that you cannot set gender apart from a person. That man will never be able to convince me that he sees men and women as truly equal. This behavior does not make me think of how much he loves his wife by having her involved. Instead it makes me wonder how his behavior would change in her absence, and if there would be no change, why degrade her into a babysitter and me into a pin up girl?

If having these standards in place is meant to prevent the possible advances from either party, then his wife ought also to be present for meetings with men as well. If the man thinks this is absurd because there is no way that he would give in to the advances of a man, this only drives the point deeper that he is only concerned with protecting himself from temptation, not others.  Saying to me that you need your wife present to chaperone you, but you don't expect me to drag my husband along everywhere tells me that you don't really care if I get raped, you just want to make sure you aren't the one who does it. It tells me that if you don't trust yourself not to try to sleep with me, why should I trust you? It tells me that you will never be able to have a serious discussion with me, not only because you don't respect me enough to see me for me, but because you will never earn my respect in return. 

"A Nice Christian Man Won't Marry YOU!"

"A woman said to me 'It's legalistic when you said I can't get remarried.' I said 'Well, look at it this way; you want to marry a nice Christian man, don't you?' 'Yes I do.' 'Well, a nice Christian man won't marry you, because you're already divorced... And all the things you're looking forward to in your remarriage you're not going to get because you're not going to get a Godly man."


These are the words from Bill Gothard. Words that I have heard since I was a child. Words that have made their way into the very core of my belief system and convinced me that because of something I couldn't change, I am no longer worthy of a good marriage. I know that this is false, but I do not yet believe it to be false, and because of that, I am constantly trying not to get too attached to being Mrs Dreamy Eyes. I think there is a word for that...Oh yes. ATI refers to that as a "Stronghold". A stronghold is usually described as a damaging idea that you have allowed to remain in your mind long enough that it takes over and destroys an area of your life, and Satan is usually the culprit. But let's give credit where credit is due. Bill Gothard set up this stronghold in my mind. This has been the focus of several weeks of therapy.

He isn't just responsible for this one though. I am reminded DAILY that I need to pause and correct my way of thinking.  Here are a few examples:
When I go to feed the twins lunch I think "Oh! I can't feed them yogurt and meatballs together...wait, yes I can. That's not an actual nutritional restriction."
I have gone without my asthma meds before because I didn't come from a broken home, so the asthma must be all in my head.
Tampons don't take your virginity.
I forget to get the mail all the time because I forget that I have the authority to get it.
I hate metal hangers because Bill Gothard had a classic illustration he would use about a married couple who would fight over the metal hangers the husband would leave on the door knob, and after a while, the wife had to learn to deal with this "source of irritation" as a way that God was working in her life to help her love her husband each time she heard the "clanging hangers".
But my therapist has been asking for weeks where I got the belief that I don't deserve to be married to Dreamy Eyes. I gave her many examples ranging from the obvious unplanned marriage, to being an average height redhead with brown eyes who is constantly told that for once I'm with a guy who is way more attractive than I am, to the strict "one marriage for life" teachings of my past. She pointed out that I don't seem to miss anything that went along with the first marriage, but I am stuck on the detail that I am divorced. But today when I found this video with these words it was all summed up in 48 seconds of an evil lie that convinced me that one detail about my past would be the only way I could be defined for the rest of my life.

In a way though, he's correct. Dreamy Eyes is not a nice Christian man.

I already married a nice Christian man. We were married by a Pastor, who held a Bible. A year later, that nice Christian man left. This is not a lament, this is a fact.

I love this picture of the two of us. But I think that Bill Gothard could use it as a fitting example of our marriage. A strong man in his prime, suddenly carrying the weight of a broken woman, covered in dirt from being cast to the side of the road. (He carried me for 2 days before I got an x-ray and learned that my ankle was broken.)

Dreamy Eyes and I got married one morning in our living room, by my cousin (who is a woman). He was wearing the same thing he was wearing the day I met him, because as soon as he kissed the bride, he went off to work a double shift to prepare to care for his family.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He is the kind of guy who will jump on a plane because his friend 1,000 miles away needs help.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He took forever to get his application for medical school perfect because he didn't want to brag about himself. He doesn't think that running marathons or building houses for the homeless is anything special.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He wakes up early so that he can see the girls and climb in the giant bed for family snuggle time.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He loves his parents and talks to them almost every day. He loves how they raised him and he wants to mirror their marriage.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

It was extremely important to me to breastfeed the twins. It ended up being much, much more difficult that I had anticipated, but he sat with me, rubbed my feet or my neck, read to me, researched, and did everything in his power to help make it happen. They wouldn't have been breastfed if not for him.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He is trying to figure out the best way to help our girls grow into the strongest women they can be.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

His mother says that when he was a toddler and she was babysitting a smaller baby, Dreamy Eyes gave the baby his pacifier because "He needed it more", and that's how he quit his pacifier.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He leaves me notes on the mirror and my hair brush telling me how pretty I look that day. He either refers to me as "Beautiful" or "Gorgeous" every day. It is rare that he actually calls me "Heather".
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He has an unfathomable amount of school work to do, yet he still manages to have a job, do dishes, laundry, cook, build forts, change diapers, and read bedtime stories.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

When we are walking in a parking lot or on a sidewalk, he always has to be on the outside, so he can protect me.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

His shoulders flex when I tell him a story of something upsetting from my past because it annoys him that he couldn't protect me from that.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

When he was young and his sister got all her stuffed toys taken away as punishment, he gave her all of his toys to cuddle so she wouldn't be sad.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He has many close female, platonic friends. I was one of them for years. I think they would all agree with me that they have never felt anything but safe when around Dreamy Eyes. He'd never think of pressing his advantage.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

Dreamy Eyes is very, very smart. He is constantly reading and cannot rest until he knows why and how something works the way it does. When I (or anyone) find out something that he thought was obvious knowledge, he doesn't make me feel like an idiot, he gets excited about learning and says "And look what else..."
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

From beers to birth, he has been by my side, and often much closer, at the very worst, most disgusting parts of my life, and not once has he even pretended to mind. He just says "I'm washable" and "You know how I feel about helping."
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He has arrived late to an event, covered in blood after (off duty) helping someone who was struck by a car. He spends his free time and breaks at volunteer clinics and similar programs.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He is extremely supportive of my goals, whether it be nursing school, sleep training, or decluttering, he is constantly telling me "Strong work!" and doing anything he can to assist me in my pursuit.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He doesn't like to go out to eat. I do. If we go on a trip, he packs a "fancy shirt" so that he can take me out to dinner. At home he gets food and dessert that I love and we have "spouse dates" in the other room after the babies go to bed.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

Every day he puts the needs of his family far above his own. I don't envy him, but I love him.
But a nice Christian man won't marry me.

He isn't a nice Christian man (although his mother is still praying pretty fervently). He is the greatest, most kind, wonderful man I have ever known. I now know that I don't need to see that picture in that ATI sense. I can look at it and see a strong man in his prime, who takes care of those he cares about. A man who takes on more than is asked of him, putting aside his own agenda in order to help heal, protect, and enrich those who need him the most. With forearms like a damn Disney prince.


Note: I didn't publish this a few days ago when I wrote it because I was annoyed at Dreamy Eyes that day. I should have published it anyway. This isn't about stroking his ego. It's about tearing down the strongholds in my mind so that I can stop the nightmares and the torment that comes from years of believing harmful lies.

I've got to stop joining these damn cults!

I used to wonder how my parents (mostly my mother) could get to the point where they thought "You know what? Let's join a cult! That will be good for the kids!". It didn't phase me so much at first because it was mostly all I knew. I had never been in "the real world", but they had been! They both went to public school and my mom went to a 4 year, well known university. Yet all of a sudden, they were in a world of Bible thumping, non-recycling, sack wearing extremists who never played outside. Or was is really sudden? That's the thing with cults. They are sneaky. Plus, last night my mother told me that during one of the first seminars she attended, they specifically explained to everyone that they are NOT a cult. So, you know, absolutely believe them.

My life has changed so much in this past year. I feel like so many of us have felt like reevaluating our social circles and our lives after the endless battles over current events. I got slightly lucky, it was easy for me to clear out my social circles a bit. I went from working full time and hating anyone who called 911 if they weren't actively dying, to working about 24 hours a month and spending the rest of my time raising my twins. I got to pick up and move to a new State, to a house on a river bank, and kiss future Dr Dreamy Eyes every day before school whilst sipping the coffee that he made for me, out of the mug that matches my mood. I now seldomly have to work with people I don't like, and even if I do, it's only for a few hours. I'm better at my job, because I no longer feel burnt out. I got to move away and mostly start over, but keep the parts of my life that I liked. I love my current situation. But I need to be wary...

I have found that I tend to find a new idea or way of life that I think may be helpful, and then follow the engrained "Whatsoever ye do, do it whole heartedly..." concept, and rapidly become engrossed instead of improved. In ATI, this type of behavior is called "conviction", and is highly encouraged. We tended to have waves of conviction through our house growing up when my father would decide to rid the house of all movies after hearing one sermon about Hollywood. Often he would cut up all of his credit cards at the altar without thinking about the concept of a credit score being based on your longest active card, and then would hurt himself later by needing to apply all over again. Unfortunately, I now see that I have learned that cult-joining extremism.

Reading a book about climate change started out inspiring me to cut down on water usage and hang my laundry instead of using the dryer everyday, which is great. But then it spiraled into walking to the grocery store and back with way too many bags and gallons of milk in the stroller because I didn't feel worthy to use fuel. ATI is big on none of us (humans, but especially women) being worthy of anything, so my life has just been one giant snowball of unworthiness (Think back to the top sheet post).

I have been listening to some podcasts about minimalism, and quickly saw the potential to be drawn into more extreme behavior if I didn't watch out. I discovered that there were many different sources from which I could draw my ideals for a happy life, without slipping into what could easily become cult behavior. I love the concept of minimalism, but I have no desire to live out of a single bag and sit on one chair in an otherwise unfurnished house. I started to worry that if I got rid of everything, that all I would be doing is setting my girls up to overcompensate and become hoarders as adults because I wouldn't let them have things as kids. I want to focus more on not screwing up my kids and less on not having them be screw ups, which is the opposite of ATI's plan.

After I moved and had most of my contact with friends via social media I started to grow more and more stressed each time I looked at my phone. It wasn't just the political issues. It was everything. I joined a few online groups and forums of moms of multiples, and breastfeeding moms, but that was the complete opposite of support for me. "Mom wars" are vicious. I personally will not use a cover when feeding my babies, but if another mom wants to, so be it. This is unacceptable in mom wars.  Can't we just make a deal that I won't feed your kid French fries if you keep your loud mouth shut while mine are trying to nap?! Moms will fight other moms about EVERYTHING! From baby wipe warmers and store bought baby food, to birth plans and baby wearing, whatever it is, be sure that someone is out there waiting to tell you that you are doing it wrong. It didn't take me long to get overwhelmed by this. I left all of the groups (even the tag sale groups were crazy! I got a message from some guy telling me that he just wanted to let me know, it was bad luck to sell my wedding dress. He seemed very confused at my hostile, profane response, and then I noticed that he had sent his message months prior, and probably had no idea why he was being called so many names by a stranger).


I started thinking that it would be fantastic if I could just exist in a world where everyone wanted to raise their kids the same way, and could just agree with my world views. What a happy utopia of vaccinated, breastfed AND Gerber fed kids, who all slept in their own beds, and had a positive body image we could create! I immediately started scrolling through my Facebook friends list to see who had to go. Those who were ruining my happy place.
Then, mid-choice to delete every social media outlet and think that maybe the Amish had something going there, the rhema (see that? ATI word usage right there.) came to me that I was falling into the same trap! I called my mother and told her that I was terrified. I was becoming her. I realized that joining a cult was really just her failed attempt at getting people to stop giving her shit! Bill Gothard, the founder and leader of ATI is a very smooth talker who makes a lot of promises. At first, the idea of raising kids who are a parent's "dream" as teenagers, who don't get into trouble seems like a great goal. Most people want their kids not to be jerks, and not end up making the mistakes they made. So, maybe she didn't see it coming when she signed us up for a future of encouraged abuse?

People ask me all the time how my parents could have joined something like this. My father will need a post all his own, but my mother is tricky to explain. I feel like she is both a victim and offender in this situation. Just as I thought it would be more pleasant to surround myself with people who think like I do, she found a world where most of the women were married to dominating, abusive, power-hungry fools, whom they refused to divorce, and figured she would fit right in! I am not sympathetic to the situation, but I can follow the... logic.

I say that she is both victim and offender because even after seeing that this world may not be the best way to raise a kid, she still stayed. Trapped, yet holding us captive at the same time. Martyrdom is held in high regard in ATI, so the more she is abused and submits, the better she looks. After lots of therapy, I am desperately trying to curtail my own  circuitous behavior of happily remaining a victim. I honestly don't think my parents fully understand how bad ATI was/is. They don't think that the concepts that brainwashed us were detrimental to our well-being. My mother said today that I didn't really know it was bad either until I went out to the training center in Oklahoma and fully experienced it, that the stuff we did until then was fine, and I wasn't messed up before that. I was. I just didn't know it. The home based damage was much more subtle, but got in much deeper. Some things I don't even realize are not normal until I mention them in therapy now!

My mother will admit that it was a cult, but I'm pretty sure that my family still just thinks I'm bitter and backslidden about the world that they are still a part of. That's another thing about cults, you can only save yourself. You can't rescue people who don't want to be rescued.